


Madam Umbridge Home for Wayward Girls

by LovelyVillain



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Doctor/Patient, F/F, F/M, Ghosts, Gothic, Haunting, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Mystery, Orphanage, Sexual Violence, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, Victorian, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2019-06-05 18:27:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 530,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15176684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyVillain/pseuds/LovelyVillain
Summary: Hermione’s life takes a dark turn after the death of her parents, leaving her at the mercy of a tyrannical Matron. Her new home is more prison than sanctuary, haunted by ghosts bearing terrible, bloody secrets. And though she's surrounded by troubled young women, it is the men in her life who teach her freedom comes at the greatest price of all.Victorian AU, Tomione, Dramione, no triad





	1. Fire & Brimstone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello beautiful readers! This story is very (very) loosely based on the video game **Alice: Madness Returns** , a wonderfully twisted take on **Alice in Wonderland**. If you’ve played the game you know the extremely dark undertones it contains. If you haven’t played the game then be prepared for extremely dark undertones. I love darkening my undertones.
> 
> This story will contain Tomione and Dramione goodness but I won’t reveal the final pairing (if any… ;p) because that would be a rather large SPOILER and I hate those things.
> 
> I don’t put trigger warnings before each chapter so please avoid reading any further if the following is not your cup of tea: graphic violence, explicit sex, physical & mental abuse, psychological trauma, mental illness, drug abuse, non-con, dub-con, childhood trauma/abuse, slash pairing, and major character death.
> 
> Lastly, this story takes place in Victorian England and is AH, so it’s about as AU as it gets.
> 
> Given the inspiration for this tale, I’d be remiss if I didn’t start each chapter with a terribly cliché quote from Alice in Wonderland or the game... I am a garbage person.
> 
> Alrighty, let’s get to it!

_Another day, a different dream perhaps._

.   .   .

Flames.

Everywhere.

Lapping up the walls, climbing the curtains, spilling across the ceiling in pools of orange and red light, so bright they burned her eyes, so hot they scorched her flesh, filled her lungs with copious smoke, black rot, turning her esophagus to ash.

She choked, gagged, clawed at her throat, desperate for air, desperate for life.

Tears streamed from her eyes, vision so hazy she could barely make out shapes in the vast chaos before her. The wood floor beneath her was warm, flammable, as unsafe as every other surface within the vast room.

She scrambled on her hands and knees, heavy skirts tangled around her legs, slowing her progress, making her clumsy as she pulled her weak body futilely towards the doorway, at least the direction she thought was the doorway.

A crash, an explosion beside her, fresh plumes of flame and sizzling embers erupted high into the air like the mouth of a spitting volcano, spilling molten lava across the grand piano, the settee, the chaise lounge. Everything was burning. Everything was dying. Hermione was next.

She coughed up murky spittle, wiping away the strings of saliva with the back of her ash stained hand. She gasped, inhaling yet more smoke, suspended in a black haze of poison gas, hellfire flickering angrily through the gaps in the dark clouds.

She couldn’t go on. Her limbs were too weak, arms too shaky to support her weight any longer. She collapsed in a sweaty heap, long curls matted with debris, caked to her forehead, covering her face in a delicate mask that did nothing to protect from her imminent demise.

And then she heard it.

Voices.

Screaming her name.

Unmistakable even through the roaring flames, the deafening snap of an overhead beam as part of the ceiling caved in around her, chunks of plaster and tile crashing down, the chandelier shattering mere feet away, glass exploding in every direction like crystal raindrops.

“Hermione!”

Her mother.

“Mione!”

Her father.

She wept, curling slowly into the fetal position, burying her face in her sweat-slick palms, wracked by dry, broken sobs.

The fire was upon her now, forming a perfect ring around her huddled form. It was a sentient being, an angry god born from the pits of hell, come to drag her into the depths of fire and brimstone where her soul would suffer eternal damnation.

There was nothing left to breathe but smoke, nothing left to feel but raw flame tearing away her flesh and searing away nerve endings. It would take her sight, her breath, her life. Her heart would be the final thing to go, she’d burn alive as her most vital organ continued to beat with the ivory cage of her ribs.

Her entire body would turn to ash, she’d be frozen in abject horror forever like the victims of Pompeii. She’d become a passing tourist attraction with no name, no story, no memory. Dust in the wind.

The flames washed over her like a tidal wave, and in that final moment of cognizant terror, she heard her mother scream for her one last time, the sound ringing in her ears, deafening.

“Hermione!”

She screamed, the fire consuming her limbs, her skin, her muscle and bone.

“Hermione! Wake up!”

Her eyes snapped open, darkness surrounded her.

“Calm down! It’s a dream! It’s just a dream!”

The deafening roar of the fire still echoed around her. She blinked rapidly, turning her head in every direction, searching for the flames, the black smoke, muscles tense and ready to spring, to run for her life.

“Stop yelling!”

She blinked again, the disembodied voice taking physical shape before her. A face, pinched in distress, inches from her own. Hands clasping her shoulders so tightly she cringed back, but they held tight. Her throat felt raw, scorched. But not by smoke. By her own screaming.

She snapped her mouth closed and the roaring stopped. The room fell silent, eerily so. She gasped for breath, wiping at her face, fingers coming away wet. She blinked, staring at her glistening fingertips in confusion.

“Hermione? Are you okay?”

She blinked again, peering up. The face was recognizable now.

“Parvati?”

“Bloody hell, you scared the shite out of me.”

The girl slowly released her shoulders and leaned back from where she sat on the edge of the bed. Hermione drew her knees up beneath the thin blanket, wrapping her arms around her legs and trying to regulate her breathing, trying to eradicate the lapping flames from her memory. The nightmares were a regular occurrence, inescapable, but if she forced her mind onto other things she could usually shake the lingering effects within a few minutes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I’d be amazed if you didn’t wake the entire floor. You were screaming your head off for at least five minutes. I kept shaking you but you wouldn’t come out of it.”

Hermione swallowed, throat tight, the melancholy taking longer to escape than usual. “It was stronger this time.”

Parvati nodded. “Obviously. Did you take your medicine?”

Hermione glanced away, eyes down.

“It’s okay. I won't tell anyone. But you won’t be able to hide it from them much longer if you keep on like this every night.”

Hermione nodded weakly, idly running her fingers through her loose curls for a distraction. “I’ll be okay. I’m sorry again for waking you. Do you want some tonic to fall back asleep?”

Parvati shook her head, folding her hands in her lap and sighing. “No use. Lav’s missing. Again. I’m going to stay up till she gets back.”

Hermione raised a brow, glancing to the third bed in the small room, the covers drawn and a lumpy figure beneath. At a distance, it would be easy to mistake as a person, but from where they sat it was clearly pillows artfully arranged under the blanket.

“How long has she been gone?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t hear her leave. But it’s already 2 am, another inspection is due to come round any time now. She better hope her skinny arse doesn’t get caught or we’re all in for. You know Umbridge will say we were accomplices.”

Hermione nodded, lips turned down. “If she’s caught this will be her third strike. Umbridge is dying to make an example of her.”

She sighed, throwing back her blanket and drawing her legs over the side of the bed, knees still weak from the lingering terror of the dream. She cringed to see the large sweat stain she left on the sheets. It was as if her body truly thought it was trapped by fire.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to find her and bring her back before the guard comes round.”

“Are you mad? You’ll just get yourself caught and we’ll all be punished anyway!”

“I know the route Filch takes. I can avoid him. Just stay here, and if she comes back before I do, make sure she stays put.”

Pavarti groaned. “Mione, I really don’t think you should-”

“If she gets a third strike she’s out on the streets. Do you really think Lav can survive out there on her own?”

They shared an intense, meaningful look for a moment longer before Pavarti relented, stepping away from the bed. “Please be careful.”

Hermione shrugged on her thin robe that barely reached her knees, pulling her long hair free from beneath the collar. “I always am.”

And then she tiptoed barefoot to the door, opening it a crack and peering out, holding her breath. Upon seeing the dimly lit, empty corridor she slipped out without a backward glance, carefully clicking the door closed behind her.

She bit her lip, pressing to the wall as she quickly padded down the hallway, past numerous closed doors, the faint sound of snores and heavy breathing discernible through the thin barriers. A couple times she heard whispering and her heart lurched, fearful someone with insomnia would hear her creeping past and peak their head out to investigate. For the most part, the residents here respected each other’s privacy, as long as you stayed out of their business they stayed out of yours.

But a select few loved to meddle, loved to kiss up to the Matron and were always on the lookout for rule breaking. With her dreadful luck she’d draw the attention of the wrong person, so she did her best to remain silent and invisible, becoming one with the shadows she moved between.

She had a good idea of where her missing roommate may be, the blonde loved to sneak outside to the courtyard to smoke and drink after the majority of the Home was in bed. Hermione just hoped she was engaging in those vices alone. The girl received her first two strikes after being caught in the company of young gentlemen after curfew.

Hermione carefully avoided the squeaking floorboards, having mapped out the best routes to take after the last few months of residency. She may be one of the newest additions, but she was a very quick study, and more observant than most.

She gasped lightly at the sound of muffled voices around the corner, her heart racing when she realized she wasn’t hearing a hushed conversation, but rather heavy moaning.

_Good lord…_

She swallowed tentatively, peeking her head around and gazing down the dark hallway beyond. She saw no one, but there was a faint glow of flickering candle flame cast across the far wall, emitting from a door at the end of the corridor that stood open barely an inch.

She bit her lip, debating whether she should journey any further.

_Heaven knows I don’t want to see what they’re up to, but if it’s Lavender then it’s better I catch her than Filch._

She sighed, squaring her shoulders and quickly dashing down the hallway on tiptoes before she could think better of it. She gazed over her shoulder to make sure the coast was clear before steeling herself to gaze inside the dimly lit room.

It was a storage closet if the abundance of cleaning supplies were any indication. How foolish for them to engage in such a sordid act in Filch’s own pantry! Did they want to be caught?

She gasped, eyes wide as her gaze moved past the stacked crates and buckets and glimpsed the gyrating bodies beyond. She swallowed heavily, whipping around and pressing into the wall, mortified and shocked.

She expected to see kissing, perhaps heavy petting at worse.

But the couple inside was engaged in full on coitus.

Hermione’s cheeks flamed, heart racing.

_What am I doing here?_

She was about to sprint away when she thought once more of Lavender.

She hadn’t gotten a good enough look at the female to know if it was the missing blonde. The man’s bare, rippling back had taken up her field of vision. She shook her head, rubbing her eyes.

 _And what if it_ is _Lavender? What am I supposed to do? Knock on the door and kindly interrupt them, tell her it’s time to return to the dorm?_

She bit her lip, the sounds behind her gaining in volume and pace.

“Scream for me,” a deep baritone whispered from within the room, mostly gravel.

Hermione’s entire body went rigid, lungs deflating as her blood ran cold.

She blinked rapidly, tears forming behind her eyes, hands fisting at her sides. She tried desperately to keep the buried memory from surfacing but it was to no avail. She stood in a darkened, dusty hallway with no distractions beyond the passionate coupling mere feet away. She shook her head as if to rattle the thoughts away but they raced to the forefront of her mind, vivid and bright as the morning sun.

_“That’s it, luv, scream for me…”_

_She screamed with the full force of her lungs, kicking, clawing, twisting, a desperate, dying animal, veins pumping pure adrenaline from her racing heart through her thrashing limbs._

_“That’s a good girl, now say my name.”_

Hermione gasped for breath, pulling herself forcefully from the waking nightmare, doubling over and trying not to gag. Her heart pounded wildly in her ears, drowning out the couple behind the door. She closed her eyes.

_Count backward from ten._

_Come on, count…_

_Ten…_

_Nine..._

_Eight…_

“-about time, I was starting to think he’d changed his mind. Couldn’t say I’d blame him.”

Hermione's eyes snapped open as she rose to her full height, heart leaping into her throat at the unmistakably shrill sound of her Matron’s voice.

She glanced around like a cornered animal, feeling like prey about to be skewered. If Umbridge caught her out after curfew she wouldn’t bother with warnings or reprimands, she’d throw Hermione out on the streets this very moment with nothing but the clothes on her back and her bare feet beneath her.

For some inexplicable reason, the Matron hated Hermione with a white-hot passion that eclipsed her distaste for all the other charges. Hermione had no idea what she did to inspire such deep seeded loathing, but she didn’t particularly care to ask. The less time spent in Madam Umbridge’s presence the better.

She swallowed thickly as she heard the sharp click of the Matron’s heels against the hardwood, fast approaching. There was an uneven patter following in her wake, the sound of Filch’s broken gait. Hermione’s mind went blank with terror, she ran down the hall and started twisting every knob in sight. She whispered a silent prayer of reverence when one of the doors gave way, allowing her to slip inside.

The room beyond was pitch black, but silent and seemingly empty, which suited her purpose just fine. She shut the door behind her but for a small crack to listen through. She held her breath, quite the feat when her adrenaline was surging out of every pore. She leaned in close, muscles tense, listening to the sound of the Matron and her loyal minion pass the hallway perpendicular to the one Hermione was in.

The voices were muffled by the door, but she was certain she heard the word “Doctor” in there somewhere. Hermione blinked, waiting for the voices to fade away entirely. The last doctor had been dismissed before Hermione’s arrival at the Home. She heard through the grapevine that they had been searching for a replacement but apparently no respectable professional wanted to tie their horse to a den of wayward teen girls.

She licked her lips tentatively, taking a deep breath and allowing her shoulders to relax as the threat of discovery was gone. She decided to linger within the empty space a few moments longer, just to ensure that they were far enough away for her to slip back to her room.

_And what about Lavender?_

Hermione sighed, tipping her head back and closing her eyes.

_Dammit._

She didn’t know why she felt such an obligation to protect her roommates, she had only known them for a short time, but the girls had been kind and accepting of Hermione from her first day here. Where many shunned her on principal, Parvati and Lavender had taken her under her their wings and shown her the ropes, taught her the lay of the land, helped keep an eye on her while she adjusted to her new, upside down life.

She couldn’t in good conscience leave one of them to suffer at the hands of Umbridge simply because the toad-like Matron hated everyone under her care.

_Okay. I’ll spend five more minutes looking for her. Tops. Assuming that wasn’t her in the closet…_

In her panic to hide she’d nearly forgotten about the hidden couple. She wondered if they were close to finishing. The thought made her shudder with revulsion.

As Hermione pictured the layout of the Home in her mind, planning what routes to take to best avoid discovery, she felt a cold draft steal past, a faint whistling sound in the air, loose curls blowing into her face.

She spun around, blinking in confusion. She didn’t see any windows in the room. Where was the gust coming from?

She held her breath once more, taking a tentative step deeper into the all-consuming darkness, hands extended out to feel along the wall and keep her balance, when she felt some electrical current in the air sweep around her like a wind tunnel, making the fine hairs on her arms and nape stand on end.

Hermione swallowed desperately, quickly retreating to the door.

_Oh god please, not again-_

_“Hermione…”_

She clamped a hand over her mouth to capture the scream that rose up on instinct. She was barely able to swallow it down in time before she felt the warm breath on her neck, the presence of _something else_ behind her, and she tore the door open in blind terror, running full speed down the shadowed hall, mindless of the noise she was making.

When she reached the intersection at the end she started to turn in the direction of her room when she saw the distant shadow of a short, hunched figure at the far end of the hallway.

_Damn!_

She couldn’t risk taking the usual route back, Umbridge would be impossible to bypass. So she turned on her heel and dashed the opposite way, leaving the network of hallways that comprised the resident dorms and entered another wing, one she’d never ventured into before but to her knowledge sat empty, used mostly for storage. She could hide out here until the Matron returned downstairs, then hopefully make it back to her room before Filch resumed his inspection rounds.

She tried to slow her breathing, to quell the rising panic festering in her gut like hot coals. She again started trying to open doors before she found one that was unlocked. She stepped inside with a large sigh of relief. This room had a round window at the top of a curved ceiling, a decent sized chamber that to her surprise contained a well-made bed, chest of drawers and a standing wardrobe.

She blinked.

_Bloody hell, does someone live here?_

She stood frozen, straining to hear any movement, but the room was deathly still and silent, as well as freezing. Her bare legs were covered in goosebumps, the thin fabric of her faded robe doing little to shield her arms from the cold. She breathed out and saw a faint plume of air that quickly dissipated in the large open space.

She hesitantly made her way to the chest and opened the top drawer, unsurprised to find it empty save for a King James Bible, standard in every room. She shut it swiftly and opened the remained drawers in turn, relieved to see the room was uninhabited.

She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to rein in her frazzled nerves.

_You did this to yourself, sneaking out like a fool. If you get caught it will be your own fault._

She sighed.

_Maybe it will be better if I’m thrown out. I can’t stand it here anyway. Harry will put me up-_

She closed her eyes, quickly shaking the thoughts away. No. She wouldn’t turn to Harry, despite his many offers, his practical begging, to help her. She wouldn't compromise him in such a way. Now that she was eighteen it would be far too scandalous for her to reside on his residence, despite the fact they were childhood mates and he was abroad with the Her Majesty’s Royal Navy most of the year anyway.

The gossip rags would still have a field day, labeling her a kept woman and destroying any chance of either of them finding suitable matches. Hermione didn’t even want to marry, she was perfectly fine becoming an old spinster with a house full of felines to keep her company. Cats she could abide.

But she would never risk damaging her best friend’s chance at finding a suitable bride, someone to share a lifetime of happiness with. Harry desperately wanted a family of his own, ever since his parents died when he was a lad. He would tell her he didn’t care about those things in a heartbeat if it meant convincing her to leave this place and come live at Grimmauld Manor, but she couldn’t forgive herself for denying him a chance at a happy union.

So here she remained, until she was finally tossed to the streets or a giant sinkhole opened up and swallowed her whole. The latter didn’t sound so bad, really.

She was pulled from her frantic musing by the sound of muffled but fast approaching voices outside the door. She groaned.

_I can’t catch a break, can I? The story of my miserable life…_

Her heart stuttered anew when the voices got louder, closer, heading straight for her.

_No, it can’t be…_

Of all the rooms in this giant, haunted mausoleum of a girls’ home, they had to be headed straight for the one place she chose to hide.

She spun in a frantic circle, seeing no closet doors to hide behind. She glanced briefly at the bed, she was certainly thin enough to slide beneath the frame but the coverlet was too short and didn’t reach the floor, she’d be easily seen.

_Blast it!_

She dashed for the standing wardrobe, tossing open the door and spinning around to tuck herself inside. It was a tight fit to be certain, but she managed to fold her legs and suck in her breath and was able to shut the door, enclosing herself in darkness just as the voices reached the bedroom door.

She heard the creak of hinges and then footsteps entering, at least two sets, the click click click of her Matron’s heels making her cringe, but the slow, steady gait that followed was too smooth and even to belong to Filch. Her heart raced so hard she pressed a hand to her chest in a futile effort to keep it within her body.

_If I’m caught like this I’m done for._

She swallowed thickly, squeezing her eyes shut and willing herself to become invisible. She knew it was a wasted effort, she’d been in worse situations and prayed with equal desperation for an escape, never to receive any reprieve. She knew now would certainly be no different.

She was on her own. As always.

“I hope you will find the room satisfactory.” Umbridge. “It is located in the east wing so you’ll have plenty of privacy. Of course every now and then one of the girls likes to sneak off to do god knows what, delinquents, the lot of them. If you find anyone roaming about report them directly to me and I shall dole out the proper punishment.”

Hermione held her breath, trembling in her huddled position, terrified to even blink.

“The room is more than satisfactory. Thank you, Madam.”

Hermione swallowed lightly, straining to hear the second voice. A deep, resonating baritone, smooth and pleasant, and perfectly foreign to her ears. There were only a handful of men employed at the Home, Filch the one who most frequently interacted with the girls. Aside from outside gardeners and maintenance workers, and the owner of the local Apothecary who made infrequent visits, Hermione couldn't recall any other male staff members.

“Good. Well, I shall let you get settled then, Doctor.”

Hermione blinked, heart lurching. _Doctor?_ It seemed the Matron had found a replacement after all. But the idea of it being a male physician sent chills of unease down her spine.

“I appreciate your hospitality, Madam, especially at this hour.”

Footsteps headed in her direction. Hermione drew in a sharp gasp, pressing into the wood backing of the wardrobe. This was it, she was about to be discovered and thrown out on the streets and left to rot away in the gutters, scrounging for scraps and puddles of filthy water-

The door swung open and soft candlelight streamed in, along with a beam of moonlight that perfectly illuminated the face of the handsome stranger standing a foot away.

Staring right at her.

Their eyes locked, hers wide and full of unbridled terror, his slightly narrowed but without scorn, with storm grey irises that seemed to glow from within, stealing what little breath she had left. The corner of his mouth tipped up, and as though nothing were amiss, he glanced away and began to shrug out of his heavy overcoat.

“I look forward to meeting the residents tomorrow,” he said, reaching into the wardrobe and extracting a folding hanger from above Hermione’s head. She watched in fascinated shock as he casually strung the garment around the wood and hung it up beside her.

“Your feelings will change soon after you do, I assure you,” her Matron said with no shortness of scorn from where she hovered near the entrance.

The Doctor’s eyes locked with Hermione’s once more, rendering her as motionless as a pin through a butterfly wing.

“I beg to differ. I have a feeling there are some rather interesting individuals residing here.”

She felt a warm flush steal across her neck and cheeks and became hyper-aware of the fact her bare legs were on display. She wanted to pull her robe down, wrap it around her knees, but she feared such a movement would draw her Matron’s attention.

“The only interesting thing about them is how wild and graceless they can be. They go out of their way to disgrace everything the fairer sex stands for.”

The stranger raised a dark brow, sharp features looking lethal in the flickering light, his smirk expanding into a smile that showed a row of perfectly white, gleaming teeth, but his expression held no humor, it looked cruel, mocking, and it made Hermione instinctively shrink back further.

“It seems you harbor no affection for your charges, Madam.”

Umbridge scoffed indelicately. “As I said, wait until you meet them for yourself.”

His eyes remained fixed on Hermione, unyielding in their intensity. “I look forward to it.”

And then to her great shock-

He winked.

And closed the door, once more encasing her in darkness.

She released a slow breath, lungs burning for oxygen as the muffled exchange of conversation filtered through the door.

_Oh my god._

She pressed a hand to her chest, then slid her fingertips to her neck, checking her pulse, feeling the almost painful thrum of her artery.

_Oh my god._

She couldn’t form any more coherent thought than that. The moment was unreal, a strange dream, unlike her usual nightmares but no less terrifying.

There could be no other plausible explanation.

She blinked rapidly in the darkness as she heard the click of her Matron’s heels receding. She sat numb, frozen, unsure what to do.

“You can come out now.”

She gasped anew, hoping he had left as well.

_Of course not, this is his room you idiot girl._

She swallowed, biting her lip as she slowly unfurled her legs and pushed the door open with a trembling hand. She hovered, still seated on the wide shelf of the wardrobe, and gazed with wide eyes at the man standing before the foot of the bed, arms folded casually across his chest.

She trembled, muscles tense, a frightened animal in the midst of a predator.

A devastatingly handsome predator, which only served to terrify her further. Beautiful things were always the most deadly.

He was tall and lean, shoulders broad and waist narrow, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to reveal pale, sinewy forearms. But she spared little observation for his body, her eyes locked with his, everything around her become hazy while his face remained in perfect clarity.

He had a thick wave of dark brown hair rendered black in the moonlight, his high cheekbones and sharp jawline reminding her painfully of the aristocratic features of another man with equally pale eyes, causing her chest to seize painfully.

She unconsciously rubbed at the gaping wound, causing those pale eyes to flicker down and track the movement. She released a pained breath, remembering she was still clad in nothing but her thin nightdress and robe and quickly scrambled to her feet, pulling the garment closed around her and tying the sash with clumsy fingers.

“Hello.” His voice both soothed and rattled her nerves.

Her eyes darted around the room. The door was closed.

_Please don’t let it be locked…_

“My name is Doctor Riddle. And you are?”

Her eyes snapped back to his. She hesitated, wanting to run like a frightened rabbit, but some invisible force kept her grounded. She swallowed past the constriction in her throat before answering in a weak voice.

“Hermione.”

The man nodded, as though he suspected that were her name, and then took a casual step back, turning to face the bed.

“Pleasure to meet you, Hermione.”

She blinked, watching him lean down and open the traveling case that lay at the center of the mattress.

“Do I want to know why you were hiding in my wardrobe?”

She took a deep breath, steeling her nerves. “It wasn't your wardrobe when I first got in.”

This seemed to amuse him, a secretive smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Fair enough.”

He started pulling piles of clothing and books from the case, spreading them over the coverlet in a meticulous fashion. She watched him for several moments as though in a trance. Then he turned to face her once more, and she was shaken from her stupor.

“I have a feeling you’re not where you’re supposed to be, and that the Madam of the House will have a great deal to say about the matter if you’re caught.”

Hermione took a step back. “I…”

He tipped his head, eyes roaming her body, but in such a clinical fashion it didn’t unsettle her as it normally would. “I won’t report you. But I suggest you return to where you need to be in haste.”

She nodded mutely, taking another step back until she was halfway to the door. They continued to stare at each other, gazes locked, hers displaying a strange fascination and his some unknown emotion that shone brightly in his expanding pupils.

“Thank you,” she whispered, not knowing what else to say, and quickly spun on her heel, dashing for the door.

As she opened it and prepared to slip out he called her attention once more.

“Hermione.”

She glanced over her shoulder, pulse thrumming.

He smiled. The effect was devastating, making her mouth go dry.

“Sleep well.”

She blinked, unable to form words, so she merely nodded and slid through the narrow opening, clicking the door shut behind her.

She stood in the middle of the hall for several beats, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, a part of her still curled up tightly in the wardrobe, awaiting discovery.

_Did that just happen?_

She shook her head, swallowing thickly and pushing on, dashing down the dark hallway with her heart still lodged in her throat. She was so frazzled she lost track of her route back, taking more than one wrong turn before correcting her path, and running headlong into a figure huddled in the shadows.

She gasped sharply, prepared to scream when a hand clamped over her mouth.

“Shh!”

Hermione reared back, fighting off the strong limbs that entwined around her.

_No no no no no no!_

“Mione, shut up!”

Hearing her nickname rendered her motionless, the familiar voice taking root in her mind. As she stilled the hand slowly freed her lips. She pushed the arm away angrily, spinning around and glaring up at the tall figure before her.

“Cormac! You idiot, what are you doing-”

She blinked, cut short by the memory of a muscled, sweaty, undulating back. She swallowed, cheeks aflame.

“You were in the closet with Lavender.”

He blinked, raising a brow, then his face transformed into a wolfish grin. “Were you watching us, luv? A bit of a voyeur are you?”

She crossed her arms, eyes narrowing. “I came to rescue her from herself. If she gets caught sneaking around after curfew she’ll be kicked out. But I doubt you care about that, as long as you get your midnight kicks.”

He shook his head, tilting his head and eyes roaming her body slowly, his expression nothing like Dr. Riddle’s had been. She felt dirty, exposed. She stepped back, blushing anew.

“Well, maybe you should help her out, sneak out in her place. You know I’d make it good for you.”

She felt bile rise in her throat. “Get. Out.”

 _You vile, loathsome pig_ went unspoken, but the moniker was clearly read in her eyes. However, Cormac wasn’t easily offended, not like most young men his age. He merely laughed at her ire like it was some private joke between them.

He carded his fingers through his sandy blonde hair and winked, another perverted mockery of the gesture Dr. Riddle had made earlier and then stepped over to the window.

She blinked, about to ask him just what the hell he thought he was doing, but his intent became obvious as he pushed open the pane and hoisted himself up into the frame.

“Are you mad?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Worried about me, luv?”

She glared. “Do try to break your fall with your neck.”

He tossed his head back and laughed, causing Hermione to glance around frantically, terrified Filch would hear.

“I’ll see you later,” he blew her a kiss and then slid his other leg over, dropping down down down...

She ran to the window and peered out, sighing in relief as she watched the idiot land gracelessly in a dense pile of springy shrubs. Once she confirmed he wasn’t dead she pulled the window shut and locked it. Her eyes were caught by her own reflection staring back at her in the pane, a pale, ghostly image with deep circles beneath doe-like, haunted eyes.

She allowed her gaze to linger a few moments longer before she slowly backed away, bidding the translucent version of herself a silent farewell as she continued her path to the dorms.

By the time she slipped inside her room, she felt well and truly exhausted. The silver lining was she was likely to pass out as soon as she laid down, her mind too addled to concoct any more nightmares.

“Hermione, thank god! We thought Filch had snagged you!”

She jumped slightly at the declaration, Pavarti hovering by the door. She glanced past her to see Lavender sitting in the center of her bed, weaving her pale tresses into an intricate plait.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth.

“Please, spare me the lecture,” the blonde said without any real heat. “I know, I’m a bloody idiot and am just asking for trouble. You’re terribly disappointed in me, I got it.”

Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes. “It’s no fun when you say it for me.”

The blonde smirked. “Sorry I made you go chasing after me.”

Hermione made her way towards her own bed, feeling weary down to her bones now that the adrenaline had dissipated from her system.

“Did you spot Filch?” Parvati asked.

Hermione bit her lip, debating just how much to tell them. For some inexplicable reason, she wanted to keep her exchange with the doctor private. She had so few things that belonged solely to her. She tossed her robe to the foot of the mattress and slid her legs beneath the blanket.

“No,” she said, laying her head on her pillow. “I didn’t see anyone.”


	2. Past. Present. Future.

_There’s no use going back to yesterday,_  
_Because I was a different person then._

.   .   .

Hermione stirred her porridge absentmindedly, eyes fixed on a bare patch of table beside her bowl. She had yet to bring a spoonful to her mouth. The breakfast selection at the Home was narrow, though not totally abysmal. They still had appearances to keep, and a bunch of starving, malnutritioned wards would not ensure renewed funding every year.

The Queen liked to throw crown money at social causes, particularly those suited to women, without having to step foot in the hovels herself. Hermione was certain the funding was at least partially diverted to other interests before the residents saw any benefit. But the powers that be couldn’t allow the place to fall into complete ruins, otherwise they’d be cut off entirely.

Still, she had no stomach for the food set out before her. She selected a bowl of mush so she’d have something to do with her hands, giving the illusion of eating. Her appetite was nonexistent, as it had been for the last year. She only ate when pressured, and her thin, brittle frame was showing the wear and tear of her poor diet. Her collarbone all but jutted out from her pale skin, nearly every rib visible around her middle. She wore high collars and extra layering to hide the evidence of her slow disintegration.

Truth be told she could care less about her appearance these days. And it seemed right that her outside match her inside. Broken and scarred.

It was strange to think back to who she once was such a short time ago. The silk dresses, the glittering gems, the painstaking hours of prep before she’d dare step foot outside. Her mother would spend all morning twisting Hermione’s curls into lavish up-do’s, strategically placing pearl-tipped pins throughout, giggling along with her daughter as the thick locks refused to stay in place for more than a second or two.

Thinking of her mother caused a sharp pain in her chest, a chronic ache of late, one she knew was psychologically based though she pressed her hand to the spot anyway. A silent acknowledgment of her grief, her loss, her past.

She lowered her hand to her lap as someone slid onto the bench beside her. Hermione didn’t have to look up to know who it was, the smell of gardenias hitting her nose before the white blonde braid was visible in her peripheral.

“Good morning, Hermione.”

“Good morning, Luna. You’ve been tending the garden?”

The slight girl smiled, her expression one of genuine serenity. “You are very observant. Or did Lauma tell you?”

Hermione couldn’t help but smirk. “No, I’m afraid Lauma doesn’t speak to me.” She continued to stir her bowl. “What form did she take today?”

“A spotted magpie,” Luna said as she played idly with her long braid. “She sang to me while I watered the flowers.”

Hermione glanced sidelong at her strange companion who claimed the woodland fae goddess communed with her in the form of various animals. “That’s a good sign, isn’t it? It means it’s going to be a good day.”

Luna shrugged a delicate shoulder. “It depends on the message. She sounded a bit frantic. I think she was trying to warn me.”

Hermione blinked, a sudden cold settling into her bone. She set her spoon down, turning to face the blonde fully. “Warn you about what?”

Luna reached for a piece of burnt toast without a care in the world. “I don’t know, I had trouble understanding her. Something in the air is affecting my aura.”

“The air? Like smog?”

“No,” she slid the butter dish closer. “Nothing you can see. Something you can feel,” then glanced at Hermione with guileless blue eyes. “You can feel it, too. I can tell.”

Hermione swallowed, heart skipping a beat. She tentatively wet her lips, about to ask more questions when a new voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Loony Lovegood, covered in filth before breakfast is finished. Sleeping in the stables again?”

Hermione glared at the girl standing behind them.

“What’s your problem, Marietta?”

The girl smiled with malevolent glee. “My _problem_ , Hermione, is Loony’s stench. Or maybe it’s you I’m smelling from across the room?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Luna smells like the garden and I practically bathed in rose oil this morning, I know your capacity for original thought is limited but do try and be more creative.”

She turned back around, not willing to give the petulant girl another moment of her time, but felt the rage simmering at her back all the same.

“You stupid bunter, think you’re so much better than everyone here because you grew up on the Westside? Well, now you’re stuck in the East end like the rest of us because no man will have you, which makes sense considering you’re certainly nothing to look at, so don’t think for a minute-”

“Not thinking is really more your thing, isn’t it Edgecomb?” Came a new voice.

“As is deterring members of the opposite sex with your ghastly face.” Came a second.

Lavender and Parvati appeared, flanking the angry girl from behind, exchanging smirks as they crossed to the table and sat opposite Hermione and Luna.

“You- you- dumb _whores_ -”

“It’s alright, Rhetta, if there are men desperate enough to pay for it there’s gotta be someone willing to stick it to you for free.”

“Lavender!” Hermione hissed. “Not at the breakfast table.”

Her roommate laughed, reaching for her own piece of burnt toast without a hint of shame. “Oh please, it’s not like I told her to wear a bag over her head-”

“That’s enough!” Hermione glanced around, looking for Umbridge as Marietta turned bright red, sputtering in rage and embarrassment.

“It’s really just your complexion, luv,” Parvati said, voice dripping with faux sympathy. “Men mistake your face for your arse and get all confused.”

Lavender choked on her bite, spitting crumbs across the table. Hermione shook her head, spotting their Matron at the head table, eyes narrowed and fastened on the cluster of girls. “We’re being watched.”

All heads swiveled around to peer at the head table as well. Marietta reluctantly stepped away from the group.

“This isn’t over,” she hissed menacingly, stomping away with clenched fists and a blistering red face.

“I can’t believe you said that, Parvati,” Hermione whispered. “What if she reports you to Umbridge?”

The girl rolled her dark eyes. “She’d never have the nerve to repeat it because she knows it’s true.”

Hermione sighed as Lavender erupted into a fit of giggles. Luna started humming as she nibbled at her crusts, seemingly oblivious to the entire encounter.

“Oh relax, Mione, Edgecomb isn’t a threat. She’s a brown-nosing little-” Lavender stopped short, mouth agape and eyes glassy. Hermione blinked, brow furrowed.

“Lav?”

The blonde was unresponsive, eyes affixed to some point beyond Hermione’s shoulder. Hermione glanced at Parvati in confusion and noticed her gaze similarly locked. She spun around on the bench just as the chatter within the dining hall come to a standstill. The silence was jarring, eerie, and then Hermione saw what everyone was staring at and understood.

Dr. Riddle had entered the room.

For his part, he either didn’t notice or chose to ignore the profound effect his presence was having on the female population surrounding him. Her money was on the latter, as the sea of teenage girls made their interest shamefully obvious. They giggled and blushed, whispered behind their hands, batted eyelashes and tipped their heads coyly.

Hermione felt a wave of nausea seize her. She was embarrassed to be in the same room as these twits, counted among their ranks. She turned back around to say as much to her friends when she noticed her roommates practically salivating onto the table.

“Oh for heaven’s sake…”

They didn’t hear her, eyes tracking his every movement as he slowly cut a path down the middle of the room toward the head table.

“Strange…” Luna mumbled, gaining Hermione’s attention.

“What is?” she whispered, the room still uncharacteristically quiet.

“Your aura… it’s changed.”

Hermione blinked, at a loss for words. Just then the silence was broken by the cringe-inducing sound of their Matron clearing her throat. It sounded kittens drowning in a burlap bag. Hermione imparted a lingering look of confusion and dismay to her benchmate before turning to face the front of the room.

Umbridge stood on her little crate, making her round shape hover two feet higher than usual. She glanced about the room with her signature narrowed and suspicious gaze paired with a cruel little smirk.

“How lovely to have everyone so attentive first thing in the morning. Perhaps I’ve been able to instill a modicum of manners into you after all.”

Dr. Riddle came to a stop beside the Matron, turning to face the room with his hands clasped behind him, shoulders back and chest out. Despite the modelesque stature, she could tell it was a natural repose for the man, not an act of preening she was used to seeing young men like Cormac exhibit when in female company.

She tilted her head, studying him in a clinical fashion, much as he did to her the night before. She hadn’t been able to really process his appearance then, as frazzled as she was. Now she was safely encased within the group, free to peruse at her leisure.

He was obviously quite attractive, even more so in the sunlight, which was surprising as it normally revealed flaws. But his pale skin was unblemished, carved from marble, sloping in perfect lines beneath a heavy brow. His clothing was as dark as his hair, well pressed and bespoke.

Everything about him was inviting, screaming refinement and money, it was no wonder the room was filled with such shock and awe. It wasn’t often such a specimen was seen on this side of town, little less within these walls. At least not during daylight hours. Plenty of rich young men found themselves wandering the halls at night in search of female company. And many of the residents were only too happy to oblige, taken in by promises of a better life. Others simply gave in for the promise of one less lonely evening.

But Hermione wasn’t fazed by his appearance or beauty. If anything she was off-put by both. She was no stranger to high born males who dressed like kings and treated everyone around them like squires. She had lived alongside that sphere for most her life, never a part of it, always an outsider looking in, painfully aware of her so-called shortcomings due to her great misfortune of being born into the wrong family.

She was already classifying the Doctor among the gentry she so detested. She had barely spoken to him last night, and truth be told he showed her great leniency in letting her go without punishment or even reprimand, but she didn’t dwell on that detail. She couldn’t afford to think of him as anything but a person to avoid. She would form no ties with this strange man.

She finished her examination and judgment before Umbridge even introduced him to the room.

“I would like you to all help me in welcoming our newest member of the administration, Dr. Thomas Riddle. He joins us from St. Mungo’s Hospital where he came very highly spoken of by all of his associates, and we are so very honored to have him join us.”

There was an explosion of chatter, eyes gleaming and limbs fidgeting as the crowd moved as one to try and get a closer look.

“Ladies! Ladies, do calm down!” Umbridge yelled, looking greatly put out. Her pleas fell on deaf ears, the ensuing chaos growing louder as girls called across the room to one another, exchanging jokes and laughing sharply.

Dr. Riddle looked mostly amused, the corner of his mouth tipping up as he gazed around the room with little interest. Hermione’s spine went rigid. It was as she suspected, of course, Umbridge would hire someone with as little regard for the residents as herself. And if rumor was true, no one wanted the post to begin with which is why it took so long to fill, so she highly doubted Riddle was all that respected in the field unless he simply drew the short straw.

She narrowed her eyes at him, glaring at the side of his perfect face, only for his head to turn and his eyes to lock with hers.

She jolted, accusing expression melting away to one of dismay at once again being pinned beneath his intense gaze. There was a sudden flash of lightning in his storm cloud eyes, perhaps a flicker of recognition, and his air of amusement only grew. She felt a flush spread across her chest and up her neck, staining her cheeks, heart stuttering, and then he finally released her, glancing back into the crowd as if nothing had happened.

She deflated with a sharp breath, unaware she’d even been holding it in.

_Yes… I definitely need to stay away from that one._

“Blimey, I think he was looking at you.”

Hermione blinked, glancing across the table.

“What?”

Parvati raised a dark brow. “He was staring right at you. Probably thought you have a fever with how red you’re turning.” She smiled knowingly, making Hermione burn even hotter.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. He wasn’t looking at me.”

“Leave her alone, Parv,” Lavender smirked, twirling a long strand of hair around her finger. “If he pinned me under his stare I’d be turning all shades of crimson.”

“If he had you pinned under-”

“Enough!” Hermione hissed, facing the front of the room, folding her hands in her lap so tightly her knuckles turned white.

“Quiet!” Umbridge all but screamed, complexion turning a blotchy purple. “Act like respectable young women!” Her eyes bugged out, a vein throbbed in her forehead. It was all Hermione could do to hold in her laughter, others weren’t so capable. Umbridge silenced them with a lethal glare.

“You will all behave the way young ladies are supposed to behave, and will not embarrass me or this establishment!”

Riddle looked both humored and perturbed by the Matron’s tirade. Hermione did her best to keep her eyes off him but she was finding it increasingly difficult. The crowd finally settled, silence falling across the room in a rippling wave. Umbridge gasped for breath.

“Dr. Riddle will be treated with the respect that his title and position in the Home deserve. Any offense against him will be treated the same as an offense against me.” She scanned the crowd with a slitted gaze, her focus lingering on a select few charges, Lavender included. The blonde rolled her eyes, indifferent to the threat.

“Once the Doctor is settled into his office he will begin seeing patients on a case by case basis, starting with those who have not been to see a physician since their admittance.”

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat.

“If this includes you then you will review the schedule posted outside the clinic door tomorrow evening. If you are late for your appointment or try skipping it-” her eyes fell on Hermione, burning bright with hell flame, “I assure you, you will _not_ enjoy the consequences.”

Hermione released a slow breath as the Matron glanced away. She felt her heart lurch once more as she felt the Doctor’s fathomless eyes upon her, no doubt taking cues from Umbridge. She swallowed thickly until the feeling of being watched passed. Her fists were clenched so tightly her blunt nails broke the skin of her palm. The sting of pain grounded her.

And as if the Matron didn’t just spend the last five minutes threatening and belittling the entire room, she smiled brightly and bounced on her heels. “Splendid! I am so looking forward to another productive day. The weather is superb, so there’s no excuse for anyone to dawdle in the dining hall. Remember, idle hands are the devil’s playthings.”

Parvati scoffed under her breath as the room once more erupted into conversation. Hermione watched as the Doctor extended a hand to their Matron, helping her off the crate. Umbridge flushed lightly, her hand lingering on his even after his fingers released her. Hermione blinked, glancing away sharply and staring at her congealed porridge.

“Well, the day is certainly off to an interesting start,” Lavender said, sweeping a pile of crumbs to the floor with a smirk. She loved creating a mess for Filch.

“You’re one lucky bint, Mione.” Parvati grabbed a piece of toast and began ripping it into small pieces, tossing them over her shoulder onto the floor. “You’ll get to spend some quality time with the good doctor before any of us. You have to report back, spare no detail.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at their antics. “I will do no such thing. I don’t understand the cause for such a stir. He’s a medical professional, what do the girls think is going to happen? He sees us as his patients and nothing more.”

Lavender smirked, leaning in closer. “Obviously you don’t know why the last doc got chucked.”

Hermione’s pulse thrummed wildly. “What do you mean?”

“He was a bad man.”

Hermione jumped lightly, nearly forgetting Luna was still seated beside her. The girl’s simple but loaded declaration made goosebumps erupt along her arms.

“What did he do?”

“Let’s just say he adhered to the medical half of his job title a bit more closely than the professional part,” Parvati said with disinterest, glancing about the room.

Hermione’s mind reeled. “Are you saying he was inappropriate with the residents?”

“If that’s the genteel way of saying he knocked boots with ‘em, then yes.” Lavender looked far too amused for the subject matter they were discussing.

Hermione blinked, face turning white. She opened and closed her mouth, at a loss for what to say, unable to think through the sudden emotions that seized her. How could such a thing happen? This was meant to be a safe haven for young women, the mere idea that someone charged with providing protection and care could abuse them in such a way was overwhelmingly terrifying.

She glanced over her shoulder at where the Doctor last stood, but he was already gone.

* * *

Hermione pushed open the glass inlaid door, the overhead bell ringing through the small Apothecary.

“You’re late.”

She fought back a sigh. “I was detained by Madam Umbridge. She extended the list, we have a new physician on staff and the medical pantry needs restocking.”

“I’m aware. Now stop wasting my time further and hand it to me.”

Hermione crossed the wood slat floor and did as requested, barely phased by Snape’s ire. She was used to it after three months of regular visits. It was unheard of for Umbridge to entrust one of the residents with the important task of procuring medical supplies for the Home, apparently, Filch had been assigned the errand previously. But Hermione’s existing knowledge of medicine and chemistry made her a more viable candidate for the task.

Of course, Umbridge went through the shopping basket with a narrowed eye upon her return each time, no doubt paranoid Hermione was pocketing substances for herself. Hermione found it mildly irritating but didn’t take great offense, she knew how much she could earn if she sold tonics on the side to the other residents or even on the street. Lavender had already tried to convince her to do so more than once before Parvati finally convinced the blonde to let the matter rest.

And as much biting sarcasm as Snape drenched her with during her visits, she knew he preferred her to Filch’s company any day of the week. He often tossed out random questions to challenge her, looking annoyed when she answered correctly, but also somewhat pleased. She imagined he considered the majority of his customer base to be idiots.

She watched as his black eyes scanned the parchment, flickering back and forth rapidly before he set it on the counter and disappeared between the aisles. She heard him rummaging about, the tinkling of glass, and saw flashes of his thin, ghostly frame between gaps in the shelves.

“May I help?”

She already knew what the answer would be, but enjoyed poking at the bear with a stick. She had so few outlets for entertainment these days.

“The only help you could provide is acting as a human door jam.”

She rolled her eyes. “I was going to suggest substituting the laudanum with soothing syrups. Both are addictive but the girls won’t be as familiar with the latter and therefore less likely to abuse it.”

“Seeing as I’m not a complete imbecile I’ve already made the alteration.”

She folded her hands behind her back, glancing about the shop with a gleam in her eyes, pacing along the display cases. She didn’t notice Snape watching her through the shelving, dark brow raised.

“You seem restless today, Ms. Granger. List the humoural temperaments.”

She blinked, feeling a thrill race along her spine, making her stand taller. “Sanguine, choleric, melancholic, and phlegmatic, if you’re basing it on classical theory. If you lean towards Kant’s argument then of course phlegmatic is merely the absence of temperament. Unless you adhere to the five temperamental theory, in which case the latter is deemed neutral, whereas relationship-oriented introverts are regarded as the fifth classification.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up a fraction before his expression once more pinched into a classic scowl.

“There, you got to show off. Now stop wearing a hole in my floor.”

She sighed, coming to a standstill. “The pedlar’s back. I saw him at the corner of Browning on my way here.”

“I’m aware.”

She frowned at the scorn in his voice. “Why hasn’t he been arrested? He’s selling snake oil and patents, at least one death has been linked directly to a tonic from his wagon.”

“The authorities rarely put the focus where it is most needed, surely you of all people are aware of that unfortunate fact.”

Hermione swallowed thickly, averting her eyes to the floor. She couldn’t shake the dark cloud she felt hovering above her since last night. She was pulled from her thoughts by Snape’s bored drawl.

“I find it fascinating you have such concern for the welfare of Fletcher’s clients and so little for your own.”

She glanced up, brows pinched, watching him move from one aisle to the next like a graceful bird of prey, long deft fingers grabbing up tiny bottles, boxes, and pouches and adding them to the ever growing pile.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve lost half a stone since you last deemed to grace me with your incessant presence.”

She feigned fascination with a display case in front of her, which did nothing to deter him.

“And here I thought you had some common sense about you. Surely you’re aware daily sustenance is needed for the body’s vital functions to continue operating?”

“Last Spring a man survived for twenty-two days on a boat without food.”

“What a useful piece of information.”

She bit her lip, glancing down, a flush stealing her cheeks.

Snape was silent for a while, the only sounds in the shop his swift footsteps as he navigated inventory until he spoke again, voice laced with disinterest.

“You should try and survive until Parliament reconvenes. Gurney is bringing forth an interesting proposal.”

Her head snapped up, embarrassment forgotten in wake of excitement. She stepped around one of the shelves but only caught a flash of black coat tails as he darted to another corner.

“They’re voting on the Medical Act?”

She didn’t have regular access to political news anymore, having to settle for snippets she overheard in the streets or read in stray newspapers she found along the pavement.

“Indeed.”

“Do you think it will pass?” she continued to search for him along the stacks. He was like a human shadow, jumping from one place to the next as quickly as light traveled.

“The Queen is certainly against it. But Gurney has a long record of overcoming great obstacles. He managed to get the Property Act through after all.”

Hermione swallowed heavily. The implications were life-changing. For the first time in a long time, she dared to feel hope. Her heart was light and fragile as glass in her chest, one touch and it would shatter to pieces.

Snape appeared before her as though materializing from thin air. She reared back, tipped off balance. He grimaced as she steadied herself against the wall, narrowly avoiding crashing into a cough suppressant display.

“Another symptom of starvation is lightheadedness.”

She blinked rapidly. “I didn’t- I mean, you-” she swallowed, shaking her head and falling silent as he passed her swiftly, loaded basket in hand.

“I will add these to the Home account. Tell me, do you enjoy performing sums as much as hearing yourself speak?”

She blinked, head tipping as she watched him pull the ledger from under the counter, writing fast and furious along the page.

“I find myself in need of part-time assistance. I would put a sign out front but I shudder to think of the vermin it would attract.”

Her heart lurched. She inhaled sharply as she watched him continued to write, speaking as though she weren’t even there.

“I need someone to take inventory, restock shelves, and conduct rudimentary sales on occasion. And while I’d prefer a deaf-mute, I doubt I’ll be able to find one on such short notice. If I’m forced to settle, I suppose you’re as adequate as anyone else. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in the position?”

She swallowed thickly, standing straight. “I- yes, of course, that is, I would be honored to- if you needed the help-”

“Bloody hell.” He glanced up sharply, eyes narrowed. “I already regret asking.”

She couldn't help the smile from overtaking her face, causing him to scowl further. “Yes! I would love to assist you-” she stopped short, eyes widening. “But I don’t think Madam Umbridge would allow it.”

His expression flickered, true malevolence overtaking his face for a brief moment, so quick she wasn’t certain if she imagined it or not.

“I will speak to her,” he glanced back down, continuing to write. “Your skills are wasted as a simple errand girl.”

She blinked rapidly, sure she’d misheard him even as warmth permeated her chest. The comment was high praise coming from Snape, and it had been so long since she’d heard such commending words regarding her intellect she felt shaken to her core.

He raised a brow, eyes still focused on the parchment but no doubt sensing her reaction. “Don’t get a big head. It will look obscenely out of place on that skeletal body.”

That was more like it. Still, she felt light, dizzy with excitement and hope, the dark cloud overhead breaking apart, light peaking through.

For just a moment, she felt the old Hermione stir beneath the surface.

* * *

She was so excited about her potential new position at the Apothecary she nearly forgot her second mission of the day. She was supposed to head straight back to the Home with the supplies, of course, but she knew escaping the oppressive walls would be all but impossible as soon as she returned.

And she had something vitally important to do, no matter the consequences.

She briefly studied her reflection in the window pane, trying not to cringe. She looked ghastly, and while she normally didn’t give two figs, she knew the person she was meeting with inside the cafe would have a strong opinion on the matter.

She sighed, doing her best to keep her loose curls out of her face. She didn’t spend nearly as much time as she should twisting her hair up, it was only a matter of time before the entire mess came crashing down around her.

She knew she couldn’t delay any longer. Taking a deep breath she pushed the door open and stepped inside. Luckily they were meeting at a halfway point and therefore she only received a fraction of the sidelong glances she would have been subjected to if they were at a nicer establishment.

She stood on her tiptoes, peering around the tops of heads looking for the familiar shock of hair, balancing her Apothecary baskets between her hands.

“Mione! Over here!”

Her heart leaped into her throat. She spun around, eyes wide and smile breaking loose upon spotting him.

“Harry!”

He stood from his chair as she approached, weaving between tables. He stepped forward, unable to wait any longer, and seized her in a hug. She laughed, wrapping one arm around him and holding the basket aloft with the other. He breathed into her hair.

“Christ, I’ve missed you.”

She felt tears spring to her eyes at the simple admission. Her chest burned.

“I’ve missed you, too.”

He slowly released her. They gazed at each other, oblivious to the stares they were receiving from the other patrons. Her bedraggled appearance may not cause a huge stir, but a man and woman embracing publically was certainly a borderline scandal. No doubt the onlookers were curious to see how much further the couple took it.

But Hermione was used to the assumptions people drew about her and her best friend. She’d given up explaining their bond years ago. Harry had been a central part of her life since their fathers became work associates and then friends when their children were barely three feet high. After his parents died and his godfather took him in, Hermione’s parents doted on the boy they considered a son.

She had been used to seeing him on a daily basis until he turned eighteen and joined the Royal Navy. Being without him for weeks, sometimes months at a time was a painful adjustment. And then tragedy had struck Hermione’s own family, and now she saw him even less.

“You look dashing,” she said with a smirk, admiring his tanned complexion and bright emerald gaze.

He flashed a dazzling smile, dimples appearing at the ends. “Stop that. You look-” he stopped short, finally taking a moment to gaze upon her fully. His smile fell, eyes dimming. “Mione, what’s happened?”

She swallowed, stepping around him towards the table, eager to sit and block her thin frame from view.

“Nothing’s happened, let’s sit and order, I’m starving.”

She cringed, regretting the turn of phrase as soon as she said it. She kept her gaze averted to the basket as she set it beside her feet.

“Obviously. Have they not been feeding you?”

She shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve just been really busy-”

“Too busy to take care of yourself?” He slid into the chair across from her, eyes narrowed.

“Harry, please, let’s not do this right now-”

“Then when Mione? I haven’t seen you in over two months, and you look like you-”

He inhaled sharply, shaking his head. Now she narrowed her eyes.

“And I look like I what, Harry? Say it.”

“Nevermind.”

“No, you obviously want to talk about it, so let’s talk. What do I look like?”

“I don’t want to fight.”

She exhaled slowly, expression softening. “Neither do I.”

He sighed, handing her a menu and opening his. “If you want we can go round back and I’ll let you punch me.”

She smirked. “That sounds splendid.” Her eyes roamed the page without reading anything. She glanced over the top. “How was the Mediterranean? You look like Apollo come to life.”

He laughed shortly. “I don’t know about that. But it was breathtaking, Mione. I have to take you to the islands. You’ve never seen water so blue, the way it sparkles like blue topaz beneath the sun.”

She smiled, happy to see Harry talk so animatedly about something once more. Her friend was normally in high spirits, always finding the bright side no matter the situation. She had been equal parts heartbroken and thrilled when he followed in his father and godfather’s shoes and enlisted.

“And the ship? Is it really mastless?”

“Yes, the first of her kind. She has a twin that is about to be sea-bound as well. They’re called Devastation class.”

His eyes lit up as he described the ironclad warships, but Hermione felt a stone sink to the pit of her stomach.

“Do you man the gun turret?”

He smirked, shaking his head. “I’m not senior enough for that. Yet. But Sirius thinks I’ll be ready in another couple years. I’m focused on weaponry but still training.”

She sighed. “I hate the thought of you on 13,000-ton weapon in the middle of the ocean.”

“If I’m going to be in the middle of the ocean, better to be on a floating weapon.”

She rolled her eyes as he laughed. “Relax, Mione. No one is going to mess with our ship, not when they know the firepower we have. I was in more danger on the previous routes I sailed.”

“Don’t remind me.”

His eyes scanned her face. “Enough about me. How are you?”

She bit her lip, focusing on the menu once more.

“That bad, huh.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Exactly.”

She swallowed tentatively. “Harry-”

“I don’t understand why you insist on staying there, Mione. Grimmauld is sitting completely empty right now, and even when Sirius and I are off rotation we’re practically family-”

“The rest of the world doesn’t know that, Harry. And they’d hardly listen if we tried to explain it to them.”

“I don’t give a toss what the rest of the world thinks.”

“People who don’t care about the opinions of others lead very lonely lives. And that’s what will happen to us both if we’re labeled an item.”

“We won’t be lonely if we have each other.”

She sighed, setting the menu down and leaning forward. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I love you, Harry. And right now you might be longing for travel and adventure, but someday you’ll want to settle down, find a wife and start a family. And you’ll never be able to do so if all of London thinks I’ve been your kept mistress for the better part of our youth.”

“Then I’ll find someone outside of London.”

She rolled her eyes. “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”

“You mean you can’t stand it when I punch holes in your argument.”

“You’d have a better chance of punching holes in your warship.” She picked up the menu once more, eyes narrowed.

He smirked. “Glad to see your sharp tongue hasn’t dulled.”

She smirked in return. “I seldom have the opportunity to use it now that you’re off sailing the high seas.”

“So I take it that means you haven’t spoken to anyone else?”

Her amusement faded, knuckles turning white as she gripped the paper so tightly it bent.

“Hm?”

“I’ll take your half-hearted deflection as a resounding no.”

She swallowed. “I think I’ll get something sweet, I’m craving fresh fruit.”

“Hermione.”

She ground her teeth, hating when Harry used her proper name. It rarely boded well.

“I know you’ve been avoiding our friends because you’re all they ask me about since I got back.”

“Don’t be dramatic, you only got back yesterday.”

“I did. And guess who was waiting at my doorstep?”

Her heart lurched, her entire body going rigid in her seat. She continued to stare blankly at the dessert selection.

“I have no idea.”

“No guess whatsoever?”

“I’d have made one otherwise.”

“So you didn’t get into a big fight with-”

“I don’t want to discuss this.” She glanced up sharply, eyes narrowed. She couldn’t bear to hear his name spoken aloud. Not yet.

“I didn’t want to discuss it either, but I was forced to listen to his drunken ramblings until one in the bloody morning, so you can sit here and listen to me for a few minutes.”

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms like a petulant child.

“Now I have no idea what is going on between the two of you…” He narrowed his gaze. “Frankly, I don’t _want_ to know, since I’m sure it will send me into a violent rage, and I’m not going to be kicked out of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy over Draco Bloody Malfoy-” she cringed, unable to mask her visceral reaction. “So the two of you are going to work it out so I don’t have to have to act as mediator.”

She shook her head. “No one has asked you to be a mediator.” She certainly knew Draco wouldn’t. Then again, if he was truly in his cups last night and went to Harry’s door, then he must have been in quite a state… she wondered how much he revealed. It couldn't have been much, otherwise, Harry would have brought up the topic right away.

“The two of you have fought like cats and dogs since I made the horrific mistake of introducing you ten years ago. If I didn’t step in every now and then I’d have lost my sanity a long time ago. But I can’t do that anymore, not with being abroad and not with you being stuck in that asylum. I worry about you every day, all day, Mione. I need to know you’re okay. Draco can look out for you. But if you refuse to speak with him-”

“It’s not that,” she said, quickly swallowing and wishing she could recall the words.

Harry raised a dark brow. “No? Then what is it?”

She inhaled sharply, cheeks tinging pink. Harry groaned. “Bloody hell, I knew it, I’m going to fly into a violent rage-”

“It’s not a joke.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“I don’t want to discuss this with you-”

“Then discuss it with Draco!”

“I can’t!”

She blinked, jolting as she realized she had practically screamed the last part. She glanced around, eyes from nearby tables upon them. Harry sighed, either oblivious or uncaring of their audience. Probably the latter, as her friend was frustratingly observant.

“You don’t have a choice, Mione.”

She glanced back across the table, brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“He said you have to arrange a meeting with him, or he’s coming to you.”

She swallowed.

“Furthermore, he said if you make him come to you, he’s arriving in his family’s most gaudy stagecoach and wearing his most ostentatious suit and will tip the gossip rags off to his whereabouts so your reunion makes it to the front of the paper.”

She rolled her eyes, hands curling into fists on her lap.

Harry smirked, finding far too much humor in the blonde aristocrat's ludicrous threats.

“He also said to inform you that if you plan on slipping out of the Home upon his arrival, he’ll have his father purchase the deed to the building and the land, and have everyone but you evicted by morning.”

Hermione nodded, face pinched. “Lovely. Anything else?”

Harry smiled. “Yes, he said you have twenty-four hours to send him word, starting from last night.”

She scowled. “That son of a-”

“Are you ready to order?”

Hermione blinked, gazing up at the woman who stood beside their table, eyes fixed firmly to Harry, obvious wonder in their depths. Even out of uniform her best friend made a very attractive sight.

“Not yet, luv, give us a moment,” he barely spared her a glance but flashed a cheeky wink that made her giggle nervously.

“Okay, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

She walked away slowly, batting her lashes. Hermione rolled her eyes. “Why am I surrounded by such desperate women?”

“She wasn’t desperate, she was flirting. There’s a difference, not that you’d recognize either.”

“What does that mean?”

“Your idea of flirting is debating politics or breaking someone’s nose.”

She flushed brightly. “That was one time! And it was hardly flirting-”

“As I said, I _don’t want to know_. I just want the two of you to get it sorted. Which is why I’m here to reluctantly act as your messenger pigeon.”

She sighed, shoulders drooping. She didn’t want to do this, wasn’t ready to do this, but it seemed she had little choice in the matter. Her free will burned away in her childhood home.

And yet a part of her, albeit a small, frustratingly supercilious part of her, knew that Draco wasn’t being all that unreasonable. After all, she had ghosted him for the last three months, avoiding public markets and parks where she knew he may corner her, and remained unresponsive to his many letters.

She read them all, obsessively, until she memorized every word, before carefully folding and binding them in a pile, tucking them beneath her mattress pad only to repeat the ritual night after night.

Her silence was cruel. She knew that. But avoidance was so much easier than facing the situation head-on. There’d been too much to deal with this last year, she couldn’t process it all at once.

However, it seemed he finally had her cornered. She believed every word of his threat. It would only serve his ultimate purpose to splash their faces over the gossip rags, and she knew if she held up in her room he would happily purchase the building, his family had more money than the Crown and his father was constantly buying and renovating properties. A Wayward Girls Home would only diversify his already massive portfolio, making him look like a charitable philanthropist and further strengthening the Malfoy name.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek, pulling free from the vortex of her thoughts and feeling exhausted by the onslaught. She locked eyes with Harry, exhaling sharply through her nose at his amused and knowing grin.

“Tomorrow. Royal Gardens. 10 am.”

It was a struggle to bite out each word. Harry seemed only more amused. “Great. Where should he meet you inside?”

She closed her eyes briefly, the familiar stab of pain impaling her heart. She snapped her gaze back quickly, trying to mask her reaction.

“Just tell him to meet me at Kew. He’ll know where to find me.”

* * *

Hermione was reluctant to part ways from Harry. She would have happily lingered all day in his company, but she had delayed her return to the Home for too long already. She had no doubt Umbridge would punish her for her tardiness, but she wanted to avoid total house arrest.

She doubted Draco would appreciate her excuse if she stood him up, and she certainly couldn't reveal her plans to meet him tomorrow to her Matron. Umbridge already thought all of her charges were sexed up strumpets who were only a glance away from being impregnated by any man that passed them along the street.

Hermione would have to be on her best behavior and draw as little notice to herself as possible until she was able to slip out after breakfast tomorrow morning. Perhaps she could get Parvati to cover for her should her absence be noted. She would ask less questions than Lavender-

“There you are!”

Hermione froze halfway down the hall, the click click click gaining speed and volume behind her. She took a deep breath before slowly turning around. She opened her mouth but her Matron cut her off.

“I don’t want to hear whatever pitiful lie you’ve concocted! You should have been back an hour ago. Where have you been? And give me that!” She forcefully tugged the Apothecary basket from Hermione’s grasp. “If I find a single item missing you can rest assured you will be spending the rest of your nights sleeping in the gutter.”

Hermione forced her face to remain neutral. “Yes, Madam.”

Umbridge huffed in annoyance, always frustrated by the fact Hermione never took the bait.

“Come to my office at once.”

Hermione fell in step behind the short rotund woman, hands clenched at her side. They followed a few more twisting paths through the old building before they emerged inside the horrendously decorated room.

Each wall was lined with shelves housing a menagerie of glass figurines, mostly cats, but a large assortment of other adorable creatures with large round eyes and softly curling mouths. It was always jarring standing inside such a whimsical space accompanied by the evil witch herself. It was a conundrum that such a vile woman would have such delicate, fanciful taste in decor.

Hermione felt the hairs on her arm and neck stand on end everytime she was trapped inside. It reminded her eerily of the sensations she experienced when passing through other parts of the Home… other dank, dark, rooms-

She cleared her throat, trying to distract herself from the treacherous thoughts. She couldn't afford to think on that now, not here, not in the presence of Medusa herself.

Umbridge glanced over her shoulder at the noise, eyes wide and expectant. Hermione flushed, scrambling for an excuse as to why she called the woman’s attention.

“Um… I…” her mind was a wasteland of broken thoughts and memories, her emotions still running rampant after her visit with Harry.

The Matron rolled her eyes. “Spare me.”

She set the basket on her desk and began rummaging through the pile, clicking her tongue as though annoyed everything was in order.

Suddenly a large dark mass floated past the open doorway. Hermione gasped, stepping back, an invisible current of cold sweeping past, settling into her bones, hardening her muscles and freezing her in place.

“Idiot girl,” Umbridge hissed, stepping out from behind her desk. “Not an ounce of propriety.”

Hermione blinked, dazed, staring at the empty doorway, wondering if Umbridge saw the haunting apparition as well. The Matron stepped into the hallway, fake smile plastered ever so sweetly on her face. “Oh, Doctor Riddle, do you have a moment?”

Hermione swallowed, brows pinched in confusion as the steady tread of footsteps echoed off the stone. Suddenly a tall imposing figure appeared before her, dressed in the same dark pitch as this morning. Hermione flushed brightly, realizing she mistook his passing figure as some supernatural entity.

_I’m going mad._

She blinked rapidly as his eyes shifted past the short Matron and fastened on Hermione.

“Yes, Madam?”

Umbridge glanced over her shoulder with a scowl, as though it were Hermione’s fault for drawing his attention away. “I just received new inventory from the Apothecary. Would you like me to have it delivered to your office?”

He smiled, eyes snapping down to the older woman who flushed hotly beneath his scrutiny. Hermione swallowed, something in his expression looked lethal.

“No need, I am happy to take it myself.”

“Oh, alright then, please, come in.”

It was disturbing to watch Umbridge titter about like a nervous school girl. It was more disturbing to feel the shift in atmospheric pressure as the Doctor stepped inside, as though his presence held a gravitational pull all its own. Hermione fought its effect, stepping back until she was practically pressed up against the wall. The movement drew his attention, eyes locking onto her once more. The corner of his lips turned up in a wry smirk.

“Hello there. My name is Doctor Thomas Riddle, and you are?”

She swallowed, stomach twisting into knots.

“The doctor asked you a question!” Umbridge hissed as she reloaded the basket.

Hermione wet her lips, trying to remember how to breathe. “Hermione Granger.”

“Hermione,” he repeated, eyes dancing with amusement. “That name sounds strangely familiar.”

She stared at him with wide, pleading eyes. This was it. He was going to expose her midnight excursion to his chamber, last night’s reprieve was merely a mocking gesture, a passing amusement at her expense.

“Ah yes,” he said with a bright smile, teeth gleaming in the light. “I know where I’ve heard the name… The Winter’s Tale. Were your parents fans of Shakespeare?”

She blinked, heart thumping painfully in her chest, her body still surging with adrenaline, unsure what was happening, but she forced her voice to work beyond the tight constriction in her throat.

“No. I mean yes, they were.” She swallowed nervously, flushing further under his intense scrutiny. “But they were bigger fans of Greek Mythology. My mother’s name was Helen. My father called her his Helen of Troy.”

The Doctor’s eyes flashed, his expression changing but the emotion indiscernible to her eyes. “Ah, yes. Hermione, the daughter of Helen and King Menelaus. She married the son of Achilles, did she not?”

Hermione felt her shoulders ease a touch, finding familiar footing among such topics.

“Yes, after breaking an engagement to her grandfather.”

The Doctor chuckled, the sound rich and deep and soothing to her nerves.

“Seems she caught a lucky break then.”

Hermione wet her lips, stepping away from the wall slightly, the lure of such conversation overriding her previous panic.

“Hardly. Pyrrhus took a mistress and abandoned his wife after she failed to conceive. Hermione fled Sparta, married her cousin and died in childbirth.”

The Doctor raised a dark brow, eyes narrowing slightly. He drew in a short breath, she held hers, eager to hear his response, when their Matron’s shrill voice broke the spell woven between them.

“I find such stories a complete waste of time. They’re myths, nothing more, hardly worth studying. No one ever succeeded in life by memorizing fairytales.”

Hermione blinked, glancing down, barely catching the predatory flash that overcame his features as he faced Umbridge.

“On the contrary, Madam. I find that Greek and Roman mythology played a pivotal role in the developing world, leading to the most notable innovations in arts and science that allow us to lead the lives we do today.”

Umbridge glanced up, eyes wide. “Oh. Well, I…”

“The earliest charted navigation system for shipping routes were created thanks to man’s understanding of the stars, which were explained using stories of ancient myth and legend, making them easier to memorize and teach to future generations.” He tucked his hands into his pockets, tipping his head as he pinned her with a rather sardonic expression. “In fact, the majority of the cosmos are named after such stories. And even today the symbol for modern medicine is the staff used by the God of healing, Asclepius.”

Umbridge’s face was somehow deathly white and blistering red all at once. Hermione felt her chest swell with some unknown emotion, heart racing, and for a brief moment, her eyes met the Doctor’s.

Time stopped. The air shifted once more, gravity evading the room, leaving her weightless, floating among the stars he just described.

And then he glanced away, as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Hermione felt her feet hit the floor, limbs heavy, cursedly weighted to the earth.

“That’s very interesting, Doctor,” Umbridge said in a keening voice, obviously embarrassed and fishing for a change in topic. “Well, the supplies are ready if you’d like to take them…”

She swallowed nervously as the Doctor approached, smiling without warmth as he picked the basket up. He glanced down at the contents, brow raised. “These were delivered?”

Umbridge bristled. “No, they were picked up by Ms. Granger. Is there a mistake? I knew the girl was up to something-”

“Not at all. Everything is in order. I was merely curious.”

Umbridge deflated. “Oh. Yes. Well, it saves on a delivery charge if I send one of the residents.”

The Doctor nodded. “Perhaps she can help me stock the medical pantry, given her familiarity with the contents.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question. Hermione felt her heart leap into her throat.

“Oh…” Umbridge looked decidedly thrown for a loop. “That is highly unorthodox. We don’t trust our charges to handle the medical supplies directly.”

“Merely to purchase and transport them.”

Hermione bit her cheek to stop from smiling. She’d never witnessed anyone challenge their Matron before. It was superbly entertaining.

“I… well, Ms. Granger has a background with such things, otherwise I wouldn’t-”

“Wonderful, she’s the perfect candidate to assist me then.”

Umbridge blinked. “That’s not- I don’t- well, I suppose-”

“I begin seeing patients in two days time. Send her to my clinic tomorrow after lunch.”

Hermione swayed on her feet, wondering if she was rendered invisible. He had engaged her without hesitation moments before, teased her even, and now he spoke as if she wasn't in the room.

“Alright,” Umbridge said with obvious unease.

“Thank you, Madam. Have a wonderful evening.” He turned without awaiting a response, striding for the door.

The room was rapidly darkening with the setting sun, his face cast in shadows. Hermione drew in a breath, feeling equal parts frustration and dismay, not fulling comprehending either reaction.

He stopped in the hall, turning to face the doorway, directly before Hermione but out of her Matron’s sight.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Granger.”

She swallowed, limbs rigid.

“I shall see you tomorrow.” His smile was perversely beautiful, lethal, dripping venom. “Sleep well.”


	3. The Cold Hand of Fate

_Is it mad to pray for better hallucinations?_  
.   .   .

Hermione took a deep breath, hands curled at her sides. She was trembling, and it had nothing to do with the temperature surrounding her. The manufactured heat normally soothed her nerves, but not today.

She stood beneath a glittering blown glass roof that arched high into the blue skies above, thick green canopies cascading overhead, breaking the sunlight into beams that illuminated the miniature rainforest surrounding her.

The Palm House was a true marvel of engineering and beauty, the gem of the Royal Gardens, a point of English pride. It housed the most breathtaking exotic plants, many extinct from their original habitats, an explosion of lush greenery and bright colors. Everywhere you turned there were blossoms, orchids, epiphytes, ferns and bromeliads… there was no square centimeter that wasn’t covered by leaf, petal or bark.

It was an oasis, Hermione’s favorite spot to come and explore since she was a child. It was where her father took her every Sunday, no matter his workload. It was where she dragged Harry and her friends to explore when they otherwise wanted to spend the day lying in or getting into trouble.

It was where she and Draco-

She swallowed, pressing a hand to her chest.

Bloody hell. Was she really doing this?

She debated fleeing for the umpteenth time, the only thing keeping her in place the lingering threat Draco posed if she stood him up and the pleasant memories the Palm House invoked.

She calmed herself by thinking of her father, his warm brown eyes and easy smile, the excitement that lit his gaze as he introduced her to some rare plant species, explaining the potential medical benefits of researching the genome. He became so animated when discussing his passion, sharing it with his only child. She loved listening to his voice.

She swallowed, eyes burning. She pushed the memories aside, taking another deep breath, this one shaky and thick in her throat.

_Get it together! Don’t let Draco see you like this…_

She already cringed to think of what her hair looked like thanks to the saturating humidity. She’d spent twice the time getting ready this morning, skipping breakfast to allow maximum beauty prep. Her roommates had berated her with questions, knowing she was up to something. Hermione never spent so much time carefully plaiting her hair. She certainly never asked to borrow Lavender's rouge.

She’d managed to drive them out of the room with promises of explaining everything later in the evening. She’d worry about thinking up some excuse later. She couldn’t tell them the truth. They’d never understand.

She tried to distract herself by examining the nearby rubber tree, watching the white sap slowly drain from the long narrow stump into a metal dish at its base.

And suddenly, she felt a shift in the air. Not just any shift. A familiar sensation of being watched, examined, stripped…

She swallowed tentatively, swaying on her feet as she slowly turned in place, eyes cast downward, delaying the inevitable. But the feeling only intensified, a red-hot heat stealing across her skin, reminding her too much of the fire. Her gaze snapped up.

And there he was.

Standing tall and picturesque in a three-piece charcoal bespoke suit, black undervest and crisp white cravat. The silver chain of his pocket watch peeking out from beneath the lapels. His tie and pocket square were silver, which instinctually made her look to his eyes, mercurial and hypnotic, always eliciting a bevy of reactions in her.

His white blonde hair was swept back, the thick locks perfectly tamed as always. She curled her hands at her sides, wanting to run her fingers through that hair, muss it up, tear at his clothing, make him look less god and more mortal. His flawlessness angered her. She inhaled sharply, eyes narrowing.

“Malfoy.”

His eyes narrowed in turn, sharp features pinching into a familiar scowl.

“Granger.”

She straightened, spine ramrod straight.

“You summoned me. Here I am.”

She watched his Adam's apple bob as his eyes swept over her like a physical touch.

“Here you are.”

Her heart beat wildly as his long legs ate up the distance between them. She braced herself for impact, unsure what would happen, unsure what she _wanted_ to happen…

He stopped a meter away and she felt her body deflate, whether in relief or disappointment she wasn’t certain. She glared up at him, limbs rigid. He glared down at her, limbs lax and loose like a cat basking in the sun.

He slowly reached out and seized her hand before she had time to process the movement. His long fingers uncurled her fist, bringing the dainty appendage to his mouth where his lips lightly grazed the skin on her knuckles, maintaining glare for glare all the while.

She scoffed at the chivalrous act, enraged he could be so formal at a time like this. Like she was… like she was… like she was just _anyone_ …

She tried to pull her hand away but he merely gripped it tighter, keeping it near his mouth, his words hissed across her skin.

“Never a shred of manners.”

“Not everyone can be such an epic ponce.”

“As opposed to a know-it-all, uptight bint.”

“Leave it to a man to consider intelligence in a woman a character flaw.”

“If I wanted to list your flaws I’d start with your hair.”

“I’d start with your pointed face.”

“You look dreadful, barely ninety pounds soaking wet.”

“Your expression looks dumbfounded, as usual.”

“You already commented on my face. Losing your edge, Granger?”

“Not in the least, I have to limit my insults to small words you’ll comprehend.”

His eyes were ablaze, sharp cheekbones tinging pink, but she suspected it wasn’t in embarrassment. She knew that look. She knew it was likely reflected in her own face.

“You have no idea how infuriated you’ve made me these last three months,” he ground out, jaw ticking.

“I couldn’t care less.”

“Is that so? I’ll have to fix that.”

She gasped as he closed the distance lightning fast, arm seizing her waist and pulling her flush against him, easily lifting her off her feet. He strode backward, leaves brushing their shoulders as he backed them into a corner, covered by thick foliage, as though they were truly sequestered in the pits of the Amazon. She blinked, dazed, light-headed, and then instinctively twined her arms around his neck as his lips descended on hers.

The kiss was frantic, hungry, fang, tongue and claw, wild beasts battling for dominance in the jungle, predators trying to overtake the other. She moaned as her back was pressed against the unforgiving bark of a tree, digging through her dress and corset, leaving indentations in her skin. Or perhaps it was his fingertips leaving bruises, marking her as his, as he liked to say.

She pulled away first, gasping for air, feet still dangling half a foot off the ground, pinned between his body and the tree. She tipped her head back in a vain effort to open her airway, exposing the column of her throat. He took full advantage.

She made a desperate keening sound as his teeth scraped along her pulse point, tongue quickly following to soothe the burn. She was too lost in the raw heat of it all to feel proper embarrassment.

Her hands drifted into his hair at long last, fingers raking through the silken locks, nails scratching along his scalp, earning an animalistic growl from deep in his chest. She felt it rumble up his frame to his throat, pressed as tightly as they were.

“D-Draco-” she barely recognized her own voice, eyes drifting closed.

He jolted, hips grinding into hers. Stars flashed behind her lids, she moaned, wetting her lips and trying again, voice stronger, firmer.

“Draco.”

“Say it again,” his voice sounded like pure gravel, making her core tighten reflexively.

“Draco.”

“Again.”

She opened her eyes, fingers releasing his hair and curling over his broad shoulders, caught between pushing him away and pulling him closer.

“We can’t- we have to stop.”

“Hermione…” he breathed against her neck, breath scalding.

“No… we can’t, not here.”

“Just say my name again.”

Her heart lurched, eyes going wide.

_“That’s a good girl, now say my name.”_

She gasped, choking on a sob, pushing with all her strength at his shoulders. She was no longer encased in Draco’s arms, no longer surrounded by his familiar scent, drowning in his liquid sounds...

She was pinned between another man and a hard, unyielding door. Locked. Trapped. She could feel the knob digging into her lower back. Could smell the cigar smoke and liquor on his breath, feel the scrape of sandpaper along his jaw against her neck. A caged bird, unable to escape the extended claws of the cat paw stretching through the bars.

Her eyes filled with tears, desperate sounds emitting from her throat.

Her feet hit the ground, lungs expanding rapidly as her body was relieved of the weight pressing against it. She felt coldness seize her at the loss of warmth. Her muscles shook with relief, with shock.

“Hermione?”

Her eyes snapped up, unfocused, lost.

“What’s wrong?”

Gentle fingers seized her jaw, tipping her face upward. “Are you crying?”

She swallowed thickly. “No.”

His thumb swept beneath her eye, smearing a trail of wetness. “Did I hurt you?”

She blinked rapidly, pulling her face from his grasp, turning her back to him and wiping at her eyes, burning with embarrassment and shame.

“Of course not.”

“Then I upset you?”

“It’s not you, Draco.”

“Then what is it?”

She shook her head. “It’s nothing. I’m just a bit overwhelmed. I haven’t seen you in so long and-”

“And whose fault is that?” His concern was rapidly replaced with ire, she could tell by his voice.

That was good. Ire she could handle. She was used to his anger. His worry and concern would destroy her.

She spun back around, emotions once more in check. Dark memories suppressed to the depths of her mind where they belonged.

“I surmise by your tone you think it was mine.”

His eyes went comically wide before narrowing to menacing slits. He stepped towards her, fists clenched at his sides.

“Have you lost your mind as well as half your body weight? I’ve made every attempt at communicating, at closing this distance between us-”

“And why do you think I put the distance there to begin with?”

“I have no bloody idea! If I did then perhaps I wouldn’t be wandering the city half mad, seeing your face in every frizzy-haired woman I pass, hearing your voice in every opinionated arse I’m forced to listen to at sessions!”

She blinked, his mocking words undermined by the declaration hidden beneath, knocking her from her pedestal of anger.

“Draco, I… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you-”

“Didn’t you? Have these three months not been a punishment?”

Her brows drew together. “Punishment?”

“You’re angry with me for proposing so soon after your parent’s death. You weren’t ready then.” His shoulders relaxed, face softening, his emotions always flipping on a dime, making her head spin. “I understand that now. I should have been more sensitive to your feelings, tried to understand what you were going through. I...” he swallowed, as though forcing the next words out. “I’m sorry.”

She raised a brow, expression pinching. Draco was many things. Intelligent, sharp-witted, barb-tongued. His presence was unyielding, all-consuming, drawing every eye when he entered a room without having to utter a word. Between his pale, Adonis looks and notorious surname he never had to compromise, was never denied anything. He didn’t stop to consider the feelings of others, wasn’t emotionally sensitive.

And he certainly never apologized.

“That was the _worst_ memorized speech you’ve ever delivered. And that includes when you were hungover and had to stumble your way through factory wage reform for two hours.”

His eyes narrowed once more, his mask of endearing patience falling away, breaking to pieces on the packed earth beneath their feet.

“Greengrass ensured me it would have a profound effect upon you.”

Hermione reared back. “You told Daphne about us?”

He rolled his eyes. “Bloody hell, we weren’t as incognito as we liked to pretend. People noticed when we disappeared from rooms at the same time.”

She blinked. “What are you saying? Everyone knows you proposed?”

His expression turned lethal. “Don’t be daft. I would hardly go bragging about being rejected so splendidly. I only told Daphne because our parents are trying to arrange a marriage contract between me and her sister.”

Her heart lurched, breath pulled violently from her lungs.

“You’re marrying Astoria?”

He raised a pale brow, malicious delight in his eyes as the corner of his mouth tipped up. “And what if I were? You’ve made your lack of interest quite clear. Surely you have no care in the matter.”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “Two seconds ago you spewed an apology, saying you understood, and now you bait me with threats.”

His expression sobered. “Is that why you said no then? I rushed it?”

He stepped closer and she stepped back. A look of hurt flashed across his features, there one instant and gone the next, anger quick to follow. “Why are you treating me like this? What did I do to upset you so?”

She blinked, eyes burning, chest throbbing. “You didn’t do anything.”

His chest heaved. “Is there something I _should_ have done? You know I hate puzzles, Hermione. Just tell me what you need, what you want, and you’ll have it. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give to you.”

The words were spoken with such passion she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t react as he invaded her space once more, wrapping an arm around her, pulling her in gently this time, one hand splayed along her lower back and the other weaving into the hair at her nape, tugging her head back, forcing her eyes to his.

“Hermione…” he dipped his head down. “I will lay the world at your feet,” he whispered against her lips.

She closed her eyes, unable to maintain a shred of rationality when her vision was so filled by him. “I don’t want the world, Draco.”

She turned her face away before he could kiss her and steal away the last of her resolve.

“I’ve told you that.”

His body went rigid, holding her tighter.

“Then what do you want?”

She blinked, eyes fixed upon a dwarf fern at the base of a eucalyptus tree.

“I don’t know.” She swallowed lightly. “But I know what I don’t want.”

She forced her eyes to meet his. They looked like swirling pools of molten silver, flickering rapidly between her gaze, no doubt trying to suss out her weakness, a way to win the argument. She shook her head, pressing her hand to his chest.

“I don’t want a husband that resents me.”

His brow pinched. “What are you talking about?”

She sighed. “We both know your father would never allow you to marry me.”

“I don’t give a shite about what he wants.”

“He’ll cut you off, Draco. You may say you don’t care now, but trust me, you will. You’ve lived in the lap of luxury your entire life. It’s all you’ve ever known. You’ll learn to make due without it for a little while, consider it an adventure no doubt. But soon you’ll miss it. Want it back. And you’ll blame me for taking it away.”

He blinked, rearing back but not releasing her from his hold. “Is that what you think? Why you said no?”

“Partially.” Her eyes narrowed, nails digging into the silken fabric of his perfectly pressed tie. “I also wasn’t exactly swept off my feet with the manner in which you delivered the proposal. Mostly because it wasn’t a question, it was a demand. A foregone conclusion you drew in your mind before you even arrived. You didn’t declare your affection, you declared a business proposition, a means by which to keep me from winding up destitute. I hardly need your charity, I’m doing just fine on my own.”

He scowled. “Oh yes, you’re obviously thriving at the shelter, you look positively radiant in such fine garments, they must lavish you with riches-”

“You smarmy little-”

“Furthermore,” he interrupted, clutching her tighter as she pushed away, flush with indignant anger. “I find you’re the one who’s drawn forgone conclusions, assuming you know what my father will do. And even if that were to happen, the fact that you think I would turn my frustrations out on you is positively ludicrous.”

“Oh stop it, Draco. You know in your heart everything I’ve said is completely accurate. He wants you to marry Astoria Greengrass for heaven’s sake! Do you really think he’d be fine with you marrying me instead?”

He blinked, mouth opening but no sound emitting. She nodded. “Exactly. And don’t get me started on your mother-”

“Don’t you _dare_ speak against my mother.”

She rolled her eyes. “There you go. Always defending her, even when she makes cutting remarks everytime I enter a room! You know she’d have a conniption if you told her we were engaged. She’d be more incensed than Lucius, and that’s really saying something.”

“I’m a grown man, I don’t need their approval.”

“Don’t you? What about their money, Draco? You really think you could handle living in a home without a private wing devoted just to game rooms?”

He scowled. “I won’t apologize for being born into a family with wealth.”

“And I won’t apologize for being born into a family without it!”

They glared at each other, still pressed firmly against the other, a battle of wills that shook the ground and split the sky.

“Mummie! Look! There are people back there!”

“Where darling? I don’t see any- oh… come along, Henrietta.”

They sprang apart like similarly charged magnets, watching the woman drag her young daughter away from the sordid couple, sending a haughty look of judgment over her shoulder.

Hermione glared at the retreating stranger, too incensed to feel any real embarrassment. Draco swept his fingers through his hair, realigned each strand into place, erasing all evidence of her touch. She took a deep breath, stepping through the trees and shrubs and onto the tiled walkway. He followed in her wake, a simmering heat at her back.

“You claim your intent is not to hurt me, and yet you choose this as our meeting place.”

She blinked, turning to face him once more, mindful to keep several feet of distance between them.

“I chose this place because it’s rarely crowded during weekday mornings, and it reminds me of better times.”

“Better times? So the fact that you rejected my proposal within these very walls means nothing to you?”

She swallowed tentatively. “I didn’t-”

“Or that it’s where we shared our first kiss?”

She closed her mouth, thoughts scattered by the raw pain and longing in his eyes. She felt tears burning at the back of hers and blinked rapidly to keep them at bay. He held her gaze steady for several long, heavy beats before drawing to his full height, emotions cloaked behind his beautifully crafted debonair mask. She wanted to tear it off his face, grind it to dust beneath her heel.

“I see. I didn’t realize our time together meant so little to you. That’s good to know. It will help me move on, as you so obviously have done.”

She felt her chest wrench open. “Draco-”

“There’s no need to drag this on any further, Ms. Granger. I apologize for my unwanted advances. I will leave you to your life. I won’t bother you any further.”

She huffed in annoyance. “I can’t tolerate your melodramatics.”

He started to scowl, the mask starting to crack, but he fought the urge, inhaling sharply through his nose as he stepped back. “Then you should be thrilled you won’t have to suffer them any longer.”

She narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms. “So that’s it then?”

His eyes roamed her face and body one last time, the want, the hunger brewing just beneath the surface, before latching onto her gaze, rendering her breathless.

“That’s it then.”

And then he spun on his heel and marched out of the Palm House.

Out of her life.

* * *

Hermione sat at the table in a swirl of bristling anger.

“Bloody hell,” Parvati said, glancing up from her plate. “What’s the matter?”

“Everything is perfectly fine.”

“Oh. Okay then.” She rolled her eyes and brought a bite of hash to her lips.

Hermione drew in a sharp breath, eyes narrowing as she scanned the open space beside her roommate.

“Where’s Lavender?”

Parvati shrugged a shoulder, swallowing her mouthful. “Dunno. Probably running wild through the streets, driving Filch to madness.”

“What?”

“Today was her turn to do the market run. She went with a few others, I think Hannah was in the group.”

Hermione blinked, glancing around the tables for the familiar set of strawberry blonde pigtails. “They should have been back by now.”

“Don’t worry, Mione. You know Lav, she only volunteers so she can meet up with Cormac. The rest of the lot is probably combing the city for her.”

Hermione shook her head, gazing back across the table. “I don’t understand what she sees in him. She has to know he’s only using her, he’ll never take her away from this place.”

“Who says she isn’t using him? He’s paid for most her wardrobe, buys her whatever she wants when they’re out.”

“But at what cost?”

Parvati raised a brow. “Just because it’s a great expense to you doesn’t mean it’s that way for everyone.”

Hermione’s shoulders drew back, cheeks flushing. “I didn’t- I just meant-” she swallowed, shaking her head. “I just don’t want to see her get hurt. Or kicked out, on account of him of all people.”

Her roommate smirked. “You really hate that boy.”

“He’s vile.”

“He’s handsome and rich.”

“That has nothing to do with his personality.”

“Spoken by a true debutant.”

Hermione’s brows pinched. “Me? A debutant? You have to be joking.”

“You may not be blue blood but you’re as close to it as anyone here has met. You speak differently, act differently-” she raised a staying hand as Hermione went rigid in her seat.

“It’s not an insult, Mione. If anything it’s a compliment. You’re well-bred, educated, raised with solid morals, there’s nothing wrong with that. But I think it’s hard for you to relate to most of the girls here because of it. We weren’t brought up like you. Most of us never had a role model of any kind to teach us right from wrong before we wound up in this place. Lavender doesn’t consider herself compromised when she runs around with Cormac. She doesn’t feel like less of a person, less of a woman. She doesn’t view the world as you do.”

Hermione let out a slow breath, feeling the words settle into her skin, all the way to the bone. She felt a wave of guilt and shame seize her, especially in the wake of her afternoon outing with Draco. She was a hypocrite, a fraud. She held her friend’s gaze for several heartbeats before finding her voice.

“You’re right, Parvati. I shouldn’t judge. I have no right. I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel uncomfortable.”

Parvati smiled, scooping another pile of hash into her spoon. “No worries, luv, I would have kicked you out of our room by now if you did.”

Hermione smirked, believing every word.

“So…” her friend said abruptly. “Where were you off to in such a hurry after breakfast?”

Hermione glanced away. “I had an errand to run.”

“Hm… an errand that required you to leave in your nicest dress and return with red stained lips?”

Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth, fingertips pressing gently, feeling the tender swollen flesh. She blushed hotly, unable to meet friend’s eye.

“It was a rather unique errand.”

“I can see that. Must have been strenuous.” She chuckled lightly as Hermione flushed brighter. “I expect you to relay every detail of said errand later tonight.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’ll tell you the same thing I said yesterday at breakfast…” she trailed off, eyes losing focus.

“Mione?”

“Shite,” she hissed under her breath, causing her roommate to laugh.

“You never curse, this must be good.”

Her hazel gaze snapped back up. “I just remembered, I have to assist the Doctor today, after lunch.”

Parvati sat up straight, eyes bright. “You lucky bit-”

“Language.”

“You just swore!”

“That was by accident.”

Parvati rolled her eyes. “I’m starting to rethink not kicking you out of the room.”

Hermione glanced at the large clock hanging over the head table and sighed. “I better go now, I don’t want to be late.”

“You haven’t eaten.”

“I’ll eat later.”

“Uh huh.”

Hermione avoided her gaze, standing from the bench. “Please, do your best to keep Lavender contained within the building when she manages to return.”

“Sure, you go play with the good Doctor and leave me the thrilling task of strapping her to the bed.”

“I’m sure she already owns a set of binds.”

“Hermione Granger!” Parvati called after her retreating form. “You just made a dirty joke, you scandalous minx!”

Hermione couldn’t help but flash a cheeky wink over her shoulder, sharing a look of amusement with her friend before leaving the dining hall.

* * *

By the time she reached the set of imposing double doors all her humor had faded. The clinic was on the first level, set back from the dining hall and other public rooms. It had been closed for months, all injuries and maladies outsourced to other venues depending on their severity.

Most ailments didn’t extend beyond a common cold, but last month a girl had caught pneumonia, Hermione had diagnosed it herself and insisted the resident be taken to Mungo’s despite Umbridge's vehement denial anything was wrong. The Matron delayed the girl’s transfer until she collapsed in a breathless heap in the middle of the corridor.

Hermione was relieved there was finally a doctor on staff, she just wished it was someone less… intimidating. Yes, that was the best word for it.

She swallowed, steeling herself before raising a hand, knocking on one of the doors. The sharp sound echoed loudly off the stone walls, down the empty corridor at her back. She felt a chill steal along her spine, standing at alert, heart rate increasing.

“Come in.”

The deep voice was muffled, distant, but unmistakable. She closed her eyes briefly before forcefully shaking the stiffness from her limbs, reaching for the rod iron handle.

_Don’t be silly, there’s nothing to fear. You’ve faced truly terrifying situations. This is nothing._

Her silent musings did little to reassure her, they merely filled her with a greater sense of foreboding.

She opened the large door and stepped gingerly over the threshold, halting just beyond to take in the clinic for the first time.

It was a vast space, one long room that ran the length of the building it seemed, broken up by white curtains hanging off hooks suspended from the ceiling, surrounding empty, unmade cots. Windows littered the back wall, filling the space with copious sunlight, lifting her mood slightly.

A noise drew her focus to the side, a large oak desk came into view, stacked with papers and books and random items her eyes couldn’t identify at a distance. Beyond the desk was a large shelf brimming with yet more books, her heart started to race, fingers twitching at her side, desperate to run them along the worn spines.

She jolted when there was sudden movement, the clip of footsteps, and from behind a standing partition, a silhouette appeared, tall and lithe. She blinked, taking another step inside, clasping her hands before her.

“Doctor?”

The silhouette sprang to life, disappearing entirely as the real version materialized before her eyes. He stood at the same distance as he had the morning before in the dining hall, yet without a crowd of witnesses surrounding them, he felt much closer, larger. It was like staring into the sun.

“Ms. Granger. I’d forgotten you were joining me this afternoon. Thank you for remembering for the both of us.”

She wasn’t sure why she felt a wave of disappointment wash over her at his words. She should be relieved he’d nearly forgotten about her. And besides, she’d nearly forgotten about the task herself. She pushed the feeling aside, not wanting to dwell on it.

“Of course. How may I assist?”

He held papers in one hand and a thin magazine of some sort in the other.

“This place is a bit of a mess at the moment. It appears little was done to maintain its upkeep. I am busy reviewing and organizing patient files and haven’t been able to unload the supplies you purchased yesterday.”

She nodded lightly. “I am happy to put them away.”

He lifted the hand holding the papers, pointing to a large cabinet at the wall. “The basket is beneath my desk, you may unload it into the pantry.”

She walked briskly to where he pointed, hesitating slightly at seeing the chaos exploded atop the tabletop. She was a very meticulous person, seeing such disarray caused her skin to itch.

“I feel the same way.”

She stopped dead, eyes snapping up, his deep voice alarmingly close. He stood a few feet away, eye firmly upon her and small smirk in place. “I can see the disquiet in your eyes. I had a similar reaction when I saw what awaited me. I assure you, I am normally a very organized person.”

Her frayed nerves settled, mouth curling upward of its own accord. “I understand. I can only imagine the work that has to be done after the post sat derelict for so long.”

He nodded, then his eyes flickered down, to her mouth.

“Do you have any allergies, Ms. Granger?”

She blinked, brows drawn. “No, none that I know of.”

“Interesting. Your lips look particularly swollen.” His storm cloud gaze shot up and latched onto hers once more, a knowing glint in their depths. She flushed hotly, heart stuttering in her chest beneath the penetrating stare.

“I- I sometimes bite them when I’m distracted.”

She blinked again.

_Bloody hell, did I really just say that?_

He arched a dark brow, his presence swelling, consuming, eating up all the oxygen in the room. “I see.”

She swallowed.

“That’s a rather unbecoming habit. We’ll have to curb the urge by giving you something more interesting to hold your focus.”

She swayed on her feet, the room was sweltering, some invisible heat source pumping steam directly into her lungs, she worried she may faint-

And then he glanced away, stalking casually to the bookcase and sliding the thin magazine atop a stack, seemingly oblivious to the trembling girl at his back. She released a slow breath and then inhaled sharply, closing her eyes as she regained her bearings.

_What’s the matter with me?_

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of his steady tread resuming.

“You may begin any time.” He spoke over his shoulder, gazing at one of the papers in his hand, her presence already a background distraction.

She nodded mutely, walking around the desk on shaky knees and leaning down to grab the Apothecary basket, fingers stiff and clumsy as she carried it to the large cabinet.

Upon opening its doors she blinked, frozen for a few moments by the chaos inside.

What self-respecting physician would allow their stores to become like this?

_He took advantage of those assigned to his care. He had no respect for anything._

She shook her head, eyes scanning the many littered shelves, trying to ascertain where to start. She jolted lightly when she saw the labels on a few jars, swallowing numbly and carefully fishing them free from the pile.

She glanced over her shoulder, hesitant to interrupt him, to draw attention to herself once more, but afraid to assume anything either.

“Doctor?”

“Hm?” He didn’t glance up from whatever he was reading.

“Aside from any expired contents, may I do away with such things as these?”

He glanced up sharply, gaze narrowed and honing in on the ivory pot in her hands.

She knew the moment he read the label, eyes darkening. “Toss it.”

She nodded, shoulders sagging in relief as she set the container labeled LEECHES on the corner on his desk, happy to see it go. After the awful ordeal so many suffered, including Ada Lovelace, one of Hermione’s great idols, she saw no benefit in the archaic practice that couldn’t be accomplished by more modern and efficient means.

She also dispensed with the pot labeled ARSENIC, knowing the powder had many purposes but seeing far greater risk than reward by keeping the compound accessible to the residents. She imagined most of the young women would attempt to use it as a beauty agent, slowly poisoning themselves from the inside out all for the sake of a pale complexion.

She became lost in her work, navigating bottles and setting things up according to the cabinets she’d seen in her father’s stores, as well as the hospitals around London she visited with her mother on rotation. She wasn’t aware nearly an hour had passed before the Doctor walked up behind her, breaking the resounding silence and her concentration.

“I see the Madam was finally right about something.”

She jumped, spinning around too quickly and nearly losing her footing, catching herself against the desk as his arm shot out and steadied her, pulling her forward and back to her upright position. She flushed hotly beneath his amused stare.

“You really do have a background in medicine.”

She blinked, nodding lightly. “Yes, my parents both worked in the field.”

She realized he still had a hold of her arm as his fingers released her. She unconsciously brought her own hand to the same spot, mimicking his touch.

“Was your father a doctor?”

She bit her lip, talking about parents was still an emotionally trying exercise, but she found herself excited to share their history, their accomplishments, with someone who would actually appreciate their work.

“He attended medical school but wasn’t a practicing physician, not in the traditional sense. He researched and developed cures for infectious diseases. He spent most of his career working with the military, studying foreign ailments to ensure soldiers didn’t get sick while abroad.”

The Doctor raised a dark brow, eyes lighting. “Impressive.”

Hermione felt her chest swell. She stood a bit taller.

“And your mother?”

“She was a nurse. She worked on a voluntary basis after I was born so she could focus on raising me herself. But before they married she trained under Florence Nightingale at St. Thomas Hospital.”

He tilted his head, eyes roaming her face. “Equally impressive. That’s a notoriously difficult program to gain acceptance into.”

Hermione couldn’t help but smile. “She was a very impressive woman.”

There was a thick silence that permeated the room, his gaze holding her frozen, suspended. He took a step closer but she was so transfixed by his eyes she didn’t notice.

“What happened to them?”

She blinked, swallowing thickly. She opened her mouth but there was a long pause before the words worked their way free from her tightened throat.

“They died in a house fire.”

His eyes flickered between hers, as though searching for something. She had no idea what he could be looking for, but couldn’t look away.

Finally, his gaze settled, her racing heart stilled.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

She nodded, used to the generic condolence, the obligatory statement that was meant to follow such a confession. She was slightly disappointed to hear him utter the words but also knew there was little else he could say.

Until he followed up with a question that tilted her world on its axis.

“How does it make you feel?”

She blinked, shoulders drawing back. “What?”

“Their deaths. Are you merely filled with sadness? Or do you feel anger?”

She shook her head, stepping back on instinct. “I- I don’t understand-”

“Yes you do. It’s a simple question, Hermione.”

She froze, the sound of her given name on his lips rendering her motionless, transporting her back to the night they first met. She was huddled inside his wardrobe, heart in her throat, trapped between fear and intrigue.

She held his gaze with fascinated wonderment before slowly wetting her lips.

“I feel so angry I can’t breathe at times.”

He watched her, the air around them thickening, electric. And then he nodded, the same gesture as when she first told him her name, as though he already knew the answer before she delivered it.

“Good.”

She swallowed, pulse thrumming.

“Sadness cripples. Anger motivates.”

The world around them grew hazy.

“Your anger will take you places, Hermione. You must learn to control it, but never eradicate it from your arsenal.”

She felt something brimming beneath the surface of her skin, desperate to tear through, render her in half...

And then he stepped back, sliding his hands in his trouser pockets and turning his focus to the cabinet, shattering the glass dome that encased them a moment before.

She blinked, feeling dizzy with her own admission, turning to face the cabinet as well, eager for a distraction, a return to normalcy.

His words still rang in her head, haunting and subversive, yet louder than any of the other voices rattling around. She already knew she’d never be able to purge his advice from her mind. Years from now she would recall this moment in perfect clarity, for better or worse.

“The cabinet looks good. I appreciate the help. I’ve taken you away from your scheduled chores long enough, I can finish up.”

She deflated. “Oh… alright.”

She wanted to see the project through, finish what she started, that was the only reason she felt disappointment. Certainly.

She also knew the moment she walked out those doors she’d be overwhelmed with thoughts of Draco, their earlier encounter, and would have little to focus upon to block out the torrent of emotions.

She wrung her hands together, eyes darting about the room, looking for something, anything-

She noticed that the Doctor held a medical treatise in his hand, part of the title blocked by his fingers but she was able to see the author’s name in full. Her heart skipped a beat.

“My father was once a student of Dr. Snow.”

Dr. Riddle blinked, head snapping back to her. “Pardon?”

She gestured to the journal. “Dr. John Snow, he taught my father the ins and out of cholera when he was starting in the field.”

He raised the journal, gazing upon the cover before glancing back to her, his expression pure intrigue.

“I consider the man a true pioneer in the field of medical study.”

She nodded enthusiastically, feeling that familiar thrill seize her.

“Without a doubt. His breakthroughs in environmental health science are renowned. If not for him we may still be treating people for miasma. It’s bizarre to think how readily the masses accepted something on the grounds of absolutely no evidence for so long, especially when the practical solutions were right under their noses.”

His eyes radiated heat, washing her in warmth as they scanned her face once more. “Tell me something, Hermione…” her heart skipped a beat. “What are you doing here?”

She exhaled sharply. “I told you, my parents died-”

“But why are you _here_? Do you have no other family? Surely your parents left you the means with which to survive outside of a place like this?”

She swallowed, swaying on her feet, a whirlwind seizing her.

“I…”

She hoped her obvious unease would deter him, a true gentleman would politely desist from his line of inquiry. But not Dr. Thomas Riddle. He held her captive beneath his eyes, his imposing stance which was situated a touch too close to be deemed entirely appropriate.

She knew he wouldn’t relent, and while she normally would hold true to her secrets, take perverse pleasure in denying the demands made of her, she found herself yielding, unable to tamp down the torrent of words.

“My parents were both only children, all of my grandparents died when I was very young, I don’t remember them at all. And because I had just turned eighteen when the fire struck I wasn’t eligible for adoption by my friend’s family. He still offered to house me but it would be deemed terribly inappropriate and do irreparable damage to his reputation. He has a bright future ahead of him and I refuse to compromise him in any way.”

She stopped for breath, feeling drained. The Doctor didn’t blink, his stare so intense it became eerie, sparkling beneath the rays of sunlight cast across his face.

“That’s very selfless of you.”

She responded on instinct, her mouth working before her mind. “It’s not selfless, it’s love.”

He raised a sharp brow, lightning flashing in his irises. “Love?”

She nodded. “Yes. Which is perhaps the most selfish emotion of all.”

There was a heavy beat before the corner of his mouth turned up. “What a fascinating outlook. You are very wise for your age, Ms. Granger.”

She blinked, feeling bereft of hearing him say her first name but infused with warmth at his compliment.

“It sounds like your father led a successful career. Did he not leave you a sum in which to care for your upkeep?”

Talk of finances was an extremely taboo topic, even among those with existing ties. That the Doctor was asking her such a question was both highly inappropriate and yet completely within the realm of realism, for she was fast discovering he knocked convention at every turn.

She quite liked that.

“Yes, he did. Unfortunately, the Property Act only protects married women from losing their fortunes to their husbands. Apparently, those of us who are single are not to be trusted to manage our own finances. Everything my parents left me is tied up with-”

She broke off, body going rigid, breath evading her once more.

“Hermione?” He stepped closer, arm reaching out as she felt herself tip slightly. “You look faint, do you need to sit down?”

She blinked rapidly, the sound of her name gaining her attention, the feel of his hand on her arm tethering her to present, keeping her from falling headfirst into the spinning black vortex at her feet. She wet her lips, shaking her head.

“No... I’m fine. I just haven’t talked about these things with anyone in a while.” She hoped the lie was edible.

He seemed to gnaw on the edges, but ultimately spit it out.

“You seemed remarkably composed speaking about their deaths a moment ago.”

_Damn. He’s relentless. Why won’t he let me be?_

As much as his tenacity frustrated her it also gave her a sense of twisted pleasure that someone saw through the veil of her unease. No one else pushed her for answers, real answers, not even Harry, always afraid of pushing her off some invisible cliff’s edge. But the Doctor couldn’t seem to care less about how far or how hard he pushed.

_“Sadness cripples. Anger motivates.”_

She released a slow breath, arm burning beneath his lingering touch, spine straightening.

“My funds are being controlled and managed by my parent’s solicitor. He allots me a monthly allowance. Unfortunately, he doesn’t deem to allot me enough to live independently.”

She swallowed thickly, trying desperately to keep her mind focused, away from the shadows, the darkness. She held his gaze, using it as a homing beacon as she pushed on.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, women of any marital status can inherit land and the property built atop it. But our home burned down to the foundation, nothing is left but the acres beneath. They’re currently awaiting auction. Due to the fire damage, the soil is untillable, so it’ll likely sell at a fraction of its original worth. Still, the money will be completely mine, and then I’ll be able to venture out on my own.”

He tilted his head, fingers lightly squeezing, she wondered if it was on purpose. “And where will you venture to?”

She licked her lips. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Of course you have.”

She bit her lip as his hand squeezed harder yet, biting into her circulation. She didn’t mind. She was used to inflicting a bit of pain on herself to keep her mind grounded in the moment.

“I want to travel, see the world. Go everywhere. Experience every culture I can. I want to live life so fully that I turn old and grey before I’m thirty. I want my face to be filled with wrinkles from all the things I’ve seen and done. I want to reach the end of my days with no regrets. Because my only real regret would be allowing fear of the unknown to hold me back.”

His eyes seemed to glow, lit from an internal light source. She found it mesmerizing, the edges of the room blurring, the only thing in perfect focus and clarity was his face, the intensity of it.

“That is quite a large order, Ms. Granger.”

She smirked. “What’s the point in dreaming otherwise?”

His eyes flickered between hers before he mimicked her expression, but something about his countenance looked too pleased, too satisfied to be in simple reaction to her words. She shivered, pulling gently at her trapped arm.

His hand fell away immediately. He blinked, stepping back.

“It’s been a delight speaking with you,” his words sounded rehearsed, hollow, lacking the edge of passion and intent from moments before. “I thank you again for your assistance. You are free to go now.”

She nodded quickly, stepping away, limbs shaky though she managed to keep her breathing even. She made it halfway to the door, practically sprinting, before he called her attention, stopping her in her tracks.

“Ms. Granger, on your way out would you be so kind as to post the appointment schedule to the outside of the door?”

Her heart raced as she slowly turned and approached, gazing upon the sheet of paper he held aloft.

She knew her name would be upon it.

She halted some distance away, extending her arm out fully to grab it from him, blinking when his hand didn’t release the other end.

Her eyes snapped up, locking with his. He stared at her for what felt like a short eternity, or perhaps it was merely the space between heartbeats.

“Thank you.”

He released the sheet to her hand, their arms falling away like a severed vine.

“You’re welcome.”

She stood frozen a moment longer, clutching the paper with white knuckles before forcing herself to walk away, slow and calm and normal. She was having to remind herself to act _normal_ a lot more often these days. Usually in this man’s presence.

She had such a strong desire to glance at him one last time over her shoulder that she nearly got a neck cramp from tensing, forcing her gaze to remain ahead as she slipped out of the clinic.

Once the heavy door closed behind her she gasped as though coming up from water. She leaned against the wood, eyes closed, heart beating erratically.

_What is happening?_

She sighed, the crinkling of paper drawing her focus down, eyes locking onto the forgotten appointment log.

She scanned the names. It was as Umbridge said, he was starting with the newest girls first, those who hadn’t been to see the previous doctor.

_Thank god._

She was terrified to imagine what may have transpired had she arrived during the last physician’s tenure.

Her eyes stopped upon her own name, the black ink of Dr. Riddle’s script elegant and precise, exactly what she would have expected. The letters in her name held no more flourish or design than any of the others listed, she was one in a sea of many, nothing special, nothing but a space on a page.

_That’s for the best._

Yes, yes it was for the best.

She was better off steering clear of the man. He stirred up thoughts and emotions that should be left to rest.

Still, it seemed she wasn’t free from his clutches yet. Her appointment was tomorrow.

The last one of the day.

* * *

Hermione lingered outside the clinic door for several beats, still gazing upon her name, heart in her throat, before she forced herself to turn around and face the long empty corridor.

She really wished she hadn’t.

Because on the stone floor directly in front of her was a sight so ghastly, so terrifying she was rendered mute in abject horror.

Bloody footprints.

Leading down, down, down…

She closed her eyes, body trembling.

_It’s not real. It’s not real._

The temperature dropped rapidly, her next sharp breath full of ice crystals, her lungs expelling a plume of frozen air.

_It’s not real._

She stepped forward, eyes still closed, arms held aloft at her sides to keep her balance. But she was shaking so bad she almost lost her footing.

She nearly fell over completely when she heard the haunting whisper.

_“Hermione…”_

Tears spilled over her cheeks, face crumpling, hands covering her mouth to keep the scream at bay. Her eyes shot open at the sound of approaching footsteps. But they weren’t normal footsteps. No, they sounded like the broken gait of Filch, but worse yet.

**Thump. _Draaaag._**

**Thump. _Draaaag._**

**Thump. _Draaaag._**

Hermione stood frozen, trembling, eyes wide and fixed on the end of the hall, the right corner where the wall ended, waiting, waiting, waiting for _It_  to appear…

**Thump. _Draaaag._**

**Thump. _Draaaag._**

It stopped. She swallowed thickly, vision hazy with tears.

Suddenly an arm curled around the wall, flesh torn, shredded, shiny with blood and exposed bone. The fingers were claw-like, grasping desperately at the stone, reaching out, out-

Reaching for Hermione.

She reared back, mouth opening, prepared to release a blood-curdling scream, when a new voice joined the fold, rendering her mute with shock.

“Hermione!”

She blinked, breath caught in her throat, halfway between scream and sob. Footsteps rapidly approached, familiar, normal-

“Hermio- oh, thank god, you’re still here!”

Parvati rounded the opposite corner at a jog, dark braid swinging behind her. Hermione leaped forward, reaching out, desperate to protect her, warn her-

She glanced at the other end of the hallway.

The arm was gone.

She froze, glancing behind her. The footsteps had disappeared.

She released a shaky breath as Parvati came to a stop before her.

“I was hoping you’d still be- Mione? Are you okay?”

Hermione wiped quickly at her eyes, mind too frazzled to form words. She nodded sharply.

“Are you crying?”

She inhaled a slow steady breath, eyes closing briefly, willing the terror at bay. “I’m fine, what is it, Parv?”

Her roommate didn’t look convinced but she let the subject drop, no doubt in light of the news she had to share.

“We have a problem.”

_You have no bloody idea…_

Hermione was pulled from her daze by the intensity shining in her friend’s dark eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

Parvati swallowed, looking nearly as shaken as Hermione felt.

“Lavender is missing.”


	4. Smoke Demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chappie was sposed to be about half the length, but Hermione’s appointment with Dr. Riddle got a little out of hand… I hope ya’ll don’t mind ;)

_Begin at the beginning,_  
_And go on till you come to the end:_  
_Then stop._  
.   .   .

“What do you mean we’re not going to do anything? She’s been missing since yesterday afternoon!”

“You will do well to remember who you are speaking to, Ms. Patil. I do not appreciate the tone in which you address me. I also do not recall requesting your presence in my office.”

“This is utter bullshite!”

Hermione stepped forward, pulling her friend back as she lunged towards the desk.

“I think what Parvati is trying to say is that we’re concerned about Lavender’s welfare, considering the time frame in which she’s been missing.”

Umbridge glared daggers. “I don’t need you to translate simple English, Ms. Granger. Nor do I recall asking for you to come here either. But seeing as you both lack the most rudimentary of manners I find myself unsurprised. However, I refuse to entertain such wildish antics. Ms. Brown is not missing, she is a runaway, and most importantly, she is prohibited from ever setting foot within this institution ever again.”

Hermione’s eyes and mouth widened, shock running through her. Parvati thrashed in her grip. “You vile, loathsome-”

“Thank you, Ms. Patil, for further illustrating what a model of propriety you are.”

“Screw your propriety! My friend is missing! She’s all alone on the streets of bloody London because you’re too busy dusting cat sculptures to send out a search party!”

“That is enough!”

“Parvati,” Hermione hissed, still restraining her. “Stop, this isn’t helping.”

“What’s it matter? She isn’t going to help us or Lavender no matter what we say or do. She hates her, hates all of us. She’d be happy to see us all disappear.”

Hermione’s lips pressed into a thin line, unable to articulate an argument when she knew the statement was true.

“Are you both quite done? Leave this office at once and I’ll consider only giving you each a week’s worth of house arrest.”

Hermione blinked, releasing Parvati in order to step closer to the desk herself. “What? You can’t do that!”

Their Matron’s smile was sweet and venomous. “I think you’ll find that I absolutely can, Ms. Granger. You might be used to being a big shot in your old life. But here you’ll find you’re merely a resident living under this roof due to my good graces.”

“You receive a monthly stipend from my solicitor.”

Umbridge’s smile fell. “It’s hardly worth the burden of your upkeep, I assure you.”

Hermione clenched her fists. Parvati stepped beside her, planting both hands on the desk and leaning in menacingly.

“You won’t get away this you disgusting toad!”

“That’s two weeks house arrest for you both!”

Hermione exhaled steam through her nose, gripping her roommate's arm and forcefully pulling her towards the door.

“We can’t leave!”

“We can and we will, we’re not doing Lavender any good by lingering here any longer.”

“But-”

“Parvati!” she hissed, willing the girl to look at her. “Trust me, we need to leave. Now.”

Parvati blinked, expression stricken. Hermione held her gaze steady, trying to convey the message silently. Finally, her friend relented, allowing Hermione to lead her the rest of the way to the door.

“Have a wonderful, productive day girls!” Umbridge called in their wake, voice high and gleeful.

“That bi- umfh!” Parvati squealed into Hermione’s palm.

“Shh! We’re already under house arrest for two weeks thanks to that mouth of yours! Now keep quiet until we get back to the dorm!”

Parvati shook the muffling hand away, stepping out of Hermione’s grasp. “I’m not going back to the bloody dorm! I’m going to look for Lavender!”

Hermione crossed her arms. “Obviously. We _both_ are.”

Parvati blinked, tense shoulders lowering. “You’re coming with me?”

Hermione raised a challenging brow. “Who snuck out two night ago to drag her back to the room before Filch came round?”

Parvati swallowed, nodding. “Thank you, Hermione. I need all the help I can get. I’m really worried. This isn’t like her. Something is wrong. I know it.”

Hermione shared the same sentiments but felt it better left unsaid. Hope was their greatest weapon at the moment.

“We’ll find her. But we can’t rush off into the city on a whim. We need to figure out a plan. And thanks to Umbridge we’re going to be watched like a hawk by Filch and her other minions. We need to be clever about this.”

“In that case, I’m really glad you’re helping.”

Hermione smiled, but the expression lacked the warmth it usually conveyed. They were both too worried to find any shred of amusement in the situation.

“Come on,” Hermione started down the hall. “Let’s get to the dorm so we can strategize in private.”

* * *

The large oak door of Grimmauld Manor rattled on its hinges, the frantic pounding echoing through the vaulted entryway, across the marble flooring and up the grand staircase, which Harry currently jogged down, scowl firmly in place.

“Bloody hell, I’m coming!”

The noise continued to reverberate through the Manor, he was amazed the wood didn’t splinter beneath whatever battering ram was on the other side.

He was too angry at the unexpected interruption to bother looking through the front windows to see what awaited him on the other side.

“Alright! Jesus Christ!”

He swung the door open, nearly toppling over as a body charged in, broad shoulders knocking into his, making him stumble back.

“Your friend is a vicious harpy, Potter!”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, rubbing his sore muscle from their point of impact. “Please, come in, Malfoy.”

“I can’t abide her! She’s mad! Utterly insane! She needs to be officially diagnosed so they can admit her into a proper hospital!”

“Good day to you as well. I’m great, thanks for asking.”

“I don’t know what’s triggered the madness, some latent hysteria or that destitute domicile she insists on staying at. Maybe there’s something in the water affecting their cognitive function.”

“Sounds like the most rational explanation.”

“You have no idea-”

“Correction, I don’t care. Now get out.”

Draco stopped his rapid pacing of the entryway, blinking, as though noticing Harry for the first time despite his venomous ramblings.

“Did she say anything to you?”

Harry rubbed at his eyes. “Draco, it’s barely 9 am, when would she have spoken to me?”

“Yesturday.”

“No, idiot. I haven’t spoken to her since the cafe. And if I had, I wouldn’t tell you anything she confided in me. Now _get out_.” He gestured to the open doorway.

“I need a whiskey.” Draco strode past him towards the front parlor.

Harry sighed, slamming the door shut. “It’s barely nine in the bloody morning!”

“I’ll mix it with coffee!” Draco called over his shoulder.

“Fucking hell…” Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing, only to snap back open at the sound of something crashing to the floor from the next level up.

Draco stopped mid-step, glancing at the ceiling, then to Harry. “Do you have company, Potter?”

Harry tucked his hands into his trouser pockets. “It’s a cat.”

Draco raised a pale brow. “You don’t own a cat.”

“It’s a poltergeist.”

Draco tipped his head. “A poltergeist cat?”

“Precisely. The feline met a rather violent end after it woke me up to complain about another cat that continuously avoided its company.”

Draco turned towards the window. “I didn’t see another carriage out front.” His mercurial gaze swept over Harry from top to bottom, eyes lighting on the details of his ruffled appearance that he overlooked upon first entering.

“Which means your guest had to of arrived in your carriage last night.” He smirked, eyes fastening to Harry’s narrowed emerald gaze in pure delight. “Who are you fucking, Potter?”

“I am deeply offended by-” he was interrupted by the sound of floorboards creaking loudly overhead. Draco’s smirk grew into a full-fledged grin. Harry sighed deeply, shaking his head.

“Fantastic.”

“Who is it, Potter? Some bird from Holywell? You have to be careful with those, half of them carry a bawdy pox that’ll make your prick snap off.”

“Is that what happened to yours then? I wondered how Hermione came to carry it around in her purse next to your bollocks.”

Draco’s amused expression fell like a dead weight, eyes narrowed to slits. “At least I don’t have to pay for sex, Potter.”

“At least I’m having sex, Malfoy.”

Draco blinked, smirk returning. “You admit it then? You have a kept dame upstairs?” His eyes flickered to the landing above.

“Don’t even think about- goddammit!” He sprinted after Draco, tackling him halfway up the stairs.

“Bloody hell you lunatic!” Draco groaned in pain as the hard unforgiving wood bit into his shins and side.

“You aren’t even welcome downstairs, Malfoy!”

“Is she missing an eye or something?”

“ _What_?” Harry dodged an elbow that flew at his face, barely clipping his jaw.

“A bum leg?”

Harry landed a shot just below the blonde’s kidneys, causing him to hiss in pain but unfortunately not shutting him up.

“Or does she have a set of hairy boys dangling down low?”

“Fucking hell. Get. Out!” He managed to twist the blonde’s arm behind his back, yanking him up with him as they stumbled to their feet, trying to keep balance against the railing.

“I just want to see, I promise, I won’t say a word.”

“And a horse won't shite in a stable.”

He hauled the blonde back down to the first floor, grunting in exertion.

“Do you kiss her with that mouth?”

“Goodbye, Malfoy.”

“Wait- is it someone I know?”

Harry struggled to open the door and keep Draco in his grip. The blonde’s eyes narrowed, then quickly widened. “Oh god, it _is_ , isn’t it?”

He thrashed wildly, nearly slipping free before Harry managed to tackle him to the ground once again.

“It’s too early for this bullshite!” Harry yelled, trying to pin the flailing figure beneath him to the marble.

“I agree, so just tell me who’s upstairs and I promise I’ll leave.”

Harry glared, jaw ticking. “Fine.”

Draco blinked, body going still as he panted. “Really?”

“Do you actually promise to leave if I tell you?”

Draco wet his lips, nodding eagerly. “Yes, I’ll go and never return.”

Harry raised a brow, alleviating the man of his weight as he pulled into a sitting position. Draco held his gaze a moment longer before rolling his eyes. “Okay. I promise not to return this week.”

“Even if Hermione does something to drive you crazy?”

“I promise to take my violent frustrations out on her instead, yes.”

Harry sighed, running his fingers through his wild mane to settle the dark locks. “Good. We both know you enjoy it when she slaps you around.”

“Stop stalling. Who’s upstairs, Potter?”

Harry exhaled slowly, stealing himself, finally bringing his gaze up to meet the blonde’s. Draco held his breath, muscles tense with rigid anticipation. Harry swallowed tentatively, finally opening his mouth.

“Alright… it’s… your mum.”

Draco blinked. Harry held his serious and somber expression for another full beat before his face split across the middle in a shite eating grin.

“You bloody pillock!” Draco lunged forward, toppling Harry onto his back while the man laughed wildly.

“You asked!”

“We’ll see how hard you’re laughing when I break your bloody arm!”

“Why don’t you try growing a sense of humor along with a new cock, Malfoy?”

Draco glared, swinging a fist at Harry’s face, which he narrowly dodged. They were ten years old again, wrestling in the backyard of Malfoy Manor while their fathers talked business and their mothers watched in amusement.

“I’m going to-”

He stopped short at the sound of horses approaching, their fervent keening and rapid pounding growing louder.

“Another guest, Potter?” Draco glanced down casually, forearm still lodged against Harry’s neck.

Harry tipped his head back, gazing upside down at the door. “It’s nine in the bloody morning!”

“Closer to nine thirty now, I’d say.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Get off me.”

“Is that how your mistress says it when the hour’s up?”

Harry reared his knee upward, Draco rolled away just in time to avoid being hit square in the groin.

“Hey! Penalty!”

“Idiot,” Harry hissed as he pushed to his feet. “Try acting like an adult.”

“You’re just bitter I got more shots in,” Draco straightened out his rumpled cravat as he stood.

Harry bit back a reply, striding to the window and pushing the sheer curtain away to gaze out at the circular drive. Draco meanwhile inspected his reflection in the entryway mirror, adjusting his tie and running long deft fingers through his pale locks.

“I admit, I thought my day was going to be pure hell when you first arrived,” Harry said, still looking through the pane. “But now it’s quickly shaping to be the best day of my life.”

Draco blinked, shoulders going tense, head snapping to the side. “No.”

Harry smiled, letting the curtain fall back into place as the carriage outside came to a stop. He turned to face the blonde, face alight with glee. “Yes.”

Draco backed away quickly, hands fisted at his sides. “What the hell is she doing here? Did you know she was coming?”

“I promise, this is solely the universe rewarding me for putting up with your unbearable presence my entire life.”

“Potter, she can’t see me.”

“She’s already seen your carriage, she’s staring at it right now,” he peeked past the curtain again. “Oh, nevermind, now she’s walking to the door.”

Draco swallowed, glancing about desperately. “I can’t- Potter, I-” he inhaled sharply. “Harry, _please_.”

Harry sighed, shoulders dropping. “Fine.” He tipped his chin towards the back of the house. “Use the servant’s entrance, sneak around front. I’ll cover for you.”

Draco nodded, eyes bright with appreciation and panic. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Draco spun on his heal, sprinting down the hall and disappearing around the corner just as a delicate knock sounded behind Harry. He shook his head, eyes lingering on the landing above. So much for his quiet morning in.

He turned around, opening the door for the second time that day, this time to much more enjoyable company.

“Hello, Milady. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He stepped aside, allowing her to walk past.

His easy grin faded when he saw the expression on her face. He quickly shut the door behind her, stepping in and placing a hand on her arm. “Mione, what’s the matter?”

“Is he here?”

Harry blinked, his mind taking a moment to catch up. “Oh, Malfoy?”

“His carriage is out front.”

“He’s out back looking at something, he’ll be gone in a minute.”

“He’s out back _looking at_ something...” Her flat tone and raised brow told him all he needed to know about the state of her mind, despite the blonde’s earlier insistence otherwise.

“Alright, caught me. He’s hiding from you, sneaking around the Manor like a burglar trying to evade the police.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “I’m sorry he came to you again.”

Harry shrugged, pulling her into his side and walking her through the entryway towards the parlor. “It’s not your fault he’s a whiny little wanker, luv.”

“Harry.”

“I’m sorry, are we pro-Draco this morning? You came to the wrong house if you want to sing his praises.”

He released her, walking to the settee and sprawling back with a groan, muscles still sore from his early morning tussle on the stairs. She hovered in the middle of the room, shoulders tense.

“I’m in the right place, I just didn’t expect to see him here,” she glanced about the familiar space before her gaze fell upon him. “Harry, I need your help.”

He blinked, leaning forward with his arms on his knees. “What’s wrong?”

She swallowed lightly, shifting on her feet. “One of the girls at the Home has gone missing. My roommate, Lavender. She’s been gone since yesterday morning and the Matron won't do anything about it. She thinks she’s runaway but I know that’s not the case. She has nowhere to run to, and even if she did she’d never-”

“Wait, Mione, slow down. Here, come sit by me.”

Hermione took a deep breath, doing as bid, sitting next to him and slumping against his side as his arm wrapped around her middle, pulling her in. She rested her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes.

“Harry, I’m so scared for her. Lavender isn’t… she doesn’t... “ She sighed, pausing to find the right words. “She’s very pretty. Vivacious and carefree. She’s the type of person you want to be around, so full of life and energy. But the wrong person would target her for all those qualities, hurt her. I’m terrified something awful’s happened but I have no means of finding out where she is.”

Harry rested his chin atop her head, inhaling deeply. “It’s alright. I’ll ask around, send word out. We’ll find her.”

She pulled back slightly to glance up, meeting his emerald gaze. “Thank you, Harry. I knew I could count on you.”

He smiled, dropping a quick kiss to her forehead. “Always.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later Hermione was getting back in her carriage, pockets lined with cash that Harry had to practically force upon her to pay the driver and fill her coffer in between her measly monthly allowances from the solicitor.

He used to send her money every week while abroad only to learn the Matron opened everyone’s mail before allowing messages to pass in or out, and Hermione never saw a farthing of what he sent. So he showered her with funds when he was back in London to ensure the bills made it directly into her hands, however unwilling she was to take it.

In exchange he took the name and description of the missing girl, promising to do everything in his power to find her. He didn’t like the thought of Hermione running around London by herself, speaking to members of society’s underbelly who were most likely to know the girl’s whereabouts.

He wanted her to stay with him the remainder of the day, the remainder of her life if she saw fit, but she staunchly refused his pleas, as always. This time insisting she was under house arrest and was skirting a more severe punishment if caught off grounds. A part of Harry wanted to lock her away upstairs, forcing the Matron’s hand, making it so Hermione had no other choice but to stay. Here. With him. Where she’d be safe.

But he knew better than to try and clip her wings. She’d only end up resenting him. Hermione was a grown woman and as much as it frustrated him to no end, he couldn’t force her hand.

He watched her carriage pull away, disappearing up the drive, grinning as she leaned out the side window, waving farewell to him before disappearing around the corner, as was tradition since they were children.

“Are all your mornings so eventful?”

Harry sighed, stepping back and closing the door.

“As of late, apparently.”

“I had no idea you were in such high demand.”

Harry smirked, glancing over his shoulder at the figure leaning against the upstairs banister.

“What can I say? I’m a popular guy.”

“Hm. I can’t imagine why.”

Harry raised a dark brow, eyes gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the large bay windows and reflecting off the crystal chandelier.

“Perhaps you’d like a personal demonstration?”

“I thought I already had one of those last night. And two this morning.”

Harry licked his lips. “Those were just warm-up exercises.”

The figure sighed, rolling their eyes to the vaulted ceiling. “Bloody hell, Potter. Do you want to keep making terrible metaphors or do you want to fuck me?”

Harry flashed a wolfish grin. “Believe me, I want nothing more than to bend you over that railing. But unfortunately, I have to run to the city and find Mione’s missing friend.”

“You’d do anything for her, wouldn’t you?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Should I be jealous?”

Harry tilted his head, eyes roaming their figure from bottom to top. “You’ve never been jealous a day in your life.”

They laughed without humor. “You’d be surprised, Potter. Not everything was sunshine and roses growing up in my house.”

Harry’s expression sobered. “I know.”

“I can’t abide such heavy subject matter this early in the day,” they turned, heading for the bedroom. “You go play knight in shining armor, I’m going back to bed.”

Harry watched his lover disappear down the hall, taking a deep breath as the sound of a closing door followed.

Yes, his mornings were far more eventful as of late.

* * *

“Stop here, thank you.”

“I can drop you off at the front, Miss.”

“I’m afraid that will only ensure my imminent demise. The corner is fine.”

The driver pulled the reins, the horses slowed their pace and came to a stop along the crosswalk. Hermione pulled a few bills from the hidden pocket in her skirts and handed them to the man as she descended the carriage.

“Thank you, Miss, have a good day.”

“You as well.”

She navigated around the newsstands and trolleys lining the sidewalk, weaving between throngs of morning shoppers and people heading to work. She gazed ahead, heart lurching in her chest as her destination came into view.

The Home dominated the block, the tall and imposing structure a testament to gothic architecture, equipped with stone gargoyles along the buttress, their menacing eyes turned downward, watching the street, following her every movement.

She followed along the tall rod iron gates, hood drawn over her face, keeping her eyes averted to the pavement as she slipped through a set of loose bars near the back, at the far end of the makeshift garden that existed for the sole purpose of deluding pedestrians into thinking the Home well managed. The squeezing maneuver was a tight fit that few residents could fit through, and even fewer knew existed. Leave it to Lavender to know every in and out of the building.

The adventure-seeking girl was only too excited to share her vast knowledge with Hermione, no doubt in the hopes of enticing her new roommate to sneak out with her one night. Hermione had always refused, but now she wished she hadn’t been so adverse to Lavender’s lifestyle. Perhaps she would have confided more in Hermione had she been more accepting. At least then Hermione may have a handle on where Lavender skipped off to yesterday afternoon, where she may be now.

Instead, Hermione was utterly in the dark, rendered all but helplessly reliant on Harry’s ability to lead the investigation. She couldn’t abide feeling powerless, and yet it seemed it had become the running theme of her new life.

She dashed behind the privacy shrubs as she made her way to the kitchen doors, hoping Luna had left them unlocked as promised. She and Parvati enlisted the help of a handful of residents they trusted to help cover for them as they launched the search for Lavender. Luna had been an easy selection and even easier sell, eager to assist however she could.

Parvati had recruited Hannah, who was also eager to help in the wake of her misplaced guilt, feeling responsible for Lavender’s disappearance as Filch had assigned her the task of keeping an eye on the girl while they shopped the market. Hermione tried to assure her that there was nothing she could have done to stop Lavender once the girl got an idea into her head, but Hannah’s eyes still looked plagued when they parted her company that morning.

Hermione was almost to the door when a sharp sound drew her attention, rendering her still, head searching out the source of the noise.

A frantic birdsong.

Hermione blinked, eyes landing on a black-billed magpie, larger than most, markings utterly beautiful, perched atop the lowest branch of a silver birch.

Her heart raced wildly as the bird’s chest heaved, equally frantic, head cocking to the side, gaze locking onto Hermione’s. It had golden irises, like an eagle. She swallowed, feeling some electrical current in the air snap along her skin as she held the bird’s penetrating stare.

And suddenly, one thought surfaced above the rest, echoing off every corner of her mind.

_It’s a warning._

As soon as the words took root the bird fell silent, launching into flight, wings flapping effortlessly. She squinted, trying to follow it’s ascent but losing sight almost immediately, as though it disappeared into thin air.

Unease seized her by the throat, cutting off her airway. She spun around to face the door, muscles tensed. She slowly pulled the handle and let out a short sigh of relief when it gave way beneath her touch, opening silently. She slipped inside, closing the door behind her carefully, standing on tiptoes, doing her best to make as little noise as possi-

“There ya are!”

A large hand gripped her shoulder, whipping her around. She cringed, recognizing the grating voice before she saw the equally grating face.

“Knew someone was up to somethin when blondie snuck down ere earlier,” Filch said with malevolent glee, releasing her shoulder to seize her wrist in an ironclad grip, bruising her pale flesh and grinding her bones. She bit her lip to prevent herself from crying out in pain, unwilling to give the vile man the satisfaction.

“Wait till Madam sees ya! Yer in fer it, girly.” He pulled her along behind him as he limped rapidly through the kitchen and towards archway leading to the hall. She reared back, twisting her arm, but he pulled harder, nearly taking her off her feet.

“Stop that! Yer good and caught, no point fightin me now!”

“Precisely, so release me this moment!”

“What are ya on about?” He scowled over his shoulder.

She scowled back. “I’m already caught, there’s no point in running, so there’s no point in you detaining me like a criminal, I’m not going anywhere!”

“Ha!” he barked without humor. “I don’t trust a single one of ya ta do what ya says ya gonna do, so shut up and keep walkin!”

She bit back a scream of frustration, digging in her heels as he hauled her down the large open corridor, residents stopping along the way to watch the spectacle with varied expressions. A few looked gleeful, amused, but most looked concerned, flashing Hermione looks of sympathy. She avoided their gazes, not wanting to encourage anyone to try and help, not that they would, but nevertheless she didn’t want to implicate anyone else in her crime.

“Stop doin that!” he yelled, voice echoing down the now silent hall, everyone giving up the rouse of focusing on anything else but their parading figures. “Walk!”

“Let go of my arm and I will!”

“You stupid little trollop, I told ya I-”

“Mr. Filch.”

The smooth baritone seemed to surround them from all sides, rendering them both still in their mutual struggle, heads swiveling to find the source. Her heart leaped into her throat as the gathered crowd at their back parted to make way for the tall, darkly clad figure to emerge.

“Perhaps you can explain to me why you’re abusing one of my charges?”

She blinked, warmth suffusing her chest as he referred to her as his.

“Dr. Riddle…” Filch’s yellowed, sallow skin turned even clammier, throat bobbing as he swallowed audibly. “I… I caught er, see… she were sneakin around when she’s sposed ta be-”

“Unhand her at once.”

Filch’s expression pinched in abject annoyance but he slowly released her, circulation flooding back into her hand as his calloused fingers gave way. She instinctively backed away, towards the Doctor. He, in turn, stepped forward, placing himself between them. An impenetrable wall. She tipped her head down, hovering at his back, her face half hidden by his broad shoulder.

“Is this how you normally treat the residents?”

There was an excited murmur among the girls, a wave of whispers echoing off the walls as they watched the exchange with eager eyes.

Filch shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “She was caught breakin the rules!”

“I don’t care what she was caught doing, if I _ever_ see you place your hands on one of these girls for any reason whatsoever I assure you, I will throw you out on the streets myself. Do I make myself clear?”

Hermione swallowed, breath lodged in her throat, eyes fixated on his beautifully enraged profile. His tone was lethal, brokered no argument, gave no ounce of leave. Filch physically wilted beneath the treacherous storm in the Doctor’s eyes.

“I… I…”

“It’s a simple yes or no.”

Filch’s eyes flickered to Hermione, narrowing once more. “Yes.” He bit out, jaw ticking.

The Doctor glanced down at Hermione as well, turning to face her so sharply she drew back, cringing on instinct as his hand reached for her bruised wrist. He paused, arm held aloft, eyes alighting to hers, still bright with emotion but his expression no longer deadly.

“May I?” he asked softly, for her ears alone.

She swallowed lightly, nodding, lifting her arm for his examination. His touch was light, fingers cold, but the moment his fingertips moved from the fabric of her sleeves to the bare sensitive skin of her inner wrist she felt the lightning strike, following the path of her spine. She rocked on her feet, gasping.

“Does it hurt?”

She felt a flush steal her cheeks, mortified, tempted to feign greater injury to cover for her reaction to his touch. But she knew he’d be able to detect a sprain or fracture easily, and furthermore, she didn’t want to lie to him. So far their interactions had been based in raw, naked honesty, and she didn’t want to change that now.

“No.”

His eyes held her steady, one hand supporting the weight of her forearm and the other gently encircling her wrist in stunning contrast to the way Filch held her moments before. She felt her pulse thrum madly against his thumb, his skin rapidly warming against hers, becoming a scalding heat.

“You’ll bruise.” Their gazes remained firmly locked. “But your hand is still attached, despite his valiant attempt to rip it off.”

She blinked, brow pinching until she saw the flash of dark amusement ripple across his face. And just like that, the suffocating weight left her lungs, the stress of the last day, the last week, the last year, melted away in that brief instant.

“That’s too bad. A severed appendage would surely qualify me for disability services. I could have earned up to ten shillings a week.”

His pupils expanded rapidly, his mouth curving into a secretive smirk. “Dare to dream big.”

Her heart skipped a beat, the rest of the world falling away around them until someone giggled sharply and the resounding murmurs echoed through her skull, pulling her from the smoky abyss and back to the crowded hall. She drew her arm away at the same moment his hands released her, both taking a sharp step back from the other.

Hermione glanced down as the Doctor turned to face Filch once more.

“I will have to report this incident to the Matron.”

Panic seized her but she forced her limbs to remain still.

“As you bloody well should! I told ya, I caught er sneakin about, she needs ta come with me ta see the Madam right now!”

“And where exactly did you catch her sneaking about?”

She bit her lip at the Doctor’s clipped tone, terrified he’d turn his ire on her for breaking the terms of her house arrest.

“The back garden, comin in through the kitchens like a common thief!”

“And between discovering her entrance and hauling her down the hall like a cow to auction did you stop to ask her why she was in the garden?”

“It don’t matter why she was-”

“Precisely. Because had you taken but a moment to make such an inquiry you’d know that Ms. Granger was merely taking inventory of the herbs, as I requested.”

Her heart nearly burst from her mouth. Filch blinked, gaze flickering rapidly between them. “But- I- you never told me she was-”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Filch,” Dr. Riddle folded his arms. “Am I to understand that I must inform you of every task needed to perform my function as the primary physician?”

Filch swallowed again, the girls whispered more sharply, the crowd steadily growing in number.

“She didn’t say nothin bout any inventory.”

“Perhaps she was a bit distracted by your violent efforts to wrench her arm from the socket.” He released the man from his lethal stare to glance at Hermione once more. “I will take care of the matter, Ms. Granger. You may go.”

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, too shocked to move.

His eyes narrowed, darkened. “Go.”

She snapped out of her daze, nodding quickly and spinning on her heal, only to face a wall of onlookers blocking her path to freedom.

“All of you!” The Doctor shouted, voice reverberating off the walls and ceiling like the voice of God Himself. “The show is over! Get back to where you need to be or I’ll summon the Madam to repeat the instructions!”

That was all the threat needed to break apart the sea of girls like an icepick. They scattered in every direction, laughing, shouting, eager to spread the gossip.

Hermione hesitated a moment longer, glancing over her shoulder at the image of Filch and Dr. Riddle speaking in low voices, the former hunched and defensive and the latter towering and lethal, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying.

She took a deep breath, still shaken to her core from the last ten minutes, and hurried down the hall towards her dorm.

* * *

Harry walked along the busy campus of the Royal Polytechnic Institute, eyes scanning the crowd outside the School of Engineering.

“Oi, Boot!”

The lanky man turned from the group he was standing amongst, chatting near the main stairs.

“Potter! Long time no see, mate. What are you doing here?”

“Good to see you. I’m looking for the old man, he around?”

“Yeah, he was in the last lecture with me, ended about ten minutes ago, he should be out anytime.”

“Thanks, mate.”

“So you’re on leave?”

“That I am.”

“Kill any pirates?”

Harry laughed. “Unfortunately not.”

Terry shook his head. “Too bad. Come close to killing any?”

“So far I’ve only come close to killing my friends. Let’s hope I have the strength to curb my homicidal urges.”

“What’s the fun in that?”

“Good point. Oh, I see him now. I’ll talk to you later, mate.”

“Alright then, goodbye, Potter.”

Harry smiled, tipping his head in farewell as he strode past the milling crowd to the edge of the building.

“Nev!”

Neville halted his rapid pace down the walkway, glancing up from the open book in his hands. “Harry?”

“In the flesh.”

Neville laughed, snapping the book shut and stepping in to embrace him. “Blimey, I thought you weren’t getting back until next week.”

“Last minute change of plans.”

“No one tells me anything,” he said without heat, slipping the book into his leather satchel.

“How is Cambridge?”

Neville smiled. “It’s fantastic. I’d stay there year round if not for Gran. Luckily the Institute offers summer programs so I can stay on track.”

“On track for what? To graduate in half the time?”

“I’m doing a double major.”

Harry shook his head. “It’s astounding we share the same blood.”

“Barely. Remember when Mione made us trace our entire family trees for her genetics project?” His eyes were bright with amusement, but it quickly faded, expression sobering. “How is she? I’ve written a few times but haven’t heard back. I don’t know if she gets regular mail or not where she is.”

Harry sighed, clamping a hand on his friend's shoulder and directing him down the path.

“Actually, Mione’s the reason I paid you a visit, I need to ask you a favor.”

Neville raised a brow. “A favor for you or her?”

Harry smirked, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Does it matter?”

Neville swallowed, blushing lightly. “No, of course not. I just... I just worry about her is all.”

Harry nodded. “Me too, Nev. Me, too.”

* * *

Hermione checked both ways down the corridor before sliding inside the room, still a bit frazzled from the morning’s encounter.

Luna immediately stood from the bed and crossed the room. “Hermione, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know Filch saw me sneak into the kitchen-”

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault.”

The blonde nodded, though her eyes still look burdened. Hermione was about to reassure her further when her gaze lighted over her shoulder to the room’s third occupant. Hannah sat on the foot of Parvati’s bed, looking equally anxious.

Hermione sighed. “Does the entire Home know?”

Hannah sent her a sympathetic look. “It’s all anyone can talk about.”

Hermione trudged past Luna, shaking her head. “Lovely. Umbridge is sure to catch wind of it then.”

“But didn’t the Doctor step in?”

Hermione chewed on the inside of her cheek. “How much did you hear?”

Luna walked over, sitting beside Hannah. “Girls are saying the Doctor defended you to Filch. Defended all of us. Said he wasn’t to place hands on anyone ever again.”

She nodded, wondering if they also heard that the Doctor claimed she’d been working in the garden on an errand for him. The other residents wouldn’t have cause to doubt the lie but Luna and Hannah knew the truth, and would likely read more into his assistance than Hermione was willing to face at the moment.

“Were you able to talk to the others?” She thought a change in topic best.

“Yes, the other girls agreed to keep an eye out and ask around when they’re able to go on market runs. No one has any idea where she could be. They haven’t heard anything.” Hannah provided, eyes sorrowful.

Hermione deflated. “Thanks, girls. I thought it prudent to ask but I wasn’t expecting much. Lavender didn’t hang out in the typical places, I doubt anyone here knows exactly what she got up to outside these walls.” She paused, saddened. “Not even me.”

A somber silence filled the room before she was pulled free from her daze by a memory. “I spoke with my friend, he’s going to help us search out a lead. He knows practically everyone in London through family, friends and the Navy. I think he’ll be our best bet.”

Luna nodded. “I think Parvati's connection will be useful, too.”

Hermione swallowed nervously. “She isn’t back yet?”

Both blondes shook their heads. She sighed, dropping onto her own mattress in a graceless heap.

“Shite.”

* * *

Harry came to a stop outside the red painted door in the alleyway.

“You didn’t have to come here with me, Nev. You’ve already done plenty by spreading word around the campus.”

Neville shrugged. “I don’t mind. I didn’t have any plans for the day beyond studying. At least this gets me out of the house.”

Harry raised a dark brow. “It certainly does. I feel I should warn you again-”

“Bloody hell, Harry, I’m not a child, I know what goes on in these places.”

Harry nodded, smirking as he rapped his knuckles against the door. “Gird your loins.”

Neville shook his head in amusement as a small window at eye level slid open, revealing the top half of a man’s face. “Password?”

“Egbert.”

The window slid closed, the sound of clicking locks quick to follow.

“How did you know that?”

Harry flashed a silver grin over his shoulder as the door opened. “I have my ways.”

They stepped over the threshold and past the doorman into the smoke-filled hall. Neville immediately started choking on the bitter cloud surrounding them.

“Careful,” Harry hit him on the back a few times. “It’s opium. Try not to breathe in too much of it or I’ll have to carry you out.”

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” He hacked another breath. “The air’s filled with it!”

Harry shrugged, walking further along the hall, past several sheet draped doorways. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out, you always were the smart one.”

Neville wiped at his tearing eyes as he followed in Harry’s wake, covering his mouth with the crook of his elbow, gaze narrowed. Harry stopped at the last open doorway, this one covered by a beaded curtain that glimmered as he pushed past. Neville swallowed tentatively, immediately coughing anew.

They stepped into the main room of the opium den and emerged in a fresh haze of white smoke. As it settled around them the details came into view. A large oriental rug covered the floor, a massive hookah at its center, pillows scattered about the ground with sprawled bodies atop. Men and women, all looking to be under the age of thirty, eyes red-rimmed and hooded, no one bothering to even look in their direction.

Harry scanned their faces, shaking his head. “I don’t see him.”

“What does he look like again?”

“Our age, blonde, smug.”

“And what does smug look like exactly?”

“Handsome and punchable.”

“Got it.”

Harry backed out of the room, Neville turned to follow but jolted still when he felt something wrap around his ankle. He peered down, blinking as he was met with the face of a smiling young woman lying on the ground, long dark hair spilling across the carpet.

“Hello…” her voice was raspy, eyes dim and lifeless. “Stay and play with me.”

Neville’s brows drew together as he gently pulled his leg away from her outstretched fingers. “Not today, luv.”

She giggled, unaffected by his rejection. “Tomorrow then?”

He swallowed, heart beating unsteadily in his chest. “Sure.”

He looked away, though he could still see her vacant eyes in his mind. The brief encounter had a profound effect upon him, taking root in his chest. He started to take a deep breath but caught himself before he choked on another lungful of smoke.

By the time he made it back into the hallway, he saw Harry stepping away from a sheet, moving onto the next room and peeking in, shaking his head as he pulled back. Neville was about to ask what they planned to do if he wasn’t here when Harry peaked into a third room, emerald eyes gleaming.

“Got you.”

Harry stepped inside, the sheet falling back into place behind him, leaving Neville alone in the hall with a thrumming pulse and throbbing head. He was starting to feel the effects of the second-hand opium. His vision hazed at the edges, thoughts slowing.

He walked to the white sheet in a half-trance, slowing extending his hand out to push it aside. He had to blink several times to process the image within, a fresh plume of smoke filling his vision.

“Hello there, McLaggen.” Harry’s voice sounded deep and sinister, causing Neville to freeze in the doorway, the sheet draped over one shoulder.

There was a short gasp, feminine.

“And what’s your name, luv?”

Neville squinted and the forms took shape, a man sprawled over a chaise lounge, a girl lying across his lap in nothing but a shift, seemingly asleep, and another scrambling to put her corset back on.

“Potter? Is that you, mate?” The man asked, barely rousing.

“I’m not your mate.”

The girl trying to redress was clumsy, wobbling on her feet, and tripped over the chaise leg. Harry shot forward and caught her before she hit the ground. She blinked up at him with wide, glossy eyes.

“Careful,” he murmured, eyes scanning her face closely. “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Lavender would it?”

She swallowed and shook her head. He sighed, tipping her upright so she could regain her footing and releasing her.

“Wrong hair color. What about her, what’s her name?” Harry pointed to the sleeping figure on Cormac’s lap, curled up like a kitten. The girl at Harry’s side shrugged. “I don’t know.”

He sighed, shaking his head and directing his focus to the man on the chaise. “How long have you been here, McLaggen?”

Cormac blinked slowly, eyes narrowing. “Potter? Is that you?”

“Bloody hell.” Harry groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. He glanced over his shoulder at Neville. “Do me a favor, Nev? Go back to the main room and see who’s coherent enough to speak. See if any of them have seen or heard of Lavender Brown.”

Neville nodded, eyes lingering on the sleeping girl on Cormac’s lap before he backed away into the hall, unsteady on his feet. Harry groaned, suspecting he’d be carrying his friend out after all.

He turned back to the girl at his side, watching as she pulled her dress over her shoulders. “You know a Lavender Brown?”

She pulled her long brown hair free from the collar. She shook her head, glancing to the doorway with obvious desperation but seeming frozen in place, as though waiting for Harry to dismiss her.

He narrowed his eyes, wondering if she was a paid companion or merely looking to supply her habit for free by hanging out in these places. He didn’t know which would come as the bigger insult if he asked. So instead he tipped his head towards the exit.

“You’re free to go. I need to ask your friend some questions, you can have him back after.”

Her eyes darted down to Cormac’s drowsing form, eyes narrowing slightly. “He’s not my friend.”

Harry nodded. “I share in your sentiments. In that case, would you like to stay, watch me rough him up a bit?”

Her eyes snapped back to his, a look of confusion melting away into amusement. “Could I help?”

Harry barked out a laugh, tipping his head back. “Sorry, luv. I’m afraid I don’t have time for that, but I like your way of thinking.” He tilted his head, examining her more closely. “What’s your name?”

Her cheeks flushed. “Susan.”

“Susan,” he repeated slowly, watching her blush spread down her neck and decolletage. “I’m looking for a missing girl by the name of Lavender Brown, blonde, your age and just as pretty.” Susan shifted on her feet, swallowing lightly. “Would you mind keeping your eyes and ears open for me?”

She blinked, watching half dazed as he reached into his coat lining and extracted his calling card, name on the front and address on the back. “If you hear anything give that to the coach driver and they’ll take you to me.”

Her eyes darted back to his.

“No worries, I only want information, nothing more.”

She bit her lip as she slowly took the card, studying the letters along the front as though decoding them. He blinked, realizing she may not be educated.

“I’m Harry.”

She glanced up sharply, eyes narrowed. “I _know_ how to read.”

He smirked at the scorn in her voice. “My apologies.”

“For the record, I’m not what you think I am.”

“I make no assumptions, I assure you.” That was a lie, he assumed he’d enjoy conversing with this woman under different circumstances. She obviously had pluck brewing beneath the surface, reminding him a bit of his best friend. He liked women with backbone, regardless of their circumstances.

Susan slipped his card into the pocket in her skirts, backing away to the door. “I’ll keep an ear out.”

She darted away behind the sheet before he could bid her a thank you or farewell. He sighed, turning back around and scowling as the sound of snoring filled the room. Cormac was passed out, head tipped back against the top of the chaise, a thin line of drool cutting a path down his chin and neck. The girl in his lap was so still she didn’t seem to breathe.

Harry hunched down, shaking her lightly and sagging in relief when she murmured sleepily, eyes slowly blinking awake. He already knew by her hair color she wasn’t the girl he was looking for, and the vacant expression she wore told him she wouldn’t be providing him any worthwhile information.

So he gently helped her off Cormac's lap, holding her arms as she swayed heavily on her feet. “Hello, luv,” he said softly, feeling like he was handling a fawn learning to walk. “I need you to head into the main room for a little while, can you make it there on your own?”

She nodded while her eyes drifted closed once more, her frail body slumping into his.

“Fucking hell,” he murmured, sweeping her into his arms and laying her gently on the floor, out of the way. She immediately curled up into a ball and fell back asleep.

Harry backed away, focusing the full beam of his fury at Cormac who was currently passed out, snoring so loudly it reverberated off the walls.

“Wake up, idiot!” Harry kicked him in the shin, boot colliding hard with bone.

“Ah fuck!” Cormac sprung to life like a snapping bear trap, his body folding in half as he clutched at his abused leg and tipped to the side, head against the cushions. “What the hell- Potter?”

“We’ve already established that. Sit up. I’m tired of this bullshite.”

Cormac blinked rapidly, still slumped over. Harry growled, grabbing him the suspenders and yanking up upright.

“Bloody hell what’s your-”

“Now listen good, because I’m only going to ask you this once before I resort to more drastic measures,” Harry hissed menacingly in his face. “I’m looking for a girl by the name of Lavender Brown. I know you’re intimately familiar with her. Where is she?”

Cormac swallowed, expression pinching. “All this for a strumpet? She’s used goods mate, you’re better off- Ow! Fuck!” His head snapped back from the impact of Harry’s fist.

“You didn’t follow instructions, McLaggen. I asked you a question. _Where is she_?”

“You bloody bastar- Jesus okay!” He cringed back as Harry drew his fist back once more. “Alright! She’s up at the Girls Home on Bromley!”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “That’s where she’s supposed to be,” he ground out, jaw ticking. “She’s been missing since yesterday.”

Cormac wiped at his bloody lip, blinking anew. “I don’t know anything about that, mate.”

Harry shook his head, taking to his full height. “I’m not your mate.”

“Obviously.”

“Where else could she be?”

“How the bloody hell should I know?”

Harry scowled. “You run around with her at least once a week, where do you take her?”

Cormac drew his brows together, still pressing against his rapidly swelling lip. “How do you know about that?”

“I have my sources.”

“Who? I pay good money to keep people quiet.”

“I’m asking the questions here, Mclaggen.”

Cormac scowled in return. “I have no idea where the stupid bint is! If I did I would tell you, she isn’t worth getting my face split open.”

“What a gentleman,” he glanced to the girl sleeping on the floor. “And what about her, do you even know her name?”

“These places aren’t for sharing names, Potter.”

“Just drugs and disease.”

“Get off your high horse you smug prick.”

Harry’s knuckles cracked as his fists clenched anew.

Five minutes later he was helping Neville down the hall, his friend’s arm slung over his shoulder as he half supported half dragged him towards the exit.

“Sorry, Nev, didn’t mean to take so long.”

“S’fine… did you get whatdya needed?”

Harry smirked at the man's slurred speech. He wasn’t happy Neville was high as a jackdaw but he couldn’t help but find twisted amusement in seeing the most straight-laced of his friends decidedly unlaced.

“I got a possible lead, as well as the opportunity to blacken his eye. So, all in all, I’d say our excursion into sin was quite successful.”

Neville hummed, eyes heavy. “S’good. Let’s get some cake.”

Harry chuckled. “Alright, Nev. Let’s go get some cake.”

* * *

Hermione spent five minutes hovering at the end of the hall that led to the large clinic doors.

Her vivid hallucination from yesterday still haunted her. She only found the courage to progress when the doors opened and a girl slipped out, another newer resident who was several years younger than Hermione and therefore housed in a different dorm.

The young girl paused briefly in her tracks upon seeing Hermione standing like a suit of armor at the head of the corridor. Hermione woke from her dark trance and forced herself to smile. It felt strained and grotesque on her face. The girl smiled meekly in return before quickly ducking her head and darting past.

Hermione let out a slow breath, stealing her nerves and proceeding down the hall, eyes fixed on the doors, terrified to glance down and see bloody footprints dotting the stone…

_Stop that._

She bit her lip as she came to a stop at the barrier, debating whether to knock or simply walk in. She decided it was a public clinic, meant for anyone’s use, not the Doctor’s private office.

_Does he have a private office? Or was the desk in the clinic where he intends to work from?_

She shook her head of the thoughts, quickly pulling open the door before she could talk herself out of it. Between her last encounter within this hall and her interaction with the Doctor earlier that morning, she had every desire to flee.

Yet she stepped inside, accepting her fate, eager to meet it even. The anticipation was often worse than the experience itself. Unless it wasn’t.

Her stomach somersaulted as her eyes immediately fell upon him. He stood at the front of the desk, writing something on a clipboard, his back to her and head tilted down. She blinked, his presence still jarring to her even as she knew what to expect.

He was dressed in fine black trousers and a charcoal vest that reminded her a little too much of Draco’s suit from their last encounter. She swallowed, noticing his rolled up shirt sleeves, forearms exposed. He wasn’t wearing a medical jacket, she wondered if he turned his nose up at that convention as well or was merely trying to appear less intimidating to the residents.

Most of the girls here had never been to see a doctor beyond their initial admission to the Home. And Hermione had a sneaking suspicion the previous physician wore his full medical garb in their presence, anything to seem more authoritative and controlling. The thought gave her a chill.

“Ms. Granger. Right on time. I should expect no less.”

She stood at attention, his back still facing her as he focused on whatever he was writing. She began to fidget. She expected him to mention her earlier encounter with Filch, ask her questions, perhaps scold her a little. At the very least she expected him to mention his role in saving her from a dark fate at the hands of the Matron.

Instead, he kept his focus upon the papers before him, addressing her without an upwards glance.

“There’s no need to hover at the door. You’re more familiar with this place than most.”

She released a nervous breath as she stepped deeper into the large room, closer to the windows, peering out at a row of privacy bushes lining the rod iron gate. Night was descending, the sun quickly fading. She tilted her head as she saw a small figure dart past, barely discernible through the gaps in the leaves.

She wondered if it was Colin on his rounds to ignite the gas lights. Soon the street would be awash in the soft glow of moonlight and flame, turning the city into another creature altogether. A dangerous creature perhaps, but Hermione longed to stroke her fingers through its sleek dark fur nonetheless. She was so cooped up, so restless-

“Ms. Granger.”

She spun on her heel, blinking rapidly. She’d almost forgotten where she was. For just a moment her fears were forgotten.

But her nerves rattled full force as Dr. Riddle’s attention was directed solely upon her. He’d stepped no closer, but his eyes rendered her motionless.

“Given your background, I’m sure you know what to expect, to an extent at least.”

She swallowed, throat dry, and nodded.

“Good.” He released her from his thrall, glancing once more at the clipboard in his hand. “I need you to remove your dress and corset. You may leave your shift and everything beneath it in place. Use the privacy screen to your left.”

She took a deep breath, hands clenching at her sides as she cut a path to the standing screen, taking shelter behind it as she was relieved of his presence for a few blessed moments.

_Stop this madness. There’s nothing to fear. You’re acting like a juvenile._

She tried to swallow past the constriction in her throat as her clumsy fingers pulled at the stays and binds at the front of her dress, loosening the top enough to pull it down her waist and over her hips, letting it fall like a corpse around her feet. She closed her eyes as she started unlacing her corset.

Her ivory shift came to her knees, her bloomers and camisole beneath. She wore black stockings up to her mid thighs, the only flesh truly exposed was her arms which were already visible thanks to her cap sleeve dress. But being without the additional layers made her feel wildly bare, vulnerable. She couldn’t abide the feeling. Not in the presence of a stranger, no matter his profession.

She hesitated behind the curtain for several beats. Her movements had stopped, the Doctor no doubt knew she was done undressing, but he made no comment, no urge to hurry her along.

Finally, with great resignation, she emerged from behind the curtain. The Doctor still gazed upon his clipboard but his eyes didn’t move, his body looking tense, rigid, much as she imagined she appeared.

She bit her lip, hovering outside the screen, shifting from stockinged foot to foot, before his eyes slowly shifted upward, locking onto her. She froze.

“Excellent.” His voice sounded deeper, but surely she was just imagining it, frazzled as she was. He blinked, drawing back and lowering his clipboard. “Please, take a seat on the table.”

She turned her head until she saw a raised table in place of one of the cots. It had thin padding and a clean sheet pulled over the top. She took a deep breath and walked over, hoisting herself up. He approached, every step sending her heartbeat higher in her throat. As he stood before her their heights were slightly more level, though he still gazed down at her.

She held her breath, wondering if now he’d mention the incident from earlier when she was raw and exposed before him, less likely to formulate lies.

“I pulled your medical file from the records. Your previous physician was Dr. Murrow at St. Bartholomew's?”

She blinked, once more thrown off pace by his purely professional demeanor.

“Yes.”

He glanced at the clipboard once more, lifting a page.

“You were hospitalized for three days following smoke inhalation.”

She didn’t respond, seeing as he held her medical chart in his hands and bore all the answers anyway. He glanced up sharply. “You failed to mention you were in the fire as well.”

She tentatively wet her lips. “I was…” she glanced away, picking at the fabric of the sheet with her blunt nails. “I was downstairs when it broke out. They were able to drag me out in time.”

She didn’t bother to go on, detailing that her parents were upstairs, trapped in the burning bedroom, the hallway a river of hungry flames. She didn’t mention that she could still hear them screaming her name, not for help, but in a desperate plea for their daughter to flee, to get out.

“You suffered no burns?”

She shook her head, throat drawing to a close once more.

He examined the papers. “This is rather outdated, I need to ask you some questions to modernize it as well as determine the necessary course of exam.”

He seemed to be speaking more to himself than her so she remained still and silent until his questions prompted her to speak.

“Do you drink or smoke?”

“No.”

He scribbled along the margins with a pen, the scratching of the nib the only sound beyond her chaotic heartbeat.

“Do you partake in at least thirty minutes of physical exercise per day, such as walking or performing manual labor?”

She blinked, his voice was flat, toneless, almost unnerving in contrast to the passion he normally spoke with.

“Yes.”

His eyes darted up, scanning her body, making her rear back on instinct.

“You are underweight. Unfortunately, the clinic lacks a scale. Not that I’m surprised.”

She wet her lips. “Perhaps it’s for the best.”

His gaze snapped back to hers, narrowed. She swallowed, almost afraid to continue but speaking purely on adrenaline. “Some of the older girls here are preoccupied with their image, they may abuse the scale and resort to drastic measures to obtain a more favorable weight.”

Something in his eyes flashed. “Is that what you’re doing?”

She flushed. “No, I-” she broke off, unsure how to continue. “I don’t care about my appearance, I mean, I do, but it’s not- I don’t- I wouldn’t-”

“Take a breath, Ms. Granger.” She inhaled sharply, head a whirlwind. “Yesterday you told me your greatest dream is to turn grey and wrinkled before the age of thirty. I don’t deem that as someone obsessed with outward appearance.”

She flushed deeper at his recollection of their earlier conversation. It felt somewhat sordid to think about now, in this clinical setting. She was having trouble equating the man from yesterday, from this morning, with the man who stood before her now, eyes emotionless and flat.

“I may lack a scale but I do have my other tools to obtain vital readings. Please extend your right arm.”

Her brows drew together in confusion, but she did as bade. He smirked lightly as she held her arm at a ninety-degree angle from her body. His hand gently clasped her wrist, pushing it down to forty-five degrees. Her heart skipped a beat at his touch and softened expression.

“Like that,” he murmured, releasing her and stepping away to his desk where a black medical bag sat open. She watched with great curiosity as he emerged with a stethoscope in one hand and a foreign looking device in the other.

“What is that?”

His smirk widened. “I wondered if you’d seen one before. It’s called a sphygmomanometer, it’s a new invention out of Austria. It measures the pressure of one’s blood flow.”

She tilted her head, eyes alight. “Truly? What a remarkable invention!” She bounced lightly in her seat. “How does it work?”

His smirk transformed into a pleased grin. “If you sit still, I’ll show you.”

She nodded eagerly, her earlier discomfort forgotten in the wake of such a learning opportunity. She never got exposed to anything new these days. Little less in the field of medicine.

“This is a pneumatic cuff, it wraps around your bicep and is controlled by the manual pump on this end,” he held each piece aloft for her to view. “I will constrict blood flow through the brachial artery.” He wrapped the two-inch band around her upper arm, she watched with rapt fascination.

“I will then loosen the band and release the blood flow in a controlled manner. The mercury manometer will measure the pressure of release for me. I just have to use the stethoscope to determine at what pressure the blood flow is starting and at what pressure it’s unimpeded.”

She shook her head, hanging on every word. “This is incredible. May I watch?”

He laughed shortly, eyes no longer flat and lifeless but bright and endlessly deep. “That is up to you. The procedure does not require you to close your eyes.”

She smiled as well, too excited to feel embarrassed. He tightened the cuff into position and began squeezing the pump. “Remain still and silent.”

She nodded, watching the dial on the end change, not understanding the readings but no less intrigued. She jumped slightly when she felt the cold sensation of metal pressing against her chest, tugging at the neckline of her shift. She glanced up, eyes fixed on Dr. Riddle's look of concentration as he listened to her heartbeat.

She had no doubt he was being subjected to a cacophony of sounds, her heart beating wildly at his new medical device and close proximity, his upper thighs lightly grazing her knees.

She bit her lip, too overwhelmed to move, to blink. After a few long moments, he released the valve and the air started to hiss free, the pressure slowly easing around her arm. His eyes darted to the meter and then he promptly slid the band off her bicep.

“You’re at one twenty over eighty, which is within the healthy range but right at the cusp of hypertension. No doubt due to the stress put on your heart because of your size.”

She blinked, shifting awkwardly at his casual reference to her slight form but her curiosity burning brighter. “What do those numbers mean?”

“The first refers to the amount of pressure in your arteries during the contraction of your heart. The second refers to the pressure of blood between beats. I have a chart I can show you later listing the ranges. Data is still being collected of course, given the rising popularity of this method.”

“It’s amazing. And I thought the stethoscope was an ingenious bit of design.”

His smirk returned. “Are you familiar with the history of the stethoscope?”

An electrical current ran up her spine, words emitting before she had a chance to think. “It was invented by Dr. Laennec in Paris, its original design merely a wooden tube for listening through one ear. He created it because he was uncomfortable placing his head to women’s chests to listen to their heart.”

He shook his head, walking back to his desk and depositing both items back into his black case. She wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or embarrassed by his silent reaction, his expression a cross between pleasure and amusement. She chewed on the inside of her cheek as an admonishment for rambling like a school girl eager to please the tutor.

“Alright,” he headed back towards her. “Now I’m going to examine your lymphatic and thyroid systems, as well as check the condition of your spleen and liver.”

She nodded, rendered mute as he came to stop directly before her, heat radiating from his form. Or perhaps it was radiating from her. She couldn’t be certain. She sucked in a sharp breath as his hands lifted to her face, blinking rapidly, thinking he was going to touch her cheeks when his fingers slid beneath her jaw, tilting her face upwards lightly.

“Tell me if you experience any discomfort or pain.”

She swallowed thickly, closing her eyes. His fingers were just as cool as they were in the hall this morning, wrapped around her wrist. But now they slid beneath her jaw, pressing into her skin, then around the back of her neck, tipping her head forward as they pressed the sensitive skin at her nape. Gooseflesh rose along her arms. She bit her lip, willing her reactions to calm.

“Lift your arms.” His voice sounded closer, deeper.

She opened her eyes, gasping lightly at seeing his face so close to hers. She lifted her arms on instinct, holding her breath as his hands pressed the glands beneath, only to continue pressing into the skin, skimming down her sides. One large hand splayed casually along her right hip, his other gently prodded at her spleen. Her breath hitched.

“Does that hurt?” She could feel his breath along her face, it was cool, just like his touch, smelling of spearmint.

“N-no.” She blushed hotly at her broken speech. She swallowed, trying again. “No, it doesn’t hurt.”

“Hm.” He hummed low in his throat, rendering her silent once more. He checked her liver next. “Everything seems to be in order.”

She stared fixated at his shoulder, unable to meet his eyes. He was a doctor, she knew this rationally, and had received many medical examinations throughout her life, as paranoid as both her parents were about their daughter falling ill to disease. But having this particular man touch her so felt nothing like the past exams, despite the fact he hadn’t variated from the norm.

“I need to ask you some rather personal questions now, Ms. Granger.”

Her heart thumped painfully in her chest as he finally took a step back, grabbing up his clipboard once more and writing along the margins before pinning her beneath his intense gaze, which was perhaps the only thing that kept her rooted to the table as he spoke.

“Are you intact?”

She felt herself separate from her body, watching someone else answer the questions in rigid stillness.

“Yes.”

He didn’t blink, eyes carefully focused upon her. “Are you sexually active in other ways?”

She released a slow breath. “No.”

His eyes darted between hers before briefly flickering to her mouth. Her heart lurched. His eyes snapped back up. “You don’t engage in any form of physical congress with members of the same or opposite sex?”

The question threw her, unused to such phrasing. She wondered if anyone would openly admit to engaging in sexual acts with their own gender. It was technically an arrestable offense, if not merely swept beneath the rug to never be referenced openly. But she supposed as a physician he was entitled to such information from his patients. She didn’t think he’d use it against them.

_You don’t know this man, Hermione._

She swallowed tentatively. “I… I don’t… not with women.” She blushed furiously, shifting uncomfortably in place.

He raised a dark brow, eyes glowing. “With men?”

She thought her entire body would burst aflame. She prayed for it to happen, to put her out of this awkward misery.

“I don’t… I mean I don’t normally. I just recently, nothing sordid. I mean-”

“Ms. Granger.”

She fell silent, inhaling sharply.

“I am your physician. You don’t have to be embarrassed. But I must know what type of activities you engage in so I know how to best treat you.”

She swallowed, stealing her nerve. “I’ve never been with a man, I’m intact. The most I’ve engaged in is kissing.”

_And heavy pawing…_

She bit her lip, hands curling into the thin padding beneath her.

“And how recently have you engaged in kissing?”

Her brows furrowed.

“Is that important?”

“Yes.”

She blinked. “Um…” Oh god, she _really_ didn’t want to say it… “Yesterday morning.”

Something in his eyes flashed, rendering her motionless, caught. But then he merely gazed down, writing more along the margins.

She felt sick to her stomach, though she didn’t understand why. She’d done nothing wrong. Despite what society might try to instill within her, Hermione considered her body her property and her property alone. She was free to do _whatever_ the hell she wanted, _with_ whoever she wanted, _whenever_ she wanted.

Her embarrassment quickly turned to anger, thinking that the Doctor stood in silent judgment of her. As though she disappointed him somehow. Like he expected better of her. Like engaging in mere kissing made her less of a person, less of a woman-

She blinked, thoughts scattering like feathers to the wind to make room for the memory of Parvati's speech from lunch the day before.

_Bloody hell, is this how I made Lavender feel all those times I lectured her about Cormac?_

She felt doubly sick, this time with guilt. She desperately hoped she got the opportunity to apologize to the girl in person.

 _Don’t think that way! You_ will _see her again-_

“In light of your admission, I see no reason to refer you to a gynecologist for an internal exam.”

She didn’t even know such a thing had been a possibility. She sagged in relief.

“However I will be performing an external one.”

Her relief flew out the window like a frantic bird.

“Lie back. I will inspect your dermis as well, there have been recent cases of infection spread through vermin and I need to check your limbs for bites or abscesses.”

She blinked, in a numb stupor, slowly drawing her legs up and pivoting around, trying to maintain her steady breathing as she laid flat on her back, gazing at the high ceiling but seeing nothing beyond the thick cloud overtaking her vision.

_Breathe. Just breathe. This is perfectly normal. You’ve reached majority, it’s only natural for your reproductive health to become a part of the exams._

She swallowed thickly as he approached, standing at her side.

“Will I be the first to perform an external exam on you?”

Something about his phrasing caused her pulse to throb harder.

“Yes.”

She cringed at the blatant apprehension in her voice.

“There’s no need to worry,” his voice sounded softer now, less clipped. “I will simply press along the outside of your pelvis to check for any lumps or abnormalities. I can also check your inguinal nodes for swelling. Let me know if you feel any discomfort.”

She nodded mutely, feeling tears form along the corners of her eyes. She was too far gone in her anxiety to be embarrassed. His hands hovered above her for a moment. She shifted slightly, wondering the cause for his delay when she felt his eyes alight upon her. She glanced up, locking gazes, utterly helpless to hide.

“Were you aware physicians in medieval times believed a woman’s womb could move about her body?”

She blinked, his question so unexpected she barely noticed his hands make contact with her lower abdomen. His eyes remained firmly locked with hers as he pressed gently. “They called it wandering womb syndrome, and affiliated it with a myriad of afflictions, such as irregular cycles, sore arms, stiff neck, cramped feet, even anxiety and nerves. Basically, anything that caused discomfort was attributed to a displaced uterus.”

She tilted her head, studying his profile as he glanced down, eyes tracking his hands as they lighted upon her. She became mesmerized by his voice, her earlier unease pushed steadily aside.

“Naturally, the prescribed treatment for such an ailment was regular sexual intercourse,” the corner of his mouth tipped up in dark amusement. “Only with one’s husband of course, because the female body would know the difference and only be set right by her husband’s touch.”

She tentatively wet her lips. “I had no idea the uterus was so astute.”

“Astuter than the human brain, it would seem. Luckily the doctors of the time were on top of such things. And as for unmarried women, the cure was strict diet and prayer.”

“I think they got the better end of the deal compared to their married counterparts.”

His face alight with a wry smirk. “I am inclined to agree with you.” His fingers pressed lower, lower, causing her breath to catch. “Thank goodness we’ve come so far in women’s health, wouldn’t you agree?”

Something in his voice spoke volumes far beyond his words, as though he _didn’t_ actually expect her to agree. She suspected he was trying to distract her, and she knowingly took the bait, desperate for the escape.

“I hardly consider us far removed from medieval times in that regard. Women’s reproductive health and mental health are still synonymous. The London Surgical Home continues to perform a ghastly amount of clitoridectomies each year to address any condition they deem to label hysteria. God forbid a woman be branded a nymphomaniac or, worse yet, guilty of masturbation. She’s liable to be locked away from society for the duration of her life.”

Her impassioned speech was cut short by the sensation of his fingers tracing the contours of where her thighs met her pelvic bone. She swallowed heavily as his heated touch lingered, pressing gently, then firmer, igniting warmth through her shift and bloomers and skin, all the way to her core. Her reaction frightened and confused her.

“I take it you aren't a proponent of modern hysterical theory?”

She exhaled slowly, willing her mind away from his touch and back to his words. It was difficult. “I consider all three of those words nothing but a long oxymoron when used in conjunction.”

He startled her with a sharp laugh, deep, genuine and delighted, setting her nerves aflame. He shook his head, wry grin back in place. “I’ve never heard it put that way, but now I shall never be able to think of it as anything but.”

She felt a blush spread across her cheeks and found herself rambling to distract from the fluttering sensation within her chest. “After the trial of Lewis Payne in America, the legal definition of insanity was addressed publicly for the first time. Its definition has nothing to do with the female condition, its source considered one of the mind, not the body. And yet the medical field still operates under the archaic belief that the uterus is a powder keg set to blow at the slightest provocation, turning half the population into raving lunatics at a moment’s notice.”

His hands slid along her hips, seeming to grip them slightly before releasing her all at once. She bit her tongue, startled by the coldness that settled across her skin absent his touch. His eyes met hers, burning bright.

“You speak quite passionately about such things. Do you have any interest in upending the system, Ms. Granger?”

She blinked, heart racing. “What do you mean?”

The corner of his mouth tipped up, eyes narrowing slightly, darkening at the center. “You know exactly what I mean.”

She wet her lips. “I planned on training to become a nurse. Like my mother. But then we heard about the Medical Act that was being pushed steadily through Parliament. My parents told me to hold out and wait for it to pass so my father could back my admission to medical school when the time came.” She swallowed lightly. “It’s being presented in the next few months for final voting. But even if it passes, female applicants need a licensed doctor to recommend them to the board. Without my father’s backing, I won’t qualify regardless of my test scores.”

Something in his eyes flashed. “Surely one of your father’s associates would vouch for you?”

She smiled sadly. “To do so would be putting their reputation on the line. Though the Act may pass, it will not be met with open arms. The proponents will still face great onslaught to their careers. Anyone considered a supporter will be targeted by those against the reform. My father may have been willing to put his name on the line, but I couldn’t ask anyone else to do so for me.”

His eyes studied her, rendered her motionless. “You are far too caring for your own good, Hermione. It will only lead you to ruin.”

She blinked, pulse thrumming at hearing her first name from his lips at long last. He stepped closer to her head, leaning in slightly, stealing the breath from her lungs as he gazed down upon her.

“Some things in life are so important they must be taken, no matter the cost to others. Sometimes it’s okay to be selfish. Necessary even.”

She felt dizzy despite her prone position beneath him. She swallowed twice before finding her voice.

“It’s never necessary to be selfish.” Her voice sounded frail, weak, young. She hated it.

He watched her in the thick, ominous silence that followed, she worried her frantic heart would leap right out of her chest. Then he slowly raised to his full height, stepping back. The spell was broken, the lights lifted, the rest of the room was brought back to stunning clarity.

“I will examine your skin for worrisome blemishes now.” He spoke as though the previous exchange hadn’t occurred.

She blinked, dazed as he walked to the foot of the table.

“I’m going to remove your stockings.”

Her breath caught in her throat. She hesitated, replaying the words in her head though she was certain she heard them correctly. He didn’t ask permission, didn’t request that _she_ remove them…

She gasped as she felt his hands slide under her shift, dragging the thin barrier up above her knees as he grasped the dark fabric of her stocking, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin of her mid-thigh. She swallowed thickly, rendered limp as he pulled the fabric down one leg, over her knee, past her calf, and then a hand cupped the back of her ankle, raising her foot to remove the scrap of fabric entirely.

She let out a sharp breath, blinking rapidly as the cool air danced along her heated, exposed flesh. She braced herself, tamping down the urge to gasp anew as he repeated the motion on the other legs, this time his fingertips seemed to skim a trail down the back of her knee and calf, making the muscles tense reflexively.

Once both legs were bared to his eyes he proceeded to rake them with his gaze, though he didn’t touch them. Still, his eyes burned at hot as a physical touch. She averted her own to the ceiling, trying to regulate her breathing once more.

“I see no bites or abscesses, no moles,” perhaps she imagined his brief pause, “No flaws.”

Her heart skipped a beat and then thudded so painfully she jolted lightly. He stepped away from the table.

“I’ve seen your arms already to know they are the same. But I would like to examine your wrist more closely. You may sit up.”

She worried she wouldn’t be able to, rendered as nerveless as she was. She bit her lip and slowly pulled herself into an upright position, keeping her knees together as she slid them around the side of the table to dangle off the edge.

She slowly gazed up and met his eye as he held a hand out expectantly. She took a deep, grounding breath, and raised her arm, placing her hand palm up in his. His fingers curled around the appendage, ensnaring it. He rotated it slowly in either direction.

“Pain?”

She shook her head.

The fingers of his other hand grazed along the faint blue and purple tracks along her pale flesh, deeper in hue than this morning.

“Bruising looks to be the worst of it. Lucky for Filch.”

She blinked at his casual statement, detecting the note of hostility brewing beneath the surface. She nervously wet her lips, deciding to take the plunge rather than skirting the edge any longer.

“Thank you for defending me against him this morning.”

His eyes snapped back to hers, silence in their wake. His gaze was steady, intense, _expectant_.

She pushed ahead, every vein in her body throbbing.

“I don’t usually- I don’t normally break the rules or sneak about.”

He raised a dark brow, something in his stare igniting. “Such as hiding in stranger’s wardrobes at three in the morning?”

She swallowed. “It was two in the morning actually.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up. He still held her wrist captive.

“Semantics. Why were you sneaking out of the Home in the first place?”

His eyes flickered to her mouth and back, she realized with a jolt he probably thought she had run off to meet up with a man, the man she admitted to kissing yesterday.

She couldn’t afford to think that man’s name at this given moment or she’d surely implode.

“I was searching for my missing roommate,” she blurted out, equally desperate to explain and to quell her traitorous thoughts.

His fingers tightened their hold on her arm, she cringed. He blinked, releasing her so suddenly her limp arm smacked into her knees.

“Missing roommate?” His tone had changed to something new. Something she didn’t recognize, not as the intensely passionate man or the staunchly professional doctor. Whatever this new persona was seemed darker, intenser than the others.

“When did this occur?”

She pulled out of her reverie. “Yesterday morning. Lavender went with a few others to pick up groceries at the market and disappeared. They lingered behind to search for her for several hours before returning. My other roommate and I tried to coordinate a search party but Umbridge refused. She claims Lavender ran away and is expelled from the Home. But I know that’s not the case. I don’t know what happened, but I know that she didn’t run away. Not without saying goodbye.”

She found it immensely cathartic to discuss such things with someone other than Harry. She wondered if the doctor would care about her plight.

“So you took it upon yourself to go searching through London for her yourself?” He didn’t sound accusing, merely curious.

She debated on how much to tell him but decided she owed him at least some of the truth in light of his help this morning.

“I visited a good friend who I thought might be able to help get the word out and organize a search outside of Umbridge’s control.”

Mentioning her intent to undermine the Matron seemed to intrigue him, his expression pulling free of the shadows enough for his eyes to gleam in the weening sunlight. “You’re certain she didn’t run away? Or skip out to bed down with friends for a few nights?”

Hermione didn’t hesitate. “I know with every fiber of my being that Lavender would have returned to the Home if she had the power to.”

She blinked, deflating at her own declaration. She already knew the truth in her heart but had been unwilling to face it, unwilling to break hope or resolve. But in his presence, she had only the naked truth at her disposal.

“I know that something bad has happened.”

He held her gaze, expression unreadable, before finally breaking the tense silence like a rubber band. “I will speak to Umbridge.”

She jolted, rearing back. “Really?” She couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice. Of all the reactions she’d been expecting, that hadn’t been it.

He looked slightly amused by her outburst, then his expression sobered. “We are tasked with protecting those assigned to our care. She went to the market on an errand and disappeared. It is no different than if she disappeared from under this very roof. Allowing her to go without at least attempting a search is unacceptable.”

She swallowed, throat tight. She felt her eyes burning and blinked, desperately fighting the tears. Her relief was so overwhelming she could only manage to whisper a small, “Thank you.”

He tilted his head, eyes roaming her body. But this time it didn't seem to be in a purely clinical fashion…

Before she could process the moment fully his eyes met hers once more and he nodded. “You’re welcome.”

Several minutes later she was stepping out from behind the partition, fully clothed, feeling overly dressed for the first time in a long time. While laying about in her underclothes and shift had seemed mortifying and awkward at first it somehow felt like a second skin by the time Dr. Riddle told her the appointment was finished.

She was disappointed to find him seated behind the desk, deep in paperwork by the time she emerged. He didn’t glance up at the sound of her footsteps. She rocked awkwardly on her heels, unsure what to say, settling on a simple farewell.

“Good evening, Doctor.”

His head snapped up, eyes flat and emotionless. Her least favorite persona. “Good evening, Ms. Granger.”

Se hesitated a beat, hoping he’d tell her to sleep well, a cheeky allusion to their first encounter. But he merely glanced back down to his work, dismissing her.

She swallowed down the sour emotion that brimmed within her and started for the door, ready to escape.

“Ms. Granger.”

Her heart leaped, she spun on her heal, eager, alert. He continued to gaze at his paperwork as he spoke.

“You will do wise to heed my advice. Stay within these walls unless given explicit permission otherwise. The Madam seems particularly keen on expelling residents, and I won’t always be there to save you.”

She blinked, something in his words making her blood run cold beyond the everyday threat of Umbridge’s scorn. She nodded silently, then realized he wouldn’t be able to see the gesture with his gaze averted.

“I understand.”

“I was hoping you’d agree. But alas, I cannot control your actions, merely attempt to influence them.”

She intertwined her fingers before her, looking down. She could easily promise to stay confined to the Home but she knew it would end up being a lie. She didn’t want her first promise to him to be something she knew she couldn’t keep.

“I’ll take your advice to heart,” she settled on instead, gazing up at his deep chuckle.

He was looking at her now, eyes bright despite the rapidly darkening room. “See that you do.”

She was about to turn and leave when he called her attention once more, sending a thrill through her limbs.

“Hermione…”

He held her gaze for several beats, the setting sun casting the clinic into long shadows, his face transforming into a beautiful and lethal mask.

“I assure you, your missing friend will turn up.”

She held her breath, sensing something dangerous in her midst, watching, waiting...

“One way or another, they always turn up.”


	5. Vertigo

_Down_  
_Down_  
_Down_  
_Would the fall never come to an end!_  
.   .   .

Hermione walked along the corridor leading to the clinic, body numb, pace steady.

The walls vibrated all around her, a deafening hum of whispers echoing off every stone, sharp but unintelligible to her ears. Her mind felt heavy and slow, thoughts slow to process, senses dulled.

She looked in either direction, searching for the source of the voices, doing a double take as she glanced over her shoulder and spotted a long trail of bloody footprints in her wake.

Strange.

Was she bleeding?

She looked down but couldn’t see her feet. The floor was filled with smoke, black and opaque. It hovered around her knees, rising no further.

She glanced back up, the doors were in front of her now-

And then she was drifting through them. Into the clinic.

Only... she wasn’t inside the clinic.

She was in an office.

A very familiar office.

Blind panic seized her.

_No! Please no!_

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t unleash the scream that was tearing through her mind, burning through her chest, her vocal chords as useless as the rest of her. She couldn't blink, couldn’t flinch, couldn’t take control of her limbs-

Her heart thudded painfully against her ribcage as the tread of slow, steady footsteps sounded behind her, louder and louder, closer and closer…

_Turn around!_

_Run!_

Her body burned with exertion as she strained every muscle, desperate to regain mobility. But it was to no avail, she remained frozen in place, standing in the middle of the opulent office, facing the large windows, sunshine streaming in but not quite reaching her, leaving her suspended in shadows.

The footsteps stopped.

Directly behind her.

Her senses became overwhelmed by the sweltering presence at her back, the warm breath on her nape, causing the fine hairs along her arms to stand on end. Her entire being vibrated with unbridled terror. Every nerve ending raw and exposed, every vein throbbing, set to burst at the slightest touch-

“Hello, Hermione.”

Her first instinct was to close her eyes, separate herself from this moment, but she had no eyelids, no means of escape.

A large hand wrapped around the back of her neck, thumb pressing painfully against her frantic pulse, a searing brand.

“Don’t you look lovely,” he purred against her skin, teeth nipping at her flesh. “What a pretty little dress, did you wear that just for me?”

Her throat was on fire, whether from the forcefully tamped scream or the rising bile she wasn’t certain, but she was unable to emit any sound or find release. A second hand wrapped around her arm, wrenching her back-

And then her vision was filled with _Him_.

He leered down, stepping into her body, filling her nasal passage and lungs with a toxic cloud of expensive cologne and liquor. He pressed her back, back, back, she was floating, suspended in mid-air by the force of her terror, heels dragging along the floor, and then her body hit the hard, unyielding door, her head ringing with the collision.

She wasn’t breathing and yet she remained vividly conscious. He dipped his head in, scraping his lips and teeth along her neck, his stubble leaving a burning rash in its wake.

“That’s it, luv, scream for me.”

She wanted to, so desperately. But she couldn’t get her lungs to function.

“That’s a good girl,” he moaned, grinding his lower half into her skirts, sending ripples of fear and revulsion through her trembling limbs. “Now say my name.”

Suddenly the door gave way and she was torn from His grasp, falling backward in a fit of terrifying weightlessness, down, down, down… the hole had endless sides, no bottom, no end in sight-

And then her body collided with solid warmth, a wall of muscle, hands gripping her arms from behind, a chest pressing along her spine.

“Hermione,” a new voice whispered into her ear, spearmint breath chasing along her neck, once more bringing her nerve endings to startling life. “You are far too caring for your own good. It will only lead you to ruin.”

She gasped as she felt his arms encase her, pressing her so tightly against him she wasn’t certain where she stopped and he started. She tried to turn her head to gaze upon his face but could only stare ahead into the vast darkness before her.

“Some things in life are so important they must be taken…”

She swallowed thickly, surrendering to his hold, melting into his embrace. And then his velvet lips were grazing along her bare shoulder. She couldn’t see her body but somehow knew she was wearing only her shift.

He put his mouth to her ear once more, his breath giving life to her own.

“ _I_ will lead you to ruin...”

She shuddered as his hands pressed along her abdomen, sliding down, across her hips and tracing the crease of where her thighs met her sex-

“Hermione.”

A new voice. Painfully familiar. Intimate. Angry.

She jolted, Riddle’s touch falling away at once, the darkness still surrounding her on all sides but a recognizable figure took shape within the center…

“Draco.” Her heart leaped into her throat, dread and shame washing through her veins, filling the chambers of her heart. She tried to cross her arms to hide her meager coverings but they wouldn’t cooperate.

His expression was lethal. “I offered you the world, and this is how you repay me?”

“No, I didn’t-”

“Why do you want to hurt me?”

She shook her head desperately. “I don’t!” Her gaze widened as he started to fade from view, turning translucent before her eyes. “No, wait! Draco-”

Her cry fell short when a new figure blinked into existence, appearing before her all at once. She swallowed thickly.

“Lavender?”

Her friend hovered in the darkness, long blonde hair blowing in an invisible breeze.

Hermione tried to step forward but her feet were stuck in place, so she reached her arm out instead, straining desperately but unable to reach.

“Lavender!” She screamed, sensing something terrible in their midst. The swirling darkness was alive, churning, set to swallow them both whole.

The blonde tipped her head, expression beatific, radiating an inner light.

“Hermione…”

Lavender held her gaze for a short eternity before she spoke again, voice calm, detached.

“Run.”

And then the bottom dropped out, the endless abyss taking them both.

* * *

Hermione awoke gasping for breath, feeling her limbs crash into the mattress, the fall finally coming to an end. She was soaked in sweat, heart thrumming so rapidly she feared it may give out entirely.

“Bloody hell.”

She gasped anew, jolting against the headboard at the sudden voice, a figure appearing beside the bed.

“I am both desperate and terrified to know what you were dreaming about.”

She swallowed, closing her eyes and running a hand along her face.

“Parv-”

“At first I thought you were having another night terror, but then I became convinced it was a wonderfully filthy dream… and _then_ you started screaming Lav’s name, so it could really be either I suppose.”

Hermione shook her head. “Hilarious.”

“What? You’ve never had an erotic dream about one of us?”

She sighed, slumping back into the pillow.

“There’s no shame in admitting it, luv. I’ve had plenty starring you.”

Hermione closed her eyes, willing her nerves to settle in the new reality she found herself in. She felt the mattress dip down, a delicate weight settling beside her.

“I’m okay,” she said, voice strained, eyes still closed.

“I know.”

Hermione took a deep breath, tipping her head back and laying her arms flat at her sides as Parvati settled back against the mattress.

“Really, Parv, you don’t have to-”

“I said I know. I’m here for me if you must know.”

Hermione’s eyes snapped open, head turning to the side.

“Are you alright?”

There was a tense silence, her friend’s face masked by the heavy shadows cloaking the bedroom.

“I’ve been up most the night, thinking about every worst-case scenario in startling detail.”

Hermione turned onto her side, allotting the girl her full attention. “Don’t do that.”

“Easier said than done.”

“It’s going to be okay. She’s going to be okay-”

“Don’t say that just to say it, Hermione. You don’t know what happens to young women out on the streets. I do.”

Hermione blinked, the loaded statement weighting her limbs, sinking her lungs. She wet her lips tentatively, treading along the edge of the swirling whirlpool of Parvati’s past.

“Is that...” she hesitated, then braced herself, jumping off the ledge. “Is that what happened to Padma?”

She swallowed heavily, the tense silence that followed making her shift awkwardly. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that, I shouldn’t have-”

“No, it’s alright,” Parvati’s voice was thicker than moment’s ago. “I don’t talk about her with just anyone. But I trust you.”

Hermione felt warmth blossom within her chest at the statement. She had been painfully curious about Parvati’s twin since she first learned about her, though it was Lavender who let the fact slip one day months ago after Hermione awoke to find the brunette sleeping beside her.

Lavender explained that Hermione had been thrashing about in her sleep and they’d been unable to wake her. Not wanting to alert the Matron or Filch, Parvati had laid next to her in a desperate attempt to calm her. Lavender said she got the idea from sharing a bed with her sister growing up.

She’d then warned Hermione to wait for Parvati to volunteer the information herself. Hermione had waited patiently but finally accepted that the time may never come. She only broached the sensitive topic now because of the dark circumstances surrounding them.

She suspected Parvati was being haunted by more than just Lavender’s disappearance, and that speaking about it may be cathartic. They were both in desperate need for release, the pent-up fear and anxiety eating away at their already frail sanity.

“Padma and I lived with our parents just outside of Haggerston, near the timber yard. Do you know the area?”

Hermione fought to keep her expression neutral, nodding slowly. Despite the darkness, it seemed her roommate saw right through her ruse.

“Yes, it’s one of the roughest neighborhoods north of the Thames, I’m well aware. Lots of gangs, lots of violence. But there’s also a lot of families, jam-packed, living on top of each other in squalor and disease.”

Hermione listened so closely she was afraid to breathe.

“There were lots of youths running about, getting into trouble, desperate to make a few notes, anything to get out of there,” she continued, voice suddenly swelling, full of pride. “Padma didn’t let any of the boys give her the runaround. You should have seen her. She was utterly brilliant. Starling so. All the intelligence went straight to her in the womb. And she was so level-headed, no matter the situation. But also passionate. You could listen to her talk about anything, she always made it sound so interesting.”

She paused.

“You remind me of her, actually.”

Hermione swallowed, reaching out on instinct, taking Parvati’s hand in her own. The girl gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, continuing in a more somber voice.

“Disease ran rampant, given the living conditions, obviously. We lived in one big room, and the walls separating us from the next family over were thinner than a tea filter. Our mum contracted the sickness first. We thought it was typhoid, we had no doctor to diagnose her, little less offer treatment. We isolated her as best we could, hoping to minimize the risk of it spreading. But it was typhus, and Padma fell ill not long after.”

She swallowed, the air around them charged and tense. “After mum died and Padma was bedridden my father and I became desperate. He was earning less than minimum wage because of his immigrant status, and as a woman and an immigrant I was practically unemployable.”

Hermione’s body tensed. She knew what she wanted to ask but she was afraid to give the thoughts voice.

“Desperate times and all that... I did what I had to do to get the money for her treatment. We managed to scrape enough together for her to be admitted to an en masse clinic. But it didn’t do any good. She was too far gone at that point. I visited her everyday, stayed as long as they’d let me. And then one day I came round and her cot was filled by someone else. They didn’t let me see her body. Didn't let me say goodbye. They just threw her on the back of a wagon with the rest of the diseased corpses and drove her off.”

Hermione blinked, tears dropping off her chin to her chest, soaking into the fabric of her nightgown.

Parvati swallowed thickly, the only betrayal of emotion. “After that, dad lost it. Lost everything. Including his will to live. He developed consumption within weeks and died soon after.”

Hermione wiped at her wet cheeks, trying to hide her reaction, not wanting to upset the girl who obviously suppressed her own emotions so masterfully.

“Parvati… I-”

“I know.” Her voice was an iron barrier, the message clear. “I know, Mione. It’s okay.”

Hermione longed to say the words anyway, communicate the depth of her sympathy, her love for the girl lying beside her who she had only known such a short while but had developed such a strong kinship with. But she also knew Parvati didn’t process tragedy and loss the same as she did, and that forcing the matter would do more harm than good. Parvati obviously said all she intended to say, and Hermione was grateful for even that much.

“Alright,” she agreed reluctantly. “I’ll just say this… I’m glad you told me.”

Parvati inclined her head, a stray beam of moonlight hitting her across the eyes, illuminating their dark depths.

“So am I.”

* * *

Draco entered the bright dining room with narrowed eyes, his head a throbbing blister set to burst. He cringed at the unforgiving clink of silverware against fine china, the rhythmic sawing of a knife against the plate. His father had impeccable table manners, his mother even more so, which meant whoever sat at the table was no doubt making great effort to annoy him.

He averted his squinted gaze at the head of the table, the blurry form at the end taking shape. Draco scowled, then grimaced at the sharp screech that followed from their meticulous hands.

“ _Thank you_ for that.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Lucius said with a bright grin, voice loud and boisterous, filling every corner of the room and ringing off every edge of Draco’s pulsating skull. “How did you sleep, son?”

Draco swallowed lightly, fighting the urge to spew across the expensive table linen.

“If you deem to grace this room with the contents of your stomach you will find yourself without carriage privileges for a fortnight.”

Draco rolled his eyes- or tried to, stopping halfway as a wave of vertigo swept over him- and hastily pulled a chair free, slumping gracelessly atop the seat, leaning his head against the back and gazing blearily at the ceiling mural, an oil paint rendition of the birth of Venus.

“Dare I ask what you got up to last night, or the many hours preceding it?”

It took several regulated breaths through his nose before Draco felt confident words would be the only thing emitted from his mouth.

“I paid patronage to Crockford’s.”

Lucius shook his head, sawing into his sausage link with added gusto, making Draco cringe anew. “And how much of my money did you award the filthy fishmonger?”

His father’s words rang through his head once more, but this time for their content versus their volume.

His _father’s_ money…

_“He’ll cut you off, Draco. You may say you don’t care now, but trust me, you will.”_

He swallowed past his rapidly constricting throat, his airway closing off.

“Honestly, Draco. Must you turn green in the dining room of all places? I’m trying to eat.”

“It’s my money as well.”

“Excuse me?”

Lucius raised a pale brow, his regal, statuesque features so greatly mirrored in his son. Draco was unnerved at just how alike they were starting to look, every year the differences becoming less and less…

It was enough to send his treacherous stomach over the edge. He quickly forged ahead, desperate for any means of distraction.

“I’m your sole heir. The Malfoy fortune is as much mine as it is yours.”

Lucius chuckled, averting his gaze to his plate as he continued to cut his food into perfectly shaped bites.

“I beg to differ, my dear boy. As the head of this family, I assure you that I have absolute control of where every pence is allotted. That includes how many show up in your pockets.” His mercurial gaze snapped up. “But I have a feeling you aren’t interested in a lesson on gentry inheritance laws. So why don’t you tell me what drove you to the rat-infested gambling den in the first place?”

“It’s not rat infested. It’s thriving.”

“Of course it is. Crockford’s is frequented by the black sheep of every aristocratic family in the commonwealth. I never expected to count my son among them.”

“I’m happy I could live down to your expectations.”

“Very funny. So do you plan on telling me what’s the matter?”

“Nothing’s the matter.”

“I’ve heard from my contacts that you’ve made two visits to Grimmauld in as many days.”

Draco scowled. “Spying on me.”

“Hardly. I assure you, I sleep far better at night not knowing the extent of your vices. However, I do keep an eye on my business associates and extended family alike. I need to be alerted to any potential scandal. And Sirius warrants twice the watching.”

“I wasn’t visiting Black.”

“I’m aware.”

“Then why bother mentioning it?”

“Because I am interested in knowing why you find it so important to visit the Potter boy so soon after his return.”

“I wanted to ask him about enlisting.”

Lucius tipped his head back and laughed, the sound deep and melodious, making Draco’s hackles rise.

“Forgive my reaction,” he said without a hint of sincerity. “I admit you would cut quite the dashing figure in uniform. But you are far better suited to Parliament.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed to slits. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just as it sounds. You are far too intelligent to be a simple cog in Her Majesty’s Royal militia.”

“You think I’m too weak to be a soldier.”

“I never said that. Nor do I think it. Any idiot can fire a gun. It takes special skill to sway a room of politicians and lawyers to your side of an argument. There is no greater esteem than serving in the House of Lords, that is where the Malfoy men belong. That is where you belong.”

Draco swallowed heavily, averting his gaze.

_“We both know your father will never allow you to marry me.”_

He closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I’m not marrying Tori.”

Lucius blinked, obviously caught off guard by the abrupt change in subject but quickly finding his footing, an experienced politician.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, it is.”

Lucius pushed his plate away, tossing his napkin to the table and leaning back in his seat.

“Alright. I’d assumed you’d prefer waiting until you didn’t feel like death warmed over, but if you insist on having this out now then I certainly won’t stop you.”

Draco scowled, fists clenching on his lap. “There’s nothing to _have out_. I’m not marrying her. That’s the end of it.”

He maintained his glare but harbored a great sense of unease as he watched his father calmly lace his fingers before him on the table. He performed the same movement before tearing his adversaries to shreds in Parliament and the courtroom.

“And is there something that brought on this passionate disposition?”

Draco did his best to keep his mask of indignant anger in place, knowing any crack in the facade would prove fatal. His father could smell blood in the water from kilometers away.

“I just don’t want to be subjected to an arranged marriage. You weren’t.”

Lucius smirked. “You know full and well I was contracted to your aunt Andromeda since we were both in swaddling clothes. The contract was rendered null and void after she ran off with a chimney sweep.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “He runs a publishing house.”

“He certainly didn’t at the time. Regardless, I was only given leave to marry your mother because it still united our families.”

“But you were in love by then.”

“Yes, we were.”

“You weren't saddled with someone you didn’t want.”

Lucius raised a brow, a knowing glint igniting in his molten gaze.

“Is there someone else you _want_ , Draco?”

Draco’s fists tightened further yet, the knuckles turning white.

_“Do you really think he’d be fine with you marrying me instead?”_

His jaw ticked. “I didn’t say that. Merely that I don’t want to be forced into a union without affection.”

“And what makes you so certain affection won’t develop later in time?”

“I’ve known Tori since we were children.”

“I’ve known your mother since she was born.”

“Yes, and you knew you wanted her even when you were promised to her sister. Astoria and I have had ample opportunity to develop such an attraction and so far none has blossomed.”

“Perhaps it simply needed the proper encouragement.”

“Neither of us are encouraged. She doesn’t want this union any more than I do.”

“Her father has voiced no objections.”

“She’s a dutiful daughter, she’d never oppose his wishes openly.”

“How fortunate for him to be afforded such obedience.”

Draco shook his head in annoyance as Lucius smirked. “I’m merely poking fun, Draco. You know I appreciate your rebellious streak. You remind me so greatly of myself at your age it’s scary at times.”

Draco seethed. “We aren’t as alike as you’d think.”

Lucius arched an intrigued brow. “Please, illuminate me.”

_It’s a trap. He’s trying to lead me somewhere…_

_Does he know?_

The thought gave Draco pause.

If a number of his friends knew about him and Granger then it wasn’t impossible that word may have led back to his father.

He swallowed tentatively, forging ahead as best he could with a throbbing skull and churning stomach.

“I don’t see why I have to get engaged right now. I’m twenty-one, shouldn’t I get a reprieve before I’m tied down with a bunch of screaming rugrats?”

“So you’re opposed to marrying anyone at this point in your life?”

Draco swallowed.

_He’s definitely leading this somewhere…_

“Yes,” he deflected. “Of course I am.”

Lucius nodded, though there were wheels turning behind his eyes that were greatly unsettling.

“I see. Well, if I had multiple sons to spare then you could whore about at your leisure. However, given the fickle thread of life, the family line must be secured as soon as possible in the event you and I meet our gruesome ends sooner than expected.”

Now it was Draco’s turn to raise a brow. “We’re expected to meet gruesome ends?”

“They run in the family, I’m afraid.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Fantastic, something else to look forward to.”

“You’ve been afforded more than most could ever dream of, Draco. You will do well to remember that when it comes time to finally make a sacrifice for the sake of your family’s well being.”

Draco’s face pinched in annoyance, a sharp barb at the ready, but he managed to tamp it down at the last minute, averting his gaze and pushing back from the table.

“You’re right, I’d rather wait to have this conversation when I don’t feel like death warmed over.”

Lucius smiled indulgently. “A wise decision.”

Draco channeled his huff of annoyance through his nose, expelling steam. He stood and began to leave, but as he reached the doorway his father spoke once more.

“Oh, and Draco?”

He stopped short, one hand resting on the maple frame as he glanced over his shoulder with raised brows.

Lucius’s smile fell away, his face transforming into lethal repose.

“Stay away from Hermione Granger.”

* * *

Luna slid into the bench beside Hermione with easy grace, her mannerisms light and effortless, lacking the rigid lines Hermione felt within her own posture most days.

“Good morning,” she greeted serenely, smiling as always. “A messenger pigeon visited the garden earlier today.”

Hermione quickly spun in her seat. “For me?”

Luna nodded, slipping a narrowly folded piece of parchment into Hermione’s hands beneath the table.

“Dennis says hi.”

Hermione smiled. The Creevey brothers were well known throughout the Home for providing goods and services to the residents under the Matron’s radar. They passed the gates twice a day to maintain the gas lights, and hid notes and small parcels in secret nooks for a small fee, though Dennis was quite taken with Luna and did anything she requested for free, despite her every attempt to pay him.

Hermione clutched the paper tightly in her palm, glancing over her shoulder at the head table. Umbridge sat with her back ramrod straight, a regent holding court, narrowed gaze sweeping along her disloyal subjects. When they alighted upon Hermione they somehow narrowed even further, flames in their depths.

Hermione held her stare with a steady calm, unflinching. Umbridge scowled and then glanced away, continuing her eager search for any punishable offenses.

Hermione briefly wondered if the Doctor took breakfast in the public hall or in his rooms. The thought of him dining while reclined in bed, the bed she had seen in person that first night, made her flush brightly.

And then her dream came back to her…

She swallowed thickly, facing forward once more.

“Tell me if she looks this way,” Hermione whispered. Luna leaned forward slightly, nodding as she kept the Matron in her gaze.

Hermione carefully unfolded the parchment, smoothing it across her lap with nervous fingers, recognizing the messy handwriting immediately and smiling. The message was short, direct and signed with love, a perfect reflection of the author’s personality.

“Is it from your friend?” Luna asked lowly, eyes still trained on the head table.

Hermione nodded with a smile. “Yes, Harry says they have a possible lead, he’s following up on it today and will let me know what he finds via Colin.” She bit her lip, eyes lingering on another sentence within the message. “He also says our friend Ron is arriving home tomorrow on leave. He wants to see me.” She sighed, briefly closing her eyes. “Which will be virtually impossible thanks to my house arrest.”

Luna tilted her head. “Will he still be in London when the arrest is lifted?”

Hermione smirked, sending her a sideways glance. “Ron isn’t known for his patience. If I don’t find some way of breaking free to see him for a few minutes I fear he may break _in_ …”

Luna smiled. “You have many people that care for you. That’s wonderful, Hermione.”

Hermione’s expression sobered. She reached out without thinking, grasping the blonde’s hand in a mirror image of the moment she shared with Parvati in the wee hours of the morning.

“So do you, Luna. I care about you.”

Luna’s smile grew, her face angelic. “Thank you, Hermione. That means a lot.”

Hermione swallowed, Luna’s innocent words filling her with a great weight instead of the lightness she’d expected.

She held the girl’s guileless blue gaze, realizing for the first time with perfect, stunning clarity that she was responsible for Luna, just as she was responsible for Parvati, Hannah… and Lavender. These girls had become her new family.

And Hermione refused to lose any more family.

* * *

Dolores was having a terrible day.

Between finding a way to make the meager funding they received from the Crown stretch across the multitude of bills the Home accumulated and the general antics of the misfits she housed, she was in dire need of a strong cup of tea with just a dash of brandy. A thimble full wouldn’t be deemed too illicit, surely.

Furthermore, she had been informed by Mr. Filch last night that Ms. Granger had been caught out in the garden, which at first had inspired a great sense of excitement and anticipation. Granger had been nothing but an ongoing thorn in her side since her admission, challenging her decrees at every turn.

The girl thought she was superior to everyone around her, just because she grew up in a fine neighborhood and was afforded private tutors. But her current circumstances proved just how utterly _ordinary_ she was. No better than anyone. No different than Dolores.

Except Dolores wasn’t ordinary. Not anymore. She was the Head of a Girls Home that was afforded great attention from the Crown. She was a someone, powerful and relevant at long last.

And she wouldn’t let these witless harlots deter her from her mission.

So when she’d heard about Granger’s blatant skirting of her house arrest, mere hours after it had been set down, Dolores had been eager to make an example of the nuissant girl once and for all...

… Only to be met with crippling disappointment when Filch had informed her in his next breath that the girl had been acting on instructions from the Doctor.

After the bristling anger had faded she’d been met with a great unease. What was the Doctor doing undermining her orders?

Surely it was a misunderstanding. Doctor Riddle was utterly brilliant, a man of conservative reform, if his stunning recommendations had anything to say about it. It was such a relief to have a like-minded individual on the premises, someone to hold an intelligent conversation at long last.

And it didn’t hurt that he was superb to look upon, utterly beguiling in his perfection…

Not that she would let it interfere with their professional relationship. She was his boss, after all, she must maintain a healthy distance for propriety's sake.

She wondered if he was unattached.

Just then a knock sounded on her door. She blinked, pulling out of her treacherous thoughts and glancing sharply to the door. Her heart raced, hands beginning to sweat.

“Come in.”

The door opened swiftly, a tall lithe figure emerging.

“Madam.” He dipped his head, voice sending thrills along her limbs. “You beckoned?”

She swallowed. “Oh, why yes, I did.” She fought back a cringe at the heightened octane of her voice. “Please, do come in.”

He held her gaze for a moment longer, something about it unsettling, but before the emotion could fully take root he stepped inside her office, closing the door behind him without prompt.

She sat back straighter, pleased he made the assumption, that he wanted their exchange to be _private_.

She couldn’t help her grin from spreading as he cut a path to her desk, coming to a stop on the opposite side with his hands folded behind his back, awaiting her leave to sit.

_What superb manners. The mark of a true gentleman..._

She tittered nervously as his storm cloud eyes seemed to drill holes straight through her, leaving her a bit breathless and scattered.

“Oh, um, please, do sit.”

He pulled out the chair and gracefully folded into it, still gazing down upon her from his impressive height. His face was expressionless, at least of any emotion she could discern, but his eyes looked expectant. She cleared her throat, trying to pull her thoughts together.

“I merely wanted to discuss the incident that occurred yesterday with one of the residents. A Miss Granger.”

“Hermione.”

She blinked, his automatic response pulling the pleasant smile right off her face.

“Um… yes. Hermione Granger. You met her in my office on your second evening here-”

“I recall.”

She swallowed lightly, shifting in her seat. “Yes, well, she is a known troublemaker, you see. Always running wild, doing as she pleases. She isn’t to be trusted.”

He tilted his head. “This is the same girl you enlist to transport the bulk of the Home’s medical supplies, is it not?”

Umbridge felt a flush of heat steal across her neck and across her cheeks. “I- that’s not-” she blinked twice, heart leaping. “That isn’t what I mean. She runs errands just fine, but she has no regard for the rules. She thinks she is above them, superior to the other girls here.”

Her eyes flickered between his, looking for any sign of agreement, an acquiesce. But all she saw was lightning flicking through the dark clouds. She leaned back, unconsciously putting more distance between them.

“I only mention this in light of my recent discovery that you assigned her the task of collecting herbs from the garden-”

“I had her run inventory.”

Dolores’s jaw snapped shut. No one interrupted her. She tentatively tried again.

“Right, well, regardless of the task itself, she was under house arrest for a prior offense, you see, and was not to leave the premises for any reason whatsoever. I realize that you didn’t know about my punishment, and therefore didn’t know the task you assigned her went against the-”

“You punish students by taking away their outdoor privileges?”

She blinked anew, jaw ticking. She really hated being interrupted, even by someone as handsome as he.

“It’s very effective, I assure you.” Her tone was clipped, precise.

He merely tipped his head. “And may I ask, what is Hermione being punished for?”

Dolores saw a flash of red in her vision, quickly blinking it away, disturbed by her own visceral reaction to hearing the man speak the trollops given name once more. The way it effortlessly rolled off his tongue, like he spoke it all the time-

She quickly shook the thought away. What nonsense. A man like this would never tarnish his good reputation with any of the filth residing within these walls. Especially _that_ girl.

“She stormed into my office yesterday morning, making outlandish claims and demands, using vile language and causing general disruption for the mere sake of causing a stir.”

She furrowed her brow in confusion as his face transformed into a look of amusement. She swallowed thickly, shoulders drawing back.

“As I said, she is a menace, and her filthy dark-skinned friend is even worse, I don’t know why I even still house that one-”

“What was she demanding?”

Dolores blinked. “Pardon?”

“What was she demanding of you, when she stormed into your office and caused such a stir?”

Something about his tone sounded too light, almost mocking, as though he didn’t grasp the severity of the girl’s offense. Dolores huffed in annoyance, desperate to make him see just how unbearable the little chit was.

“She claims that her roommate is missing. I calmly tried to explain that the girl simply ran away.”

“And you’re certain that’s the case?”

“Yes!” she was getting angry now, more animated. “The missing girl is a known hussy, loose and immoral, hardly worth-”

“I thought you said she wasn’t missing.”

Dolores deflated, heart stuttering in her chest. “I... “ she swallowed lightly. “That’s merely a turn of phrase. As I said, she ran away, that’s what they all do.”

He held himself with such an eerie stillness he hardly seemed to breathe. She released a sharp breath as his face seemed to transform from idle curiosity to something lethal, sharp as a dagger, eyes bright and malevolent.

“There have been others.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question but she was compelled to speak regardless, feeling as though she was being forced to dance along a floor filled with broken glass, each step more dangerous than the last.

“Of course, this place is filled with the lowermost rungs of society, discarded for their indecency. They run wild. And then they run away.”

He raised a dark brow. “Is that so? I thought the majority of residents were admitted due to unfortunate circumstances leaving them without a legal caregiver. I would think they’d be desperate to remain sheltered from life on the streets.”

She blinked rapidly, feeling awash with heat from head to toe, convinced a furnace was situated directly overhead.

“That isn’t- I mean, perhaps a few of them, the younger ones maybe, but the older girls I assure you are no good and run away all the time.”

He watched her with easy grace, complete calm and indifference, tilting his head once more, pinning her helplessly still.

“Do you keep track of those numbers?”

Her mind went blank. “What numbers?”

“The number of runaways,” he supplied patiently, unblinking. “I would be curious to see the turnover. It will help me get a handle on how much inventory to keep on hand. I was expecting many more residents based on the medical files awaiting me in the clinic. I was quite surprised when three of my patients didn’t show up for their appointments, only to discover they’d already come and gone from this place within the span of a few months.”

She squirmed, the air pulled from her lungs but the intensity of his watchful gaze.

“It would help if I was kept apprised of such events, to keep accurate records as well as maintain the health facility in accordance to the changing population.”

She swallowed nervously. “I don’t, that is, _we_ don’t track such things. It’s impossible to know when girls leave if it’s not reported then-”

“Surely you must keep a running list of residents to provide the solicitors and Crown attachés?”

Sweat pooled along her temples and neck. Where _was_ that blasted heat coming from?

“I… I mean yes, of course, we do, but-”

“And certainly you audit the list regularly to keep your records above board?”

Her mouth was running dry, forming words became a struggle.

“Well, yes, we provide quarterly updates-”

“Excellent,” he grinned, broad and beautiful and ice cold. It was unsettling but sent a blessed chill up her spine, a momentary reprieve from the internal oven baking her organs and setting her blood to boil. “I shall use those as a means of keeping my logs up to date. Please have them delivered as soon as possible.”

She blinked. What just happened? She scrambled to find the upper hand once more.

“That’s… that’s fine,” she relented, unable to think up a valid excuse otherwise on the spot. “But that isn’t the purpose of this meeting. I wanted to warn you about Miss Granger, she is duplicitous and conniving and not to be trusted.”

If his methodical intensity unnerved her before, his wry smirk sent her firmly for a loop.

“She may be all of those things, Madam, but they in no way impeded her ability to organize the medical cabinet more precisely than most doctors I’ve known.”

Dolores inhaled sharply through her nose. “As I said, she has a medical background, but outside of that she’s completely useless-”

“I think I may have a solution then.”

Her mouth hovered open, lost mid-thought by his casual declaration.

“I still need help setting the clinic to rights, getting all the paperwork sorted. You say that she’s running wild outside of her prescribed errands.” He paused, eyes gleaming like a cat in the dark. “Give her to me.”

Her heart skipped a beat, his words profoundly unsettling.

He wanted the girl?

Her hands curled into fists atop the armrests.

_Unacceptable._

Before she could articulate a response he continued, swift, precise, flawless.

“It’s just as you said, idle hands are the devil’s plaything. Quite a brilliant sentiment. I couldn’t agree more.”

She pursed her lips, confused. Perhaps she had it wrong, maybe he really did just want an aide to perform the grunt work… but the thought of the filthy trollop spending her nights working in such close proximity to the man seated before her made Dolores’ stomach clench.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, given her new work schedule.”

Something flashed in his eyes, distinctly predatory, there one instant and gone the next. She was certain she’d imagined it.

“Work schedule?”

Umbridge drew in a deep breath, spine straightening. “Yes. The owner of the local apothecary has requested her assistance in his shop.”

Dolores made a mental note to send a letter to the pushy, off-putting man at once. She’d outright refused his request when he first presented it, taking great joy in denying the girl a chance at escape. Surely the stupid bint would love to work at the shop, use it as yet another means of setting herself above those around her.

But if Dolores had to choose between sending the errant girl across town to work in a stuffy store all day or sequestering her in the clinic with the Doctor, the choice was an easy one.

She pasted on a sweet smile. “I’m afraid she’ll simply be too busy to assist you in the clinic.”

He didn’t blink, didn’t move for several long beats. The silence around them was thick and sweltering, pushing down on her chest and expelling the breath from her lungs. Her smile faded, heart racing anew before he finally released her from his thrall.

He tilted his head, eyes roaming her face and making her distinctly uncomfortable before he nodded, once.

“Very well. I shall have to tackle the project on my own then.” His voice was light and unaffected, worlds away from the intensity he radiated moments ago. “Is there anything else you’d like to discuss, Madam?”

She shook her head, more than ready for this overwhelming exchange to end, eager to collect her bearings in the privacy of her secluded office.

“I shall take my leave then.”

He stood, tipping his head in a polite address before striding casually for the door.

“Good day, Madam,” his tone was cordial, but his eyes burned brightly as he directed his gaze upon her one final time.

“And I look forward to receiving those resident logs.”

* * *

Harry took a deep breath as the carriage came to a stop outside the large structure, the air filled with excited shouts. He paid the driver and deftly descended, shaking his head as he gazed up the main stairs of the entrance.

He hadn’t been here in many years, since his father took him as a boy and taught him the ways of betting.

The horse track.

Yet this was where McLaggen’s instructions led, much to Harry’s confusion and intrigue. Just what the bloody hell was this Lavender chit involved in?

There was only one way to find out.

He headed up the stairs, taking them at a steady pace, wanting to avoid drawing any attention to himself. The horse track was a respectable establishment, frequented by members of every sect of society. However, the man Harry was meeting with was anything but.

He entered the lavish doors, the sounds of heavy screams growing even louder as they echoed along the vaulted ceiling and tiled floors of the main lobby. He swiveled his head in either direction, chest seizing as the memory of his last visit came flooding back.

_“Are you excited, Harry?”_

_“Yes! Where are the horses?”_

_His father smiled indulgently, eyes warm as he gazed down upon the miniature version of himself. “They’re outside, did you think they ran around indoors?”_

_Harry smirked, green eyes tipping up. “It would be a lot more exciting if they did.”_

_James threw his head back and laughed, the sound rich and lustrous, comforting and familiar._

And forever just a memory in Harry’s mind.

He blinked, pulling himself out of the momentary stupor and proceeding to the door labeled TRACK at the other end. Once he emerged onto the stands the noise was deafening, people crowding the seats and gesturing wildly as the horses barrelled past beyond the barrier.

He maneuvered around a man jumping on top of the seat, screaming animatedly at the top of his lungs. The woman beside him laughed so hard she nearly toppled over. Further down was a man in a finely tailored suit, fully equipped with top hat and monocle, hands resting atop his ebony cane. Harry shook his head in amusement, wondering what sight awaited him next.

Apparently, it was a brawling pair of men, both faring poorly if the blood and sweat marring their faces was any indication. A few people attempted to hold them back, but their efforts were half-hearted, everyone in the group looking drunk off their rockers. Harry paused in his tracks as they barreled past, toppling over seats and crashing to the ground less than a foot from where he stood, gazing down with disinterest.

“Excuse me, gents.” He stepped over them, barely free when they staggered to their feet, swinging clumsily at each other once more.

He started up the stairs zigzagging along the side of the stands. If memory served correctly the lower levels were the rowdiest, the more gentile and tame clientele occupying the upper floors. He emerged on the second level, peering along the crowd, wondering if there were any private booths up here. No, they must have been at the very top-

“Harry, m’boy!”

His spine went rigid at the sound of his name. So much for a low profile…

“What a pleasure! C’mere! Let me look at you!”

He slowly spun around, resigned as soon as he recognized the voice. There was no escaping his fate.

“Hello, Dr. Slughorn.”

The short, rotund man beamed up with glassy eyes, face red and lips parted into a genuine grin of joy. Harry tried to affect the same expression but fell widely short, already thinking up an exit strategy.

“How many times must I tell you, outside of the hospital it’s perfectly fine to call me Horace. We’re friends, you and I! I’ve known your parents and godfather since-”

“They were in diapers, yes, I know.”

Slughorn laughed, the sound a bit hysterical, and a pungent cloud of whiskey and body odor wafted over Harry, it was all he could do not to gag.

“It’s so good to see you! I thought you weren’t getting back until next week. Is Sirius with you?” He teetered on his tiptoes, peering around Harry’s tall form as though he’d find the sole member of the Black family and reigning patriarch ducked down behind his godson.

Then again, if Sirius _were_ here he would be likely doing just that, desperate to avoid getting sucked into the endless void of monotonous pleasantries and brown nosing. Harry sighed, then replayed the man’s words in his mind and raised a brow.

_How did he know I was supposed to be back next week?_

He shook his head, deciding he was likely better off not knowing. Slughorn had been obsessed with sidling up next to the last two members of the powerful Black and Potter lines, relentless in his pursuit. Harry wouldn’t be surprised if the man kept a journal detailing their tea preferences.

“Sirius is outside Malta, he gets back next week. I got released early for good behavior.”

The simple joke elicited an explosive reaction from the stocky man, who promptly doubled over, seized by a coughing fit, Harry gazing down in equal parts amusement and revulsion.

“That’s…” he hacked up half a lung. “Hillari-” he gasped for breath, “ous.”

Harry took a step back. “Well, it’s been great seeing you, Doctor-”

“Horace!”

Harry feigned a smile. “Horace. But I’m afraid I’m meeting company and must be going.”

Slughorn visibly deflated, expression forlorn. “Oh, yes, of course, a busy man you are. I expect everyone is eager to see you now that you’re back.”

Harry nodded, continuing to back away to the stairwell. Slughorn stepped closer, eyes wide and arm reaching out into the air.

“Do come by Mungo’s sometime, before you depart, I’d love to hear about your travels, catch up-”

“Certainly,” Harry interrupted, stepping onto the landing and starting to turn. “I’ll talk to you later, Slughorn. Enjoy the races.”

“Horace!” he heard the man shout in his wake as he quickly flew up the stairs.

* * *

Hermione groaned as she flexed her sore fingers, the knuckles cracking. She’d been scrubbing the kitchen floors by hand for several hours now, another punishment from the beloved Matron in retribution for yesterday's antics. For having the audacity to worry about Lavender’s welfare.

Hermione suspected it was more than that however, she wouldn’t be surprised if Umbridge had caught wind of Hermione’s excursion into the garden and the Doctor’s subsequent involvement in the chaotic ordeal, ultimately saving her from the woman’s evil clutches. This was the Matron’s way of sending a silent, sinister message.

_I know what you did, and I’ll get you one way or another._

She sighed deeply, scooting back against the wall and giving her strained spine and shoulders a momentary reprieve. She was beyond exhausted, unable to fall back asleep after Parvati crawled into bed beside her before dawn, plagued as she was with fear for Lavender, sadness in the wake of Parvati’s revelations, and the lingering shame and terror of the dream…

The dream.

Her memory was foggy, the details fading away as the hours progressed. But she recalled with stunning clarity how it began.

In the office.

The hands on her neck, her arms, the foul breath in her face…

She closed her eyes, swallowing thickly.

She remembered the environment changing, the _company_ changing… the Doctor appearing. His hands touching her as well, but even more intimately. However she hadn’t been afraid then, wasn’t a cornered animal desperate for escape. No. She’d been fraught with nothing but tortuous anticipation…

She shook her head, willing the images away.

Things got a bit murkier after that. She couldn’t recall where the next transition came in but she knew Draco made an appearance. She couldn’t recall anything he did or said, but his presence left a definite impression in her psyche, the outline of a leaf on the pavement after the rain.

She couldn’t remember anything after that except for a sense of panic. Parvati said she was shouting Lavender’s name but she couldn’t recall seeing her missing friend in the eerie sequence. Maybe it was for the best. Given the state in which Hermione awoke, whatever she’d experience in the dream plane couldn’t have been good.

She imagined her subconscious was desperately trying to work out her tumultuous personal life, thanks to Hermione’s age-old practice of suppressing things until she felt better equipped to deal with them. She just didn’t feel up to task these days, so the pile of unresolved mental and emotional conflicts steadily grew, teetering on the edge of a major collapse.

She was pulled from her musings by the sound of fast-paced footsteps treading up the outside hall. She blinked twice as they changed direction, coming straight for her. Her heart rate increased, mind a whirlwind, trying to sort out who it could be before they appeared.

She knew the click of her Matron’s heels from a kilometer away, Luna barely made a sound when she walked, as though floating on air, Parvati tore up the stone like a Clydesdale, purposefully stomping about to grate at Umbridge’s nerves, so perhaps it was Hannah…

No such luck. The footsteps swiftly entered the room and the face that appeared was already scowling, eyes narrowed.

“Ugh. You look like a drowned rat.”

Hermione glared in turn, wiping away the sweat on her forehead with her forearm.

“What do you want, Marietta?”

“To be anywhere but here. Unfortunately, Umbridge wants to see you so I’m stuck escorting you to her office.”

Hermione sighed, setting aside the soap drenched scrub brush.

“I don’t need an escort, I’m perfectly fine walking there myself.”

“She told me you’d try and shake me, and not to fall for anything you said.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, pulling to her feet using the wall as support. Her knees felt as sore and weak as the rest of her.

“Fine, then. I really couldn't care less.”

Marietta’s slitted gaze narrowed, and then to Hermione’s great trepidation the corner of her mouth turned up in a sinister smirk that in no way boded well. The girl glanced to the side where a few stores sat perched along the countertop.

She walked over to the bag of flour and before Hermione could so match as blink she upturned it in her hands, a heaping pile of finely milled powder exploding across the damp floor and arching out in every direction like blood splatter, a giant mushroom cloud of white extending upward, blocking Marietta’s malevolent glee from sight for a few seconds before it settled.

Hermione’s mouth worked open and closed, eyes wide and locked onto the mess at their feet, but no sound emitted. Marietta tilted her head, glancing down casually.

“Hm. Seems you missed a spot.”

Hermione found her voice.

“You _bitch_.”

Both girls blinked. Hermione never resorted to name calling. Her roommates had finally worn off on her. She felt a swelling of pride in her chest. Marietta snapped out of her momentary daze, grinning anew.

“I’ll be sure to tell Umbridge you think so.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her you wasted an entire five-pound bag on purpose. You know how tightly she manages the food budget. I imagine she’ll make you clean the floors with your tongue.”

Marietta’s smile fell away, her face turning white. “I… I’ll just tell you knocked it over.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, stepping around the mess and past the idiot girl.

“Yes, I knocked over the flour and then called you a bitch, what a masterful cover story. No wonder you’re her favorite.”

Marietta sputtered in outrage as Hermione started cutting a path up the hall, towards the office. Marietta had to jog to catch up, her face twisted in anger but remaining silent for the duration of the journey, an unspoken agreement that they’d both keep the kitchen incident to themselves.

Halfway there Hermione was able to push her brimming annoyance to the side long enough to wonder what in the hell this was about. She couldn’t imagine why Umbridge wanted to see her, unless it was in inflict yet another punishment-

_“I will speak to Umbridge.”_

She stumbled on her feet as his voice invaded her mind. In light of her chaotic morning and busy day, she’d nearly forgotten the Doctor’s words. She wondered if he was able to sway the fat toad into searching for Lavender.

The idea made her hopeful, eager to reach their destination, which was surreal as she’d never approached the Head Office with anything but sinking dread in the past.

When they finally made it to the door Hermione bit her lip, anxiety setting in. What if it was about something else? What if her solicitor decided to stop making payments, what if she was being thrown onto the streets?

“Did you forget how to knock?” Marietta bit out from behind, leaning past to bring her own fist against the wood.

“Enter!”

Hermione cringed at the sing-song voice. Umbridge sounded happy as a clam. That _definitely_ didn’t bode well.

She tentatively turned the knob and pushed open the barrier, stepping over the threshold and hovering in place, locking gazes with the Matron from across the room.

“Jesus, you’re so daft!” Marietta forcefully shoved both her shoulders, jolting her forward and nearly knocking her off her feet as she stumbled to the middle of the room.

“That will be all, Marietta. Thank you.” The toad’s eyes sparkled with amusement, her face delighted as she directed her attention to her favorite lackey.

“Of course, Madam,” Marietta dipped into the worst curtsy Hermione had ever seen. Her old governess would have fainted at the sight. “Have a good evening.”

“You as well, my dear.”

Marietta had the audacity to wink openly at Hermione before spinning on her heel and practically prancing into the hall, closing the door behind her.

Hermione’s pulse kicked up a notch. She hated closed doors. Hated being locked in a room, any room, but especially a room with undesirable company.

She slowly faced forward, shifting awkwardly as she noticed Umbridge’s eyes upon her, roaming her body as if looking for something in particular.

“Such an ordinary thing, aren’t you? No great beauty, no grace, nothing to offer the opposite sex.” Hermione’s blood ran cold as the Matron spoke, slow and reflective, as though speaking to herself. “I just don’t see it.”

Hermione glared, spine straightening, shoulders drawing back. “See _what_?” She clipped, voice laced with steel.

Umbridge blinked, registering Hermione’s presence. Her face pinched in annoyance.

“I hope you are enjoying your cleaning duties, Ms. Granger. I have plenty more for you tackle once you’ve completed the kitchen.”

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. Was that the purpose of this meeting then? To continue her threats in person?

_Lovely._

Umbridge interlaced her fingers atop the desk, her signature smile playing across her thin lips, making Hermione’s blood pressure rise.

“Alas, that is not the matter I mean to discuss. Please, take a seat.”

Hermione didn’t move a muscle. She’d never been afforded a seat within the office before and didn’t trust the offer now.

She recalled the story of Pirithous and Theseus, the ill-fated adventurers who traveled to the Underworld to abduct the Queen goddess herself, Persephone, only to become permanently bound to the first stone they sat upon to rest. She didn’t trust this place, and she didn’t intend to get comfortable within its walls.

“I’d rather stand.”

The Matron’s smile immediately fell away, eyes flashing. Her mouth opened and closed in outrage before she finally spoke.

“Fine. You look filthy anyway, I don’t want the upholstery ruined.”

Hermione crossed her arms, tongue pressing into the roof of her mouth to fight back a quip.

“I merely want to inform you that you’ll be starting part-time work at the Apothecary. Starting _immediately_.”

Umbridge seemed bristled by her own words, eyes narrowing as though Hermione had tried to argue the point. For her part, Hermione felt a bud of excitement take root, but she masked her reaction, terrified Umbridge would take the offer away if she knew how greatly it pleased her.

“I-”

“I didn’t give you leave to speak!”

Hermione clamped her mouth shut, heart racing.

Umbridge cleared her throat, sweeping nonexistent stray hairs off her face. “As I was saying,” she continued calmly, voice light and airy. “You will be assisting at the shop part-time, and will return to the Home directly after your shift ends. If you make any stops along the way I assure you, I will know. And your position will be terminated, along with any hope of setting foot in the outside world ever again. Do I make myself clear?”

Hermione was hesitant to speak, but tentatively wet her lips and muttered a low toned, “Yes.”

“Good. You begin tomorrow morning, 8 am, the owner will be expecting you and will provide the remainder of your schedule for the week. Now go.”

Hermione blinked, stepping back.

_That’s it?_

Something about this entire encounter seemed… off. She chalked it up to her disappointment over there being no mention of Lavender or continuing the search. She took a deep breath, forging ahead despite knowing it was a futile effort.

“Madam… about Lavender-”

“If I hear you speak that name in this office again I will terminate your position at the Apothecary before it begins!”

Hermione deflated, hands curling to fists at her sides. “I just-”

“What is the matter with you? You just can’t help yourself! I don’t understand what he-” she cut herself short, eyes bugging momentarily, veins throbbing in her neck and forehead before her expression pinched once more.

Hermione blinked, replaying the brief outburst in her head.

_Did she say ‘he’?_

She opened her mouth but before she could utter a word Umbridge held her finger aloft, gaze lethal.

“That is enough, Ms. Granger! You will not mention Ms. Brown within these walls ever again, you will not rile up any of the others girls into finding Ms. Brown, and if I catch wind of you violating either of these orders then I will make you rue the day you were ever born, do I make myself clear?”

Hermione swallowed thickly, limbs rigid with fear and disbelief. She’d never seen the Madam explode in such a way, over so little instigating no less.

She nodded, voice evading her. Umbridge inhaled sharply, leaning back in her chair. “Good. Now leave before you do or say something else to make me think even less of you.”

Hermione was only too eager to escape. She was almost to the door when Umbridge spoke again, addressing Hermione’s back.

“One more thing, Ms. Granger.”

Hermione swallowed, glancing over her shoulder.

Umbridge smiled, her eyes two black voids of despair.

“Stay _away_ from Doctor Riddle.”

* * *

Harry emerged on the upper level of the viewing stands, the volume much quieter up here in wake of the thinning crowd. Half the floor was comprised of private viewing boxes, one of which was Harry’s ultimate destination.

He walked behind the row of seats, his eyes alighting on a closed door ahead, the plaque displaying the number 5 in bold black.

_“He’ll be in box 5,” Cormac said, wiping away blood from his lip and glaring out of his good eye. “You fucking wanker.”_

Harry smirked at the memory. He wasn’t a violent person. At least he didn’t think of himself that way. He was a bit of an adrenaline junkie and often put himself in harm’s way, but he certainly never sought to inflict damage to others.

However, he was more than happy to make an exception for McLaggen. He detested everything about the man, and the mere thought that he was creeping about the dark hallways of Hermione’s home at night made his blood boil. When he’d asked her point blank if the man ever laid hands on her she’d assured him he hadn’t. Harry was good at seeing through her lies, just as she saw through his. He believed her, and that was the only reason Cormac was able to walk out of the opium den on two functioning legs.

He was distracted from his thoughts as the door to Box 5 swung open and a figure darted out, heading quickly in his direction.

Harry stopped dead, blinking once, twice-

“Daph?”

She came to a dead stop, glancing up with wide, tear stained eyes. The rest of her face was hidden behind her gloved hands but he could hear the muffled gasp. She blinked as well, her look of shock mirroring his own. She quickly removed her hands from her face, briefly wiping the wetness from her cheeks and taking a deep, shaky breath.

She was clearly trying to gather herself and was doing a very good job, any ordinary onlooker would see nothing amiss in her beautiful dress or perfectly styled blonde hair, but Harry had known this girl most his life and learned to see past the outer layer of perfection to the person trapped beneath.

“What’s the matter? What are you doing here?”

She drew her shoulders back, expression closing off. “Everything is perfectly fine, Potter. It’s lovely to see you. But I’m afraid I must be going-”

“Let’s try that again,” he said, stepping closer, eyes unyielding. “What wrong, Daphne?”

She huffed in annoyance, face pinching. “Harry, please, I can’t be seen lingering here.”

“Too late. You’ve been seen. By me. Now what the bloody hell are you doing in a bookie’s office?”

Her eyes flared. “You…” she swallowed, face paling even further. “I don’t- I-” She shook her head, looking frantic. “You can’t tell anyone, Harry. No one, do you understand?”

He tipped his head, studying her appearance. Nothing looked amiss other than her face when she first emerged, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. “Did he hurt you?”

She blinked, then realization dawned in her pale eyes. “No, of course not.”

“Then why were you crying?”

“Shh!” she hissed, glancing around in either direction. “Stop that! You can’t tell anyone what you saw-”

“I’m not worried about the bloody gossip rags, I’m worried about you-”

“I’m fine, I promise,” her voice was sharp, urgent, angry. “I don’t need you stepping in and playing the bloody hero because you have nothing better to do, I need you to forget about what you saw!”

He scowled. “Not until you tell me why you were meeting with-”

“It’s none of your business!”

“If there’s something-”

“I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine.”

Harry’s mouth snapped shut, heart lurching. He blinked, watching as she stepped in closer, barely an inch between them.

“I’m sorry to do that, Harry. Really I am. But my life will be ruined if you breathe a word about this to anyone.” She nervously wet her lips. “I know you would never do so to hurt me, but the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and you’re absolutely filled with those.”

Harry’s throat felt thick, scratchy. He cleared it, trying to regain his voice.

“I- I don’t-”

“I _know_ , Harry.”

His airway closed off entirely, spots appearing before his eyes. She placed a staying hand on his arm.

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise. Even if I think you’re both bloody idiots sneaking around like you’re doing. But I won’t breathe a word of it, if you can make me the same promise.”

He swallowed heavily, dazed, and nodded slowly, hardly aware of his actions. She tipped her head, gaze sad, and then rose on her tiptoes to peck him lightly on the cheek.

“Thank you.” She whispered into his ear, and then quickly stepped past, disappearing in a flourish of silk skirts.

Harry stood stock still, blood frozen in his veins for several more minutes before the sudden roar of the crowd below awoke him from his stupor. He blinked several times, flexing his fingers at his sides, willing his circulation to resume, for his heart to start beating again.

Then he proceeded slowly to the open door.

He paused at the threshold, gazing in a the tiny, jam-packed office beyond.

“Knock knock,” he said without inflection, causing the thin, graying man seated behind the overcrowded desk to glance up sharply, posture stiff and defensive.

“I’m sorry, kid, I’m not taking any-” he stopped short, eyes widening and shoulders dropping. “Wait, you’re the Potter boy.”

Harry fought back a scowl, exhausted by his reputation always proceeding him, and not because of his own accomplishments but rather his father’s. He felt like a thief, an imposter, everytime someone gushed over his surname.

“I am. And you’re Bagman.”

The man’s face stretched into an obscene grin as he dropped his pen to the desk and pushed to his feet.

“What an honor to have you here, Mr. Potter! Please, come in, come in!”

Harry stepped inside, his stomach still in knots from his brief encounter with Daphne, and closed the door behind him. The office felt even more claustrophobic with the entrance blocked off.

“Sit, please,” he gestured wildly to the chair, like a showman. “What brings you to my office? Placing a bet? I can provide all the insider’s knowledge you need, my friend-”

“I’m not interested in horses,” Harry said, slipping his hands in his trouser pockets and gazing down upon the eager face. He chose to remain standing. “I’m interested in another service you provide.”

_“And why the hell am I visiting a horse track bookie?” He asked in annoyance, pulling the man upright as he slumped to the side once more._

_“Just tell ‘im I sent you, he’ll give you what you need,” Mclaggen said slowly, eyes heavy and lolling as the opium overtook him once more._

_“If she’s anywhere, that’s where she’ll be…”_

And then he passed out.

Harry hadn’t been able to find out exactly _what_ Bagman was supposed to give him, McLaggen had been unrousable at that point. But Harry had been thrust into chaotic situations completely blind before, and if anything the mystery only added to the excitement.

“Er… I’m not sure what you mean.” Bagman’s joyous expression pinched. But he didn’t look confused… no, he looked _hesitant_.

Harry felt a thrill seize him.

“I think you do,” he held the man’s nervous gaze steady, the corner of his mouth lifting as he delivered the death blow. “Cormac McLaggen sent me.”

Bagman’s eyes flared, his posture changing, going rigid and then loosening, as though he couldn’t decide whether to stay or run.

“Oh… I… he’s not supposed to, I mean... I’m not really supposed to hand them out to just anyone.”

Harry fought to keep his expression neutral, blank, though curiosity burned a tortuous path through him.

“But I ‘spose you’re not just anyone, are you?” Bagman grinned, eyes hopeful, desperate for approval. Harry despised that look, especially when it was directed upon him, but he played along to further the bizarre transaction.

“No, I’m not. And I’d be ever so appreciative if you could help me out. I won’t forget it.”

He knew his last sentence held the most weight among men like Bagman who lived and breathed balance books, favors owed, debts collected.

As expected the man’s eyes gleamed hungrily, no doubt already fantasizing about how he’d cash in. “Oh, well, alright, you’ve twisted my arm!” he laughed excitedly, darting to a standing safe in the corner of the room, hidden beneath piles of paperwork.

“Did he tell you the price?” he asked over his shoulder as he spun the dial.

Harry scowled internally.

_Fucking McLaggen…_

“He didn’t have the opportunity, what’ll it cost me?”

Bagman opened the safe door but his body blocked the contents, much to Harry’s annoyance.

“Er… sixty pounds,” he said nervously, eyeing Harry with trepidation.

Harry blinked.

Sixty pounds? Bloody hell, what was he buying, a gold-plated carriage?

He fought past his surprise and nodded. “Done.”

Bagman’s apprehension turned to joy once more. He grabbed something off the top shelf and stood, cutting a path to Harry with obvious pep in his step. Harry’s eyes remained transfixed on the small package in the man’s hands. Whatever it was appeared box-shaped, wrapped heavily in newspaper. He wet his lips, desperate to tear into it.

Bagman began to hand it over, then pulled the package back to his body. “Remember, don’t open it inside, no one is supposed to see it.”

Harry nodded, heart beating through his chest in anticipation. “Of course.” He flashed a silver grin. “Do you take cheques?”

* * *

Ten minutes later Harry was in the back of a carriage, the mysterious package balanced atop his knee. He told himself he’d wait until he got home to open it.

But he knew resistance was futile. The temptation was far too great. He took a deep breath, gazing out the window at the passing scenery, as though making sure there were no stowaways hanging off the side of the car, peeking in, and then slowly lifted the bundle.

It was lightweight, startling so. He’d questioned on his way out of Bagman’s office whether he’d just been swindled, sold a bundle of old newspapers and nothing more.

But his fingers slid along the wrapping and felt the rigid shape of a rectangular box beneath, half the length of his forearm. He took a deep breath, wasting no more time and quickly tearing the paper away, revealing the plain brown box inside.

He licked his lips, slowly lifting the lid, eyes transfixed. He peered at the contents.

And blinked.

He reached inside, extracting the sole item lying atop a white velvet cushion.

A long, solid black skeleton key, intricate scrollwork at the head, block teeth at the base.

A blood red satin ribbon attached to the end, tied in a delicate bow.

He held the key to the light, then examined it in his palm, looking for some hidden message, some clue as to its meaning, its purpose.

The longer he stared upon it the larger it seemed to grow, taking on a sinister life of its own. And suddenly a feeling of dread seized him, inexplicable yet unshakable. The key was a mystery, but one thing he knew for certain.

“This can’t be good.”


	6. Sheep's Clothing

_She generally gave herself very good advice,_  
_Though she very seldom followed it._  
.   .   .

“I cannot in good conscience recommend a blood purifying agent to you, Madam. There is no fundamental research on which to base the manufacturer’s claim that it remedies any of the underlying symptoms it is prescribed for.”

Hermione bit her lip, peeking through the gaps in the shelving to watch the exchange at the front of the shop. She was learning a great deal listening to Snape interact with the customers.

She already respected the man before starting the job but seeing him give up the opportunity for a sale in order to steer the customer in the right direction filled her chest with warmth. She was proud to be working for someone with strong moral fiber.

Even if he was unbearably rude and cynical, barking commands at her as though trying to housebreak a mutt.

“Oh bother…” the older woman muttered, then sighed. “I purchased a case of them at Bloomberg's last month, they sold it to me without issue.”

Though Hermione couldn’t see his face she could practically hear the scowl in his voice.

“Unfortunately the staff at Bloomberg’s care more about their bottom line than the welfare of their clientele. Furthermore, if their detoxifying agent worked as promised then a case worth would have been more than sufficient to cure your husband of his ailment. The fact that you are seeking more of the product only proves that they sold you snake oil in a pretty bottle, knowing you would be gullible enough to believe whatever idiocy they scratched along the label.”

Hermione shook her head. Bloody hell. Snape was teaching her a great deal about medicine, about the different manufacturers and brands, but perhaps she could teach him how to take a softer hand with customers. Women especially. Though he never swore outright, he could be openly callous at times.

Hermione didn’t mind his scathing remarks, she’d learned early on he never said anything without purpose, without cause. The more biting the remark the more serious the issue. But customers didn’t appreciate being spoken down to, especially the high born members who strolled in from time to time.

The woman scoffed, stepping back with an affronted expression, but before she could utter a word Snape spoke again.

“Based on what you’ve told me of your husband’s condition I believe he has an ailment of the liver. I can recommend products to assist with nausea and fatigue, but if his skin is starting to yellow and abdominal pains persist, you must take him to a doctor immediately. His life could be at stake.”

The woman swallowed. “Oh my…”

Just then the door opened, the bell above ringing. Snape glanced over his shoulder.

“Welcome.” His voice was clipped and rather unwelcoming. “Granger!” He called suddenly. Her heart leaped into her throat. She scrambled out of her hiding spot where she’d been watching him for the last several minutes under the guise of stocking the shelf. “Please assist this gentleman.”

She swallowed nervously, nodding quickly and smoothing her hands down her skirts. Snape didn’t so much as spare her a glance, turning his attention back to the woman standing before him. The fact that he was trusting her to handle a customer directly, on her own, on her first day of employment no less, filled her with both excitement and dread.

She so desperately wanted to impress him, but she also wanted to avoid selling someone the wrong product, causing more harm than good…

“Today.” He clipped with obvious annoyance, still not looking at her.

She blinked, flushing lightly and crossing the small room to the door.

“Hello,” she said, voice a bit higher than normal. She cleared her throat. “How may I assist you?”

The newest customer was a short man, well dressed but shifty looking. He squirmed nervously, eyes darting about the shop before fixing on her. His expression changed from a general sense of awkwardness to full-blown panic.

“Oh… I…” he wet his lips, taking a step back. “I shouldn’t…”

She raised a brow. “I’m sorry?”

He shook his head quickly, darting back out of the shop.

She blinked.

What just happened?

_My first customer and I sent him running for the hills. Literally._

She looked nervously to Snape but he didn’t seem the least bit upset. In fact, it looked as though he was fighting back a smirk, his focus still directed upon the woman. Hermione turned back around, glancing through the window pane and watching the man run down the street, kicking up dust in his wake.

_Fantastic._

She resumed her shelving duties as Snape sold the woman soothing salts and ginger root, as well as writing down the name of a hepatologist he recommended she contact. She was positively gushing praise by the end of their exchange and he had to practically push her physically from the shop. He sighed deeply, shaking his head at her retreating figure before slowly turning around-

“Bloody hell!” He stepped back, Hermione directly in front of him, nervously wringing her hands. “Must I put a bell around your neck like a common house cat?”

She swallowed tightly. “I’m sorry about that man earlier. I don’t know what I said to scare him away.”

He rolled his eyes, stepping past her without preamble. “You did nothing wrong.” He walked behind the counter, grabbing a stack of parchment from beneath. “At least not where he was concerned. I have yet to inspect your stocking abilities. I never knew it took twenty minutes to line up ten items.”

She shifted nervously. “I’m sorry if I lost you business-”

“What did I just say?” he glanced up sharply. “You did nothing wrong. He will be back.”

She blinked, watching him resume his writing. “He will?”

“He has little choice.”

“I don’t-”

“Are you always this incessant?”

She tilted her head, considering. “Yes.”

He groaned, rubbing at his eyes. “The man took off running like a gaping buffoon because you are a woman, and he was too embarrassed to request his monthly course of treatment from you.”

She furrowed her brow, confused. What was he…

Realization dawned on her, heat blossoming up her neck.

Snape sighed, focusing once more upon the parchment. “I did not recognize him at first. He usually comes in the presence of another man. Had I known who it was I wouldn’t have requested that you assist him.”

She swallowed thickly, shoulders drawing back. “I am more than capable of discussing such matters.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up, barely discernible to her eyes. “You are capable of discussing any and everything to a bloody pulp. However, not everyone likes to disclose their condition so openly, Ms. Granger. You will do well to remember that in this line of work.”

She watched him in silence for another few moments before nodding. “I will remember that.”

She started to walk back to the shelves when the door flew open once more, so hard it nearly crashed into the opposite wall. Snape glared at the new customer, Hermione spun around, startled-

And immediately felt her chest wrench open with joy.

“Mione!”

The newcomer stepped inside, not bothering to close the door, holding his arms out expectantly, face split in half by an open-mouthed grin.

She stood frozen for another heartbeat, eyes roaming his tall figure, his dashing uniform, still processing his sudden appearance. Then she was grinning as well, pulled free from her daze and launching herself across the floor.

“Ron!”

She leaped into his arms with little concern for propriety. She imagined she may have reacted differently had there been customers in the shop, but in all honesty, she probably wouldn’t have cared, considering the outside world fell away as soon as he appeared before her.

She hadn’t seen him in nearly three months, which might as well be three centuries for how greatly she missed him. As he wrapped his arms around her he lifted her off her feet, spinning her in a circle and drawing a childish laugh from her throat.

Ron had that ability with her, one of the few who did. He could coax out her most youthful, carefree side no matter the situation. He was like an overgrown child himself, despite his towering height and broad chest, despite his clean pressed Naval uniform, all Hermione could see when she looked at him was that gangly, awkward prepubescent boy she met all those years ago.

She adored him.

“Welcome home!” she managed to say before once again squealing in delight as he spun her around.

“It is now. Look at you, darling, you’re utterly smashing.”

She laughed anew, rolling her eyes and gently pushing at his shoulders. “Put me down, you dolt!”

“Not until you give me a kiss hello,” he winked, puckering his lips and closing his eyes, squeezing her tighter as she wriggled in his hold.

“You’re an idiot,” she admonished without heat, even as she reached out and turned his head to the side, pecking him lightly on the cheek. “There. Now put me down this instant.”

“I don’t think so, I’ve been gone for ages, surely I’ve earned a better present than that-”

“Perhaps the two of you could move this nauseating reunion to anywhere besides the open door of my store.”

Ron’s eyes flared and his arms released her at once, causing her to yelp as she thudded ungracefully to the floor.

“Ronald!”

“Oh, sorry, Mione.”

She rolled her eyes, then smoothed her wrinkled skirts, flushing lightly as she glanced over her shoulder at Snape, having forgotten where she was in the wake of her excitement.

“I’m-”

“Spare me. I’ve heard enough of your drivel to last me two lifetimes.” His dark eyes flickered up to Ron, expression pinching further. “A Weasley, I take it?”

Ron blinked, face turning brighter than his hair and he swallowed audibly. “Y-yes, Sir.”

Hermione bit her lip to stop from laughing.

“Hm.” Snape’s gaze scanned his tall form for another few seconds. “I see the resemblance to the rest of your brood. Ill-mannered and confounded. But your mother is a good customer. Inform her I received a new supply of alphozone tablets if she’d like to reserve a few boxes.”

Ron swayed on is feet. “Oh… um, yes, I-I will. Thank you, Sir.”

Now Hermione had to cover her mouth with her hand, delicately coughing to disguise her laugh. His lethal gaze shifted back to her, absorbing any lingering amusement and causing her to fidget nervously.

“You may take your fifteen-minute break, now, Ms. Granger.” His eyes narrowed. “Outside. I will not be subjected to any more of this emetic display.”

She nodded quickly. “Of course. Thank you, Sir.”

She grabbed Ron’s arm, pulling his stiff frame towards the exit, pushing him through as his legs locked up. As soon as she shut the door behind her she glared at him. “What’s the matter with you?”

“You work for Snape?” He asked without preamble, eyes wide.

She raised a brow. “You know him?”

“He’s a notorious arsehole. Made Charlie and Bill deep clean his supply closet years ago. Scared the piss outta them.”

She blinked. “What? Why would he do that?”

Ron shrugged, starting a path up the sidewalk, shortening his normally long stride so she could keep pace beside him.

“I dunno. I was really young at the time. I think they accidentally broke his window or something.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, is that all that happened?”

Ron narrowed his gaze but his expression lacked any real heat. “He’s still an arse!”

“An arse that could have easily charged your family for the cost of repairs. I dare say your brothers got off easy if all he made them do was clean his cabinet for an afternoon.”

Ron shrugged, facing forward as they maneuvered around a trolley. “I just know he put the fear of God in them, and no one has ever been able to inspire that kind of terror since, not even mum.”

Hermione smirked. “It’s good to have you back, Ronald.”

“I love it when you call me that.”

She laughed lightly, shaking her head and stepping in close, weaving her arm through his. “It’s been so dreary without you and Harry. I’m so happy you’re both home, at the same time no less. It’s like Christmas come early.”

“If only other women found such joy in my presence.”

She tipped her head up, staring at his profile. “No romances on the high seas?”

He laughed loudly, without care for the startled glances he received from nearby pedestrians.

“You realize I’ve been on a ship with three hundred other gents for the last three months, right?”

She shrugged. “You have to go ashore to refuel and restock eventually. With your dashing good looks and terrible jokes I thought you’d have wooed girls in every major port city by now.”

He sighed deeply, dramatically tipping his head back. “I try, Mione! Really I do! But I’m terrible with the birds in the Mediterranean. I get all clammy and have no idea what to say. It doesn’t help that most of them don’t speak a lick of English.”

She burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. He shook his head as though annoyed by her reaction but his smirk betrayed his own amusement. She finally settled down enough to catch her breath, peering up through teary eyes.

“Oh, Ron! You poor thing. But does it matter what you say if they can’t understand you anyway?”

He smiled. “That’s true. For all they know I’m a Navy surgeon.”

She exploded into another fit of laughter.

“What? I could pull it off, how hard is it to pretend to be a doctor anyway?”

His words were spoken in jest but they caused a visceral reaction in her. Her laughter ended abruptly, a vivid image taking root in her mind.

Dr. Riddle stepping out from behind the privacy screen, sunlight at his back, illuminating his tall figure like a creature descended from the heavens…

She swallowed thickly, releasing Ron’s arm and leaning away.

“Mione? You alright?”

She blinked, gazing up with a forced smile. “Yes, of course.” She tucked a fallen curl behind her ear. “I want to hear everything about your travels!” She mustered as much enthusiasm as she could, trying to redirect his focus.

Ron always meant well and cared for her a great deal, but he wasn’t as observant as Harry, to her great relief. She couldn’t handle if both her best friends were frustratingly astute.

Sure enough, he took the bait, launching into a story with animated hand gestures, making her smile anew.

Ron loved to speak about his Naval career. He was the only member of his family to enlist in that particular branch, his oldest brothers electing to join the Army while Percy trained to be a magistrate. Fred and George were the Weasley wild cards, the jack of all trades, still living at home and trying to forge their own path.

But Ron had discovered his, and she was so very proud of all his accomplishments. She knew growing up in such a large family, among so many brothers no less, caused him to be overlooked quite a bit. Not to mention the fact that their family had a bit of reputation amongst the gentry for being low on their means.

They were descended from two very prestigious lines, Weasley and Pruitt, both names going all the way back to Henry II, the first Plantagenet monarch. But over the last few generations, the Weasley name fell from prestige as their wealth diminished, whereas other families rose to power in their place, like Parkinson and Greengrass-

Hermione blinked, her heart skipping a beat. Even thinking the name Greengrass made her nauseous.

_Astoria is so beautiful. So rich. So well bred._

_They’ll make a perfect couple._

She shook her head forcefully but the dark fantasy still took root in her mind… an image of the flawless heiress standing beside Draco on the balconet, hand in hand, as Lucius proudly announced their engagement. She felt light headed.

She forced her attention back to Ron, who was still rambling away, oblivious to her mental anguish.

“-and I said to him, ‘You can try, mate, but I promise, you won’t be seeing the last of me.’ And the whole room exploded, it was bloody hilarious, Mione, you should have seen it-”

She blinked several times, trying to focus upon his words but finding it frustratingly impossible. The longer he talked the further she slipped away. She needed a distraction to keep her grounded, keep her sane.

“Ron-” she interrupted, stepping in closer. “How did you know I’d be at the shop?”

He cut off abruptly, blinking down at her.

“What? Oh. Harry told me.”

Now she blinked. “When?”

“This morning. I stopped by Grimmauld first, didn’t want Fred and George dousing my uniform with pomegranate juice before I had a chance to sweep you off your feet.”

She tilted her head, thoughts a swirling cyclone. In his message to her yesterday Harry had said he was following up on a lead and would fill her in on his findings. She’d assumed he meant later that evening when Colin did his nightly rounds. Hannah had slipped out to the garden and checked the hiding spot but found no missive.

Hermione wondered if he’d been able to follow through or if Cormac’s information had been a bust. She wondered if Harry would even tell her the truth, terrified as he was of ever disappointing her.

She hated being reliant on someone else for information. She loved Harry and trusted him completely, she knew he’d see this through for her no matter what, but she hated sitting on her hands, waiting on updates. She was used to being self-reliant and this forced dependence was torture.

“Speaking of Fred and George, they’re talking about renting a townhouse near Regent Square.”

She blinked, pulled from her inner ruminations. “Really? That’s a decent area. How are they going to afford it?”

“You know how they like to invent things…”

She laughed shortly. “I know how they like to destroy things.”

Ron shrugged. “No argument there. Well during one of their experiments they figured out some way to… well, they tried to describe it in a letter but I really didn’t have any idea what the hell they were talking about. You’d probably get it. It’s something mechanical with a news press. I think. Anyways, they’ve got a patent and licensing deal pending. If it all goes through they’re going to turn the bottom of the Townhouse into a shop and live out of the top.”

Hermione bounced on her heels. “Ron, that’s incredible! I’m so happy for them! They always were brilliant, I’m not surprised they created something-”

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolled his eyes dramatically. “Mum won’t shut up about it. If their heads get any bigger they won’t be able to fit through the bloody doorway.”

She laughed.

“The reason I mention it is...” he paused, rubbing the back of his neck. She tilted her head, studying him curiously. “I only bring it up because once they’re gone, it’ll just be mum, dad, and Gin living there.”

Her heart lurched.

He swallowed, glancing at her sideways. “I want you to move into the Burrow, Mione.”

She released a deep breath, facing forward, remaining silent.

“I know the reason you said no before was that Fred and George were still there, and it would be scandalous or some such nonsense, despite the fact you’re practically our second little sister.”

She glanced at him sharply, mouth opening, but he held up a staying hand. “I get it, okay, I know public image is a bigger deal for you birds than it is for us gents. But now that they’ll be out of the house there’s no excuse for you to stay in that hovel.”

Hermione sighed. “Ron-”

“Mum and dad agreed, were adamant about it, actually. You know they love you like a daughter. And Gin would be ecstatic to have you there-”

“Ron-”

“I already know you’re going to say no, I can see it in your eyes. Just think about it, okay? Please? For me?”

The sincerity in his blue gaze made her chest ache. She clamped her mouth shut, jaw ticking. Then she nodded lightly, already knowing her answer would remain the same but not wanting to have this loaded conversation so soon after his return.

“Thank you,” he said, expression remaining stoic for another beat before transforming into his signature carefree grin. The familiar image lightened her heavy heart considerably.

“So what are we supposed to wear to this bloody thing tonight anyway?”

The question took her off guard, so much so that she stumbled on the sidewalk. Ron’s arm shot out and caught her.

“Whoa, careful, luv.”

She gazed up at him. “What thing tonight?”

He blinked. “You’re not going?”

“Going to what?”

He helped her regain her footing, stepping away and sliding his hands in his pockets. “I’m not sure, some fancy party. Something to do with the Scotland Yard. I got roped into it by Harry. I assumed you were going.”

She shook her head. “I had no idea it was happening. I don’t get invited to such things anymore.”

His gaze narrowed. “That’s bullshite. You’re the smartest person I know, they should be chomping at the bit to have you.”

She smiled, but it reflected a sadness she couldn’t mask. “The last thing powerful men want in their company is an intelligent woman. Little less a woman who has the nerve to display that intelligence.”

“It’s ridiculous. The night’s going to be a bust without you. Come as my guest. Or Harry’s, whichever will piss ‘em off more.”

She laughed, stepping close to grab his arm once more, directing him back towards the shop, her break coming to an end.

“As fun as that sounds, I am under house arrest for the next two weeks. I couldn’t slip away if I wanted to. And I must admit, I have no desire to be in the company of the Scotland Yard by my own free will. I’ve had my fill of police.”

He sighed. “I know. I’m just looking for an excuse to linger in your company. I can't abide sneaking about like this.”

She raised a brow. “You, Ronald Bilius Weasley, can’t abide skirting the rules for your own amusement?”

His answering smile gleamed in the sunlight. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, luv. I’m a model citizen.”

She shook her head with a laugh, leaning her head against his arm. “If you want to convince those foreign beauties you’re a surgeon you’ll have to learn to lie better than that.”

* * *

Tom was a patient man.

At least, he considered himself to be.

Others may have labeled him obsessive. Demanding. Controlling. Possessive.

He didn’t disagree with those monikers. He was all of those things as well.

But above all else, he was patient.

He had to be, in order to see through this mission. This calling. And now that the fruits of his labor were finally within sight, he couldn’t afford to jeopardize it all by being too eager. By showing his hand too soon.

By being… _distracted_.

No, distractions simply wouldn’t do.

He didn't anticipate encountering any diversions here. He hadn’t allowed himself to grow attached in the past. The residents here were _pawns_ , nothing more. Just a means to an end.

That was all they could be.

He’d dealt with patients for years. The sick and dying. Young and old alike. Men, women, children. They were just bodies housing complex systems requiring regular maintenance and upkeep, and on occasion, invasive repair. There was nothing meaningful attached, no identifying markers. No faces, no names, no stories.

It was easiest that way. Made him the most effective. Made him into the brilliant, if not cutthroat, doctor he was today.

He came here with the same mentality. It was the only way to see this through. If he saw any of these girls- no, these _residents_ \- as anything but pieces on the chessboard then he would certainly get distracted. And that was not an option.

He’d come too bloody far.

Nothing, _nothing_ , would stop him now.

He found himself having to remind himself of that more often than not these last few days. It was troubling, but he wouldn’t let it overcome the greater objective.

His eyes moved rapidly along the document in his hand, speed reading the information presented. He’d been surprised to find the stack of resident logs awaiting him that morning, stacked neatly on the center of his desk with a note attached from the beastly Matron. He’d expected her to skirt his request until he all but had to ransack her records room for the information himself.

After discarding her note to the floor and opening the first file he quickly discovered the reason for her immediate acquiesce.

The records were doctored.

Pitifully so. They’d been altered with an obvious heavy hand, going so far as to scratch out data to write new information over the top. Even more obscene was the fact that these were old records that had already been reviewed and signed by a solicitor. Someone court-appointed had read this farce of a report and given it the stamp of approval.

His eyes narrowed on the signature at the bottom. The flourish of swoops and swishes spelled out a name he recognized well. His heart swelled.

Though he already knew he was in the right place, the document in his hand guaranteed it with absolute certainty.

He stood in the heart of the demon’s lair.

At long last.

He snapped the file shut as a thrill of adrenaline seized him. He wanted to grab his scalpel and cut something open, see the crimson bead of liquid swell beneath his hands, feel the power and control of rendering something naked and exposed beneath his touch.

Soon.

Soon, he’d have them.

And then he’d have his revenge.

But first, he needed to see the records dating back further. He needed to go back as far as possible, from before the Madam’s appointment.

He tossed the folder to his desk, striding to the clinic doors and marching into the empty corridor, intent on requesting the remaining documents from the Matron directly. He couldn't abide being in her presence, knowing just who she was, exactly _what_ she was, but what nauseated him the most was her blatant interest in him.

It wasn’t just a matter of physical attraction, or in this case, the lack thereof. He didn’t fault people for things beyond their control, physical appearance among them, but he always found it repellent when his prey willingly exposed their throats to his fangs.

It was one thing for the residents to be drawn to his palpable air of danger, a natural draw to their youth and inexperience. He was unable to mask it fully, not for long stretches of time. Which is why he stayed on the constant move. When bodies started to surface he knew his good looks and easy charisma would only shield him for so long.

But it was another matter entirely for the head of the Home to be so blatantly obtuse about the danger she let past her doorstep. Then again, she wasn’t exactly keen on protecting her charges, was she? He certainly wouldn’t be the first predator she beckoned inside.

He looked forward to making her rue that decision with her last gasping breath.

He turned another corner, his mind focused on the task at hand, aware but indifferent to the whispers and tittering laughs he elicited from the girls he passed. In the few days since he’d been here, he’d garnered five explicit propositions and a handful of more inconspicuous offers from residents within.

He was almost impressed by their confidence, their bravado, unhampered by their circumstances. He’d politely turned them all down, too amused to be properly disgusted. Most of them had been of age anyhow, so in their view, it probably wasn’t an obscene proposal.

However, such a thing was so outside the realm of possibility that it didn’t even register in his mind. He’d never touch one of these girls.

_You already have…_

He forced the thought away with narrowed eyes. His expression turning unknowingly lethal, causing his crowd of onlookers to glance away nervously, scattering like mice in the midst of a hungry cat.

No.

He’d allow for _no_ distractions.

No matter how tempting.

As he moved past the doors leading to the garden he did a double take, noticing a girl slipping inside, head downturned, long blonde hair cloaking her face, hand clutched to her chest.

Blood dripped down her wrist and onto her pale skirts, dribbling across the stone floor.

He halted, changing course with little thought.

She glanced up, her eyes found him cutting a path towards her and they widened, blue as the sky on a clear day.

She swallowed, backing up and hitting the wall, no escape in sight.

He tipped his head, studying her as he neared. She looked familiar. He hadn’t given her an exam. Hadn’t spoken to her directly. But he knew that face from somewhere-

_She was sitting beside Hermione at the breakfast table._

The thought made his stomach muscles tighten. He released a slow breath, forcing them to loosen, to regain control of his faculties.

“What happened?” he asked without preamble, eyes pinning her in place.

She blinked up at him, a cornered doe, speechless.

He shook his head in annoyance, but also a general sense of resignation. He was used to rendering people silent when he directed his full attention to them. It wasn’t always intentional. It was on his list of things to work on. After killing a few more people.

He stepped closer, reaching out for her injured hand even as she tried to pull it away.

“Stop that, let me see it.”

He grabbed her thin wrist, gently tugging it towards him, prompting her to give up the struggle, relenting her arm to his control.

He turned her palm up and she slowly unfurled her fingers, revealing a long but shallow gash across the middle.

“I need to clean this, but I don’t think it will require stitches.”

She swallowed thickly, trembling lightly. “I can clean it myself, Sir.”

His eyes snapped up, meeting hers once more. He raised a dark brow, fascinated to see pure fear in her eyes. He rarely inspired such a reaction when wearing his mask. Especially among young women. Especially among the young women _here_. Most of them would be eager to have him attend their wound. He wouldn’t be surprised if some of them purposefully injured themselves for an excuse to visit him in the middle of the night. It wouldn’t be the first time it happened in his career.

But alas, this girl seemed… different.

Like she had a sixth sense about him.

He tilted his head, examining her face more carefully.

“What’s your name?”

She blinked once, twice, then tentatively wet her lips. “Luna.”

He studied her in silence a few moments longer, still holding her hand in his, before releasing it and stepping back, watching her visibly deflate in relief.

“I’m afraid I can’t allow you to do that, Luna. I insist on treating the cut myself to minimize the risk of infection. It should only take a few minutes, I assure you.”

She bit her lip, eyes darting around the mostly empty hall, as though debating whether to make a run for it.

_How fascinating._

He was beginning to understand why she held Hermione’s interest. She was certainly gaining his.

“The sooner you come with me, the sooner we can have it done.”

Her large blue eyes fastened to his once more. She was obviously unsettled but seemed to accept there was no way out. She stepped away from the wall, nodding.

“Alright, Doctor.”

His jaw ticked at the way she said his title, voice unsteady. A budding suspicion took root in his mind, weeds growing like veins into his cerebrum, whispering dark things that only made him more eager to get her back to the clinic.

His chessboard had a new rook.

* * *

“I feel like a trussed up lobcock.”

Harry shook his head, gazing out of the carriage window with a smirk. “However did I survive without your colorful vernacular for two whole days?”

“That’s a fancy word. Hermione teach it to you?”

“Obviously,” Harry sighed as they drew to a stop outside the large Hotel. “Bloody hell, I really don’t want to go to this thing.”

“At least you’re dressed half decent. Look at me!” Ron held his arms out to the side, displaying his rather simple and outdated suit. “I had to borrow something from Dad’s closet because Charlie and Bill never, and I quote, _‘Tressed up like lobcocks for a party’_.”

“You’re dad’s hand me down clothes, your brothers’ hand me down jokes, are you wearing your own shoes?”

“Ha-fucking-ha.”

Harry leaped down to the pavement, paying the driver as Ron descended behind him, still grumbling under his breath.

Other carriages were arriving behind theirs, people ascending the grand staircase in fine suits and evening gowns, a formal affair to be certain, but certainly not the lushest event Harry had ever attended. This was an event for the Scotland Yard, the lowest rung of government employees. Money and jewels wouldn’t be thrown from the balcony as they would at a bluestocking affair.

Still, Harry had no interest in attending. He only did so because Sirius was still abroad and at least one of them were expected to make an appearance at such events, especially those relating to a public cause. Harry couldn't care less what people thought of him but he didn’t want to bring shame to the Potter name, that would only insult his parents’ legacy.

Being the sole member of a once powerful and influential family really sucked ballocks sometimes.

Ron groaned beside him, reminding Harry that he wasn’t the only one dreading this night. The Weasleys didn’t receive nearly as many invitations to events as they did decades prior. Harry envied them that, but Molly took great offense at being shunned by the ultra-elite they were once considered a part of, many generations removed.

So she made at least one of their brood attended each event they received an invitation to. Usually Percy, as he was the most well mannered and socially hungry. But every now and then she forced one of the other boys in his place. Just to keep them relevant to the vultures hovering above, desperate to nip at the heels of anyone with the slightest bit of power or influence.

Ginny wasn’t to be presented until next Season, much to her brothers’ joint dismay.

Thinking of Gin inevitably led to thoughts of Hermione.

She never got a Season. Not that she wanted one. In fact, she was rather against being presented like a horse to auction, as she so fondly put it. But had things been different, had her parents still been alive, and had she been the type of girl who enjoyed such societal antics, she’d be in the middle of her Season now. Lavished in expensive dresses, attending parties every weekend, toting a full dance card around her wrist, young men vying for her affection...

Instead, his best friend was trapped in an old, gothic prison with dozens of other hostages, subjected to the whims of the embittered crone that ran the place and, as Harry had most recently learned, susceptible prey to whatever young men decided to sneak in at night, trolling the hallways for kicks.

And to top it off, Hermione’s own bloody roommate disappeared without a trace, without a stir, without a single upturned rock…

It was madness.

“We goin’ in, mate?”

Harry blinked, emerald gaze snapping to the side. Ron tipped his head towards the ascending crowd.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d love nothing more than to spend the night out here. But if we’re heading in, might as well seize the opportunity to hide amongst the crowd.”

Harry nodded, steeling himself for the evening ahead.

“Good looking out. Let’s go.”

They slipped into the throng of partygoers, following their steady path into the opulent Hotel lobby, then along to the event hall. The room was large and open, tables removed to give ample space for socializing, as the society dregs loved to do. The room was jam-packed, people filling every corner, conversation bouncing off every surface. Harry already felt a pressure headache building rapidly behind his eyes.

“Blimey. I need a drink,” Ron muttered beside him, tugging awkwardly at his sleeves, which were a touch too short for his gangly arms.

Harry nodded. “Grab me one. I’ll get the next round.”

“How bout the next seven.”

“Sounds fair.”

“I’m a decent bloke.”

Ron took a deep breath, bracing himself before disappearing into the crowd, attempting to cut a path towards the bustling bar. Harry stood by himself, feeling overwhelmed despite the fact no one had spoken to him. But he felt eyes alight upon his body, from his face down to his shiny leather shoes.

He was used to garnering attention everywhere he went, due to his name, his looks, his uniform, or some combination of the three. It was worse in London’s social scene, because everyone knew everyone so annoyingly well, the rumor mill in constant grind. He joined the Navy because it was his family legacy, a rite of passage, a way to feel closer to the father he’d lost, but also as a means of escape. Escaping himself.

When sailing abroad Harry was truly free. Free from the long history of his surname, from societal expectations, from his own youthful misdeeds. He could be anyone he wanted, every new assignment was a chance to start fresh, to try out a new identity for a while. He even went so far as to change his first name when meeting locals at port cities, truly breaking the chains of his past.

It was thrilling, a tingling rush that satisfied the adrenaline lover dwelling at his core. He created his own adventures on his own terms, answering to no one but his Captain. Who also happened to be his godfather. And while it was frustrating at times, given their close relationship outside the ranks, having him on the ship was also a source of comfort. Sirius and Ron were a piece of home away from home that chased away his melancholy when he went long stretches away from Grimmauld. Away from Mione. Away from-

He swallowed heavily, pushing the notion aside, his chest tightening at his near mental slip up.

They agreed it was only casual. Nothing serious. Nothing to dwell upon outside the bedroom.

Harry had nodded along at the time, not wanting to seem needy or desperate. Not wanting to push them away. He always felt like they were precariously balanced in his hands, one wrong move and he’d lose them. It had felt that way since their first encounter. It felt like that a year later, several encounters later.

_Stop thinking about it. Not now. Not here._

He took a deep breath, swiveling his gaze around the room, eager for any distraction. His eyes fell upon a cluster of finely dressed debutantes, batting their lashes at him from behind their fans. He smirked, inclining his head politely but making no move in their direction.

He’d gone down that route before, desperate to rid himself of his obsession with the unattainable. He had no desire to formally court anyone, his Naval career kept him too busy to take a wife, that was his excuse anyway, when nosy busybodies ultimately asked at every public event he attended.

It was a solid excuse in his opinion. Sirius had never settled down. He was married to the sea, as he liked to say, with a roguish grin and wink that sent the birds swooning by the masses. There had been great pressure on his godfather to sire an heir to the Black fortune, but he’d remedied himself of the burden by formally adopting his godson when he was barely a teen, freshly orphaned.

Harry became to sole heir of the massive Potter and Black fortunes, and the pressure to marry and start a family doubled in turn, weighing his shoulders down with such crushing weight he found it difficult to put one foot in front of the other, to walk into events such as this where he knew he’d be the prey of every social climber and gold digger alike, eager to parade their daughters, sisters and nieces before him like cattle.

He understood why it disgusted Mione so. It disgusted him and he wasn’t even the one being dolled up and forced on display. It made him see red when families put forth girls so young they weren’t even formally presented, biologically not a woman yet. Harry knew that after he turned down their father’s offers the girls were being pushed off onto the next man, and the next, until they found one willing to take a child bride.

It was perverse. Deranged. And the social norm.

Harry found himself longing for the high seas more than ever.

He found himself longing for his bedroom at Grimmauld.

Longing for the warm body pressed against his, the mattress a private island of bliss, solitude. Escape.

He averted his gaze from the group of twittering young women, only to land upon the Dowager Duchess of Devonshire and a sickly pale girl at her side, both with their eyes firmly upon him. The Dowager looked hungry, focused, a predator tracking its prey through the tall grass. The girl looked resigned, already dreading the interaction to come. Harry sighed, having only a split second to decide upon his course of action.

Stay or run.

He bolted.

Darting into the crowd to his left, going so far as to hunch down a touch, allowing his thick shock of black hair to disappear beneath the many talking heads. He was too relieved at his narrow escape to feel embarrassed or give two shites about the curious glances sent his way as he pushed steadily through the masses, aiming himself at the far corner of the room.

He emerged from the sea of bodies, gasping for breath as though he truly broke free from the turbulent ocean. A deep snicker caught his attention. He didn’t have to turn around to recognize the owner of the amused voice. But he did so anyway, eager to engage in conversation with someone who wasn’t trying to trap him in a marriage contract.

“Having fun, Potter?”

Harry sighed, unfolding to his full height but keeping his back to the massive crowd at his back.

“The time of my life. What are you doing here, Zabini? This isn’t your usual scene.”

Blaise shrugged indifferently, handsome face slipping into its natural repose; supreme boredom, with an underlying derision that made his dark eyes gleam, ever watchful of the milling guests, always on the lookout for _something_.

The man normally made Harry uneasy, with his shrewd gaze and lewd speech, eager to unsettle those around him. For what purpose, Harry was never certain. He found it easier to avoid the strapping Italian altogether, which was simple enough considering he and Zabini maintained very different social calendars. Harry only went to events if dragged, held at gunpoint or otherwise guilted into attending. And he left as soon as he paid the host or hostess a polite hello.

Zabini loved lavish parties, the gaudier the better, throwing several out of his mother’s estate himself. He was always at the center of the action, the heart of the gossip, otherwise the opposite end of whatever venue Harry found himself forced to be in.

So the fact that the man stood in the same corner now greatly perturbed Harry. He glanced around, wondering if there was something he’d missed, some great scandal playing out beside them, media reporters watching nearby, anything to draw the man away from the crowd.

“I was forced to come to this, much like you, I presume,” he finally spoke, taking a sip of whatever dark liquid filled his lowball glass, eyes still tracking the talkative faces.

“Forced? By whom?”

“By whom else? The only woman with any sway over me.”

Harry nodded, slowly turning to face the crowd, feeling safer with them in his sights rather than at his back.

“How is the Countess?”

“Happily sandwiched between two lovers half her age in Nepal.”

Harry shook his head, fighting the urge to cringe at the mental image. “That’s your mum, you know.”

“I was aware, yes.”

“And why does she want you to come to an event for the Scotland Yard?”

Blaise smirked, taking another sip of his drink. “She just buried husband number five. I imagine she wants to show her support of the new criminal investigation unit to avoid being the subject of their first case.”

Harry blinked, glancing sideways at the man. “The new _what_?”

“Honestly, Potter, do you often show up to events without knowing their purpose?”

“Most the time.”

Blaise swirled the glass in his palm, the liquid creating a tiny vortex as he flashed a grin. “How can I forget, you enjoy the element of surprise better than the present itself.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Get on with it, Zabini.”

The man chuckled. “The police formed a new branch within the London Office. The CID unit, they’re calling it. Its main purpose is to break apart large-scale crime rings with plainclothes detectives using more subversive measures.”

Harry raised a dark brow. “And you know all this how?”

“I slept with one of the detective's secretaries. And one of their wives. They were both surprisingly chatty afterward. Kept talking to each other even after I left.”

Harry blinked, peering sideways at the man’s stoic profile, finally relenting with an amused smirk.

“Blaise, there you are, I ran into-”

Harry went rigid as the new voice joined the fold, a familiar face appearing from the crowd, pausing at the edge, eyes fixed upon Harry in surprise, then panic.

Blaise raised a brown, glancing between them, lips curving into a wry grin.

“Well isn’t _that_ interesting.”

“Do shut up, Blaise. No one enjoys hearing your voice as much as you.”

“Ouch,” he cringed in mock pain, pressing a hand to his chest. “What’s gotten into you, Daph? Aren’t you going to bid Potter a hello?” His eyes danced with malevolent glee.

Daphne glared at the Italian, then she slid her mask of proprietary indifference into place. “Hello, Harry. It’s wonderful to see you.”

Harry swallowed, folding his hands behind his back to keep from flexing his fists.

“Daphne,” he bowed his head in polite greeting. “The pleasure is all mine. It’s been a long time.”

She blinked, shoulders relaxing a touch. “Yes, yes it has.”

“This is _very_ interesting,” Blaise muttered over the rim of his glass, eyes darting between their rigid forms.

Daphne glared at him once more but remained silent. Just then Harry’s eye was drawn by a familiar sweep of white blonde hair bobbing along the sea of guests, steadily heading in their direction. He breathed a sigh of relief. He knew he was in dire straights if he took comfort in Malfoy’s arrival.

“Draco, bloody hell, what are _you_ doing here?” Blaise said at full volume as the man emerged into their small pocket corner of the room.

The blonde straightened out his pristine jacket as though it were amiss, eyes sweeping along the three people standing before him, pale brow raised.

“Well isn’t this a sinister looking gathering.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Blaise said, winking at Daphne as she huffed in annoyance.

“And I’m sure I don’t care,” Draco drawled, gazing over his shoulder at the crowd. The group of young, attractive aristocrats hiding in the corner were starting to attract a concerning amount of attention. Harry feared he’d have to find a new refuge soon.

“I’m afraid I lost your sister to a pit of hissing vipers, Daph.” He turned to face her. “I would attempt to save her but I fear I’d only exacerbate the problem.”

Daphne sighed, shaking her head in annoyance. “Let me guess, the Carrow sisters?”

“They have a surprising obsession with the marriage market considering they’re both dried up spinsters.”

She scowled. “Their niece and nephew are a far cry from anything you’d consider remotely eligible, they have to live vicariously through other families.”

“I heard Alecto and Amycus have eyes and hands only for each other,” Blaise said casually, tipping his head to inspect a woman in a particularly tight corset.

“That’s vile, Blaise,” Daphne said, face pinched in disgust.

“I didn’t say I agreed with it luv, merely that I heard it.”

“You shouldn’t repeat such tasteless rumors, they’re liable to spread.”

He raised an amused brow, gaze snapping back to hers. “Do you even know who you’re talking to?”

She rolled her eyes, folding her arms and sidling closer to the wall.

“This party if worse than I imagined,” Draco said, turning to scan the room. “And that’s really saying something, considering I fantasized about setting the building on fire.”

“You too, huh,” Harry said before he could stop himself, earning an amused laugh from Blaise and an appreciative smirk from Draco.

“What are you doing here, anyway?’ Harry asked, posture finally easing over the shock of seeing Daphne again so soon. He tucked his hands into his trouser pockets, effecting a casual stance.

“Father said one of us was obligated to come, and that it was too low budget to garner his attention.”

“He isn’t wrong,” Daphne said, glancing around the room. “A blind nun must have been in charge of decorating. I didn’t even know they _made_ brown table runners.”

“At least they aren’t wasting our tax dollars on fancy cutlery and window treatments,” Harry said. “An extravagant ball would send the wrong message.”

“And what is the message?” She asked in annoyance.

“I’ve no bloody idea.”

“I’m bored,” Blaise interrupted. “Have Pans or Theo arrived yet?”

Harry’s heart lurched so violently he swayed on his feet, covering the gesture with a sudden cough, averting his face away. He felt eyes upon him and knew they belonged to the sole female of their group. Color stained his cheeks. Damn.

“Alright there, Potter?” Draco asked over his shoulder, blessedly oblivious to the nature of Harry’s outburst.

“Never better,” he said in as level a tone as he could manage.

He wanted to ask follow up questions, like why the hell they were coming to this event in the first place, but he feared the men would read into his questioning, and he was still too wound up by the confirmation that Daphne definitely knew about his tryst.

Double damn.

He supposed it was only a matter of time before someone became suspicious. Harry noticed Mione and Draco sneaking off to secluded balconies right away. He noticed their budding attraction, disguised as mutual jealousy and hatred, even before they did. He shouldn’t be surprised Greengrass put the pieces together.

After all, she was best friends with-

“There they are! About bloody time. Finally, someone with a bit of excitement.”

Harry swallowed heavily at Blaise’s boisterous announcement, his eyes fixating on the main entrance where the newest couple emerged into the room. His heart skipped a beat, palms starting to sweat. He blinked rapidly, stepping back, glancing at Daphne on instinct.

She stared back, holding his gaze steady, the intensity making his body quake. His lungs felt weighted, he couldn’t draw a proper breath. He glanced back to the crowd, his eyes finding theirs like a homing beacon. They burned like twin sapphires, such a deep blue they appeared violet in the soft lighting.

He tore his gaze away but could still feel their eyes upon him like a physical touch.

He couldn’t do this.

“It’s been an absolute delight,” he said, affecting a bored tone, but his voice sounding unsteady to his ears. “But I’m going to find Ron. Enjoy your evening.”

He took off before they had a chance to register his departure. It was a terribly rude and abrupt exit, he should have paid his respects to each of them in turn, taken Daphne’s hand and kissed it farewell, but he couldn’t afford to linger there a moment longer.

Besides, he doubted any of them expected Harry to adhere to social custom anyway. He was known as the rebel aristocrat, the reluctant prince, skirting convention at every opportunity.

He was just fine with those assumptions if it earned him a reprieve.

He dived headfirst into the crowd, heading towards the bar, glancing around for the familiar shock of red hair.

Luckily, Ron possessed an equally recognizable laugh. Loud, carefree and joyful, eliciting either a grin or scowl from all those nearby. Harry sighed in relief upon hearing it, darting in the direction of the boisterous noise.

He spotted the man beside the bar, deep in conversation with a young woman, his freckled face alight with whatever story he was telling her. Harry slowed his pace, smirking in amusement. He never failed to be entertained by his best friend’s escapades with the opposite sex. It rarely ended well.

Harry raised a brow as his emerald gaze fell upon the woman, only her back visible. Something about her seemed... familiar. Though he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. He knew practically everyone in London. Unfortunately.

Ron’s blue gaze met his from over her shoulder and his smile widened.

“Oi, Harry! C’mere! Meet the new police commissioner's daughter!”

Harry fought back a cringe as a few people glanced around in annoyance. Whereas Harry purposely skirted the rules of etiquette, Ron was outright oblivious to them.

However, the mystery girl didn’t seem to mind his jovial outburst, tipping her head back and laughing, the sound making Harry stop short a few feet behind her, heart leaping into his throat.

He knew that voice… but from where? He felt like he’d heard it quite recently, fresh on his memory, but he hadn’t been around any women except for-

“Harry, meet Susan Bones.”

The girl spun on her heel, bright smile melting into a look of abject shock, eyes widening to comical size.

Harry blinked.

_Bloody. Hell._

Ron glanced expectantly between them, brow raising at their prolonged silence.

“Um,” he rubbed his neck. “Have you already met?”

Susan took a deep breath, eyes desperately pleading. Harry shook himself of his momentary stupor, grinning wildly and stepping closer.

“Not at all.”

He reached forward, grabbing her stiff hand and bringing it to his lips.

“Hello, Susan. A pleasure to meet you.”

His mouth hovered above her knuckles, curved into a silver grin, eyes gleaming beneath the chandeliers.

“I’m Harry.”

* * *

Hermione returned to the Home from her first day of work in a buzz of excitement. She’d been exhausted when she first left the establishment, her skirt filled with extra coin from Snape. She’d looked at him in confusion when he first handed it to her.

_“The Madam informed me she will be taking half your wages off the top as overhead and to send your bi-weekly cheques directly to her.”_

_Hermione blinked. Snape shook his head, eyes narrowed as he opened the till._

_“I had a strong inkling the remaining funds would never make it to your hand, so I told her you were earning half the actual amount. I will pay you the difference directly if you have no objections.”_

_She blinked again, emotion swelling within her._

_“That’s… very kind of you.”_

_“Paying my employees isn’t kind, it’s the law.” He withdrew a bag of coins and made a note on his ledger, sliding the money across the counter. “Take it and leave. You’ve given me enough of a migraine today.”_

She’d accepted the payment with another round of thank-yous before he’d banished her with a scowl, telling her to report back at the same time in two days. She reflected on the events of her day during the carriage ride home, feeling overwhelming pride that she was finally employed, and in a medical-related field, no less. She imagined what her parents might say…

She pressed a hand to her chest, shaking her head and gazing out the window as they rounded the corner and the imposing structure of the Home came into view. She had the driver drop her off directly in front, knowing Filch would no doubt be waiting up to report her arrival immediately to the Matron.

As she paid the driver and spun around to face the main gate she felt a cold chill steel past. She blinked in confusion, gazing around as it blew stray leaves and sticks along the pebbled driveway. It was still summer, unseasonably sunny and warm at that, so the sudden drop in temperature startled her.

She quickened her pace to the front door, some force compelling her to glance up at the gargoyles. She swallowed thickly, feeling their hollow eyes upon her.

Then her gaze flickered down, to the large circular window of the attic, sealed off from the residents. Supposedly it was nothing but storage space, caked in dust and cobwebs, easily forgotten.

So the sight that met her eyes caused Hermione to stop dead in her tracks.

A girl stood at the window, deathly pale, cheeks gaunt, eyes dark and sunken.

And fixed squarely upon Hermione.

She released a slow breath, too transfixed upon the stranger to notice the cold plume of air it created. Her heart thumped painfully against her breastbone. She closed her eyes. Counted silently backward from five.

And then opened them.

The girl was gone.

The summer air once more warmed her chilled flesh.

She bit her lip, staring blankly at the door ahead.

_It’s getting worse._

_What am I going to do?_

She fought back tears as she resumed her rapid pace inside.

The hallucinations started after she joined the Home. She thought they were just an extension of the night terrors that plagued her since her parents’ deaths. But they didn’t align with her nightmares, having nothing to do with the fire or her family.

No, instead she was plagued by ghastly visions of bloody, animated corpses, torn flesh, gaping wounds, severed limbs… all belonging to strangers she was certain she’d never laid eyes upon before.

It disturbed her to no end that her mind could concoct such horrific images of its own accord. She’d never been exposed to such sights before, her parents never even allowed her to gaze upon cadavers in the morgue. She had no idea where her subconscious derived such bloody imagery, or why it did so in the first place.

But one thing was certain, she couldn't tell anyone.

The only thing more terrifying than being diagnosed with hysteria was being diagnosed with insanity. Though they were more or less treated as one in the same, at least hysteria held the possibility of a cure.

Instead, the insane were locked away in padded rooms for the duration of their short lives, subjected to the most barbaric of practices to break their minds of the madness. From what little she’d glimpsed in her parents’ medical books, the treatments were more likely to induce madness than to cure it.

She didn’t want to even think about what they’d do to her if they knew she was experiencing such violent hallucinations. She’d never see the sunlight again.

No, she was better off suffering in silence. At least then she could maintain her mediocome of freedom. She’d rather be plagued by the haunting visions out in the open than continue to experience them alone in a cell, strapped to a bed, imprisoned within a straightjacket.

She was so overcome by her panic that she didn’t notice the figure walking down the hall in the opposite direction, their eyes downturned upon a bundle in their arms.

“Oh!” Hermione gasped, catching herself against the wall, gazing down at the sprawled figure before her. “Luna! I’m so sorry!”

She quickly knelt down, reaching for the girl’s hand to help pull her up, then gasping anew at the thick bandage covering it.

“What happened?”

Luna smiled, serene as ever, slowly lifting to her feet. “Oh, it’s nothing. I had an accident pruning a rose bush. Lauma startled me.”

Hermione blinked, remembering the frantic sounding magpie she’d encountered the other day, moments before Filch caught her sneaking into the kitchens. She wet her lips, eyes bright.

“Was she singing to you again?”

Luna tipped her head, leaning down to grab whatever she’d drop during the collision. “No, she was a chocolate lop this time. She leaped on my foot. She didn’t mean to startle me, she apologized so profusely afterward.”

Hermione examined the items in her hand, raising her brow.

“Where did you get the bandages?”

Luna peered down at the stack in her hand. “The Doctor was kind enough to provide me with extras. I told him I preferred changing the dressing myself.” She glanced at the floor once more. “But the iodine is a lost cause.”

Hermione glanced down as well, seeing the pool of plum colored liquid spread across the stone, an unturned bottle on its side in the center of the mess.

“Oh, Luna, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

“It’s quite alright. I lose focus all the time, especially after conversing with spirits.”

Hermione reared back, heart racing. “What?”

Luna knelt down and collected the empty bottle with casual grace. “I said I often lose focus as well, especially after conversing with-”

“Spirits?”

The blonde stood upright and gazed upon her, blue eyes as calm as a placid lake.

“Yes.”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth a few times, shaking her head, trying to pick a single question in her chaotic mind to give voice to.

Luna tilted her head once more. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just assumed that’s what you were doing.”

“Wha-” Hermione stopped short, mouth dry. “What are you talking about, Luna? Why would you think I was talking to spirits?”

Her blue gaze shifted to some point just beyond Hermione’s shoulder and lost focus. “Your aura’s been touched.” Her eyes brightened once more, snapping back to Hermione’s. “Why? Were you doing something else? My injury might be affecting my sight.”

Hermione leaned against the wall, overwhelmed.

“Luna…” she ran a hand over her face. “I think I’m going insane.” She sighed deeply, shaking her head. “And the scariest part is insanity may be the preferable option.”

The blonde stepped beside her, leaning against the wall as well, their shoulders touching.

“Why is that scary?”

Hermione glanced sideways at her, seeing no trace of humor in her expression, which in turn caused Hermione to burst into a fit of hysterical giggles. Luna smiled as well, though it seemed to be in amusement of Hermione versus the situation itself.

“I’m-” she gasped, caught somewhere between laughter and sobs, “I’m losing my mind.”

The girl reached out with her uninjured hand, brushing fallen curls away from Hermione’s face.

“You aren’t losing your mind, Hermione. You have the most solid grasp on your mind of anyone I’ve ever known. With the exception of one of daddy’s old colleagues. He was an Egyptian doctor who performed self-trepanation and actually touched his brain.”

Hermione blinked, staring at her for another heavy beat, then started laughing anew. But it was calmer this time, born from a sense of release instead of a steady build. She took a deep breath, tipping her head to the side to rest on her friend’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Luna. I feel better now. I think.”

“You’re welcome. I am very good at making people laugh.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed briefly, imagining her friend was used to being the butt of cruel jests, a source of mean amusement. “You are very good at seeing the good in all things. I envy you that. I would give anything to find a silver lining to these hallucinations.”

She felt Luna gaze down at her. “What if they aren’t hallucinations?”

Hermione blinked, pulling back. “Of course they are, Luna. I’m seeing…” she swallowed heavily. “I’m seeing horrific things, I can’t even describe them to you without feeling sick to my stomach.”

Luna tipped her head. “Why are you so certain they aren’t real?”

“Because no one else can see them.”

“Maybe that’s because they only want your attention.”

Hermione’s blood ran cold. She stepped away from the blonde, gooseflesh spreading up her arms.

“I-” she took a deep breath, “I don’t think so, Luna. I don’t believe in those things. If something _were_ trying to communicate it would be better off reaching out to you.”

She felt like she was going to burst out of her skin, a storm brewing just beneath the surface, even more unsettling in the wake of Luna’s completely composed demeanor.

The blonde shrugged one shoulder.

“Maybe you’re the only one who can help.”

Hermione closed her mouth, certain her heart would spill free as it steadily climbed up her throat. Luna glanced casually to the bottle in her hand, unencumbered by the crippling dread and anxiety pressing against Hermione’s chest.

“I have to go get more iodine from the clinic, the Doctor will be leaving soon-”

“I’ll go.”

Hermione blinked, taken aback by her own declaration. Luna glanced at her with a smile. “That’s alright, I can-”

“No, really, let me.” Hermione stepped forward, gently taking the bottle from her loose grip. “I caused you to spill it, it’s only fair I fetch you a new one.”

Luna’s eyes flickered between Hermione’s, making her feel even more unsettled. With Luna’s jaunts into the fantasy world, it was easy to forget how astute the girl was, how sharp-witted. Hermione felt warmth blossom across her chest and neck as Luna’s searching gaze settled, as though she found what she was looking for.

“Alright then.”

They stared at each other for another heavy beat. Hermione broke away first, stepping back on shaky knees, forcing a smile.

“Okay, I’ll bring the bottle to your room before bed.”

Luna stared at her silently as she started to walk away. But after she took a few steps her friend called her attention back.

“Hermione.”

She stopped, spinning around with a nervous jerk. Luna’s voice held an uncharacteristic weight, sinking Hermione’s feet into the earth, trapping her in place.

“Please, be careful.”

Hermione blinked, spine going rigid. She knew she should ask the other woman what she meant by the warning, but on some level she feared she already understood. She didn’t want to think about it too deeply. She didn’t want to think about it at all. She just wanted to feel. To escape this harsh reality for a few blessed moments.

She swallowed, nodding once. “I will.”

And then she slowly spun on her heel and resumed her path, pulled along by some invisible thread to the last place she knew she should be headed.

Yet the one place she longed to be.

The clinic.


	7. Interlopers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… I created a tumblr. I don’t know why. But I like it. I like it a lot. I also have no idea what I’m doing. And it’s getting weird. Very weird indeed. 
> 
> Feel free to say hi ~ alovelyvillain.tumblr.com

_A secret is only a secret when it is unspoken to another._  
.   .   .

“Hello, Susan. A pleasure to meet you.”

Harry’s mouth hovered above her knuckles, curving into a silver grin, his eyes gleaming beneath the chandeliers.

“I’m Harry.”

She blinked, jolting out of her panicked reverie. She dipped down into a half curtsy, swaying lightly.

“Hello, Harry.”

They held each other’s gaze a moment longer before he released her. She took an automatic step back, shifting awkwardly. Harry held her steady in his sights, mind rampant with churning thoughts.

What were the chances?

He met the police commissioner’s daughter in a smoke-addled opium den, half dressed, sprawled beside Cormac Fucking McLaggen two bloody days ago.

And now she stood before him, adorned in a fine silk dress with her hair immaculately styled, a creature from another world.

His assumption at the den had been accurate. She was fascinating, brimming with secrets, just like him. He imagined she’d offer superbly interesting conversation.

And he knew just where to start.

She must have read the look in his eyes, for her next words were directed to the man still glancing awkwardly between them.

“Ron,” she smiled over her shoulder. “Would you mind grabbing me a wine from the bar?”

He blinked, spine straightening. “Oh, um, yeah, of course.”

He glanced at Harry, eyes bright and hopeful.

_Christ._

Ron liked her.

Harry didn’t have a good feeling about this.

He watched his best mate spin on his heel, heading into the throng of bar patrons. Susan sighed, gaining his attention.

“Please, don’t say anything.”

“I didn’t intend to,” he pinned her with an intense stare. “But don’t lead my friend on. He’s a good guy, he doesn’t deserve to be strung along if you’ve got something going on with McL-”

“Shh!” She burst forward, stepping close. “Don’t say his name! You just said you weren’t going to mention it!”

“I won’t, but I need to ask you a few questions first.”

She narrowed her gaze, glancing around nervously. “About _what_?”

He tipped his head towards the outside balcony. “Let’s step out if you want to avoid anyone overhearing.”

She bit her lip, stepping back. “And if I refuse?”

Harry raised a dark brow. “You have every right to do that. I won’t force you.” He stepped forward, his chest nearly bumping hers. “But on this particular occasion I’m seeking information on behalf of my friend, concerning a missing girl no less, so I’m extra motivated to get answers. If you don’t have them, then my next stop is your father-”

“Are you _threatening_ me?” She seethed through her teeth.

He smirked. “Not at all. Your father is the new police commissioner, head of the criminal investigation unit, yes? It only makes sense I report a potential crime to him.”

She blinked, setting back on her heels. “You bloody wanker…” she muttered, glancing around once more.

Harry fought back a laugh.

Okay, she was growing on him…

“Alright, come on.” She grabbed a handful of her skirts and began a quick path to the double doors. He followed in her wake, glancing over his shoulder as well, feeling a sudden thrill along his spine, as though he were being watched…

He didn’t see any eyes fixed directly upon him, but he didn’t really care if anyone witnessed him walking outside with Susan. It was easy enough to brush off with as innocent an excuse as they needed fresh air. What was that thing doctors claimed women got in crowded rooms? It drove Hermione batty… oh yes, vapors.

He slipped outside and shut the door behind them, glancing up to see a few people milling about, hushed conversations taking place in the darkened alcoves. They paid the new arrivals no mind.

Susan stormed into an empty corner, skirts swishing violently, before spinning on her heel in a huff of annoyance. “Listen here,” she began without preamble, “I told you when we first met, I’m not what you think I am-”

“And I told you I make no assumptions.”

She stopped short, blinking. “No one can know about me and McLaggen, got it?”

Harry nodded. “Got it.”

Her eyes flickered between his for a few more moments. “I’m not-” she stopped, swallowing lightly and glancing away. “I’m not some immoral floozy.”

He tilted his head. “I didn’t think you were.”

She scoffed. “Sure.”

“I think you’re an addict.”

Her eyes widened and snapped back to his, face paling. “What?”

“But it’s really none of my business, so I don’t care either way.”

She blinked rapidly, gaping in outrage, but her eyes held a hollow sadness that was all the answer he needed. Still, he could sense a battle royale on the horizon, her anger set to boil. He held up a staying hand.

“I just need to ask you a couple questions and then I’ll be out of your hair for good. You don’t have to worry about me offending you any further.”

She clamped her mouth shut, eyes narrowing. He pushed ahead before she stormed off entirely.

“Do you know where I can find him?”

She blinked, looking thrown for a moment. “Find… McLaggen?”

He nodded. She shook her head, looking more outraged than before he asked. “No, I don’t. I’m not _with_ him-”

“Okay, but do you have any idea where I can find him?”

She stewed for a few seconds more before forcing out a bitter, “No.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, making a few piece stand completely upright.

“Alright…” He shook his head. “My next question may sound a bit off the wall unless you know what I’m talking about, which will be bloody fantastic, but my hopes aren’t high.”

She raised a brow, her eyes betraying a look of intrigue though her expression remained guarded.

He reached into his inner coat lining and withdrew the skeleton key, holding it in his palm before her, his eyes carefully cataloging every minute facial movement, gauging her reaction carefully.

She blinked, tilting her head and examining the ornate key from a distance before glancing up. “What is that?”

He deflated, her curiosity seemed genuine.

“You’ve never seen anything like this before?”

She shook her head. “No. Should I have?”

He wet his lips, slipping it back into his coat. “Probably not.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“No.”

“But McLaggen does?”

Harry shrugged slightly, leaning back against the balcony ledge. “Yes, but I can’t find the stupid shite.”

She sighed, glancing away. He assumed she storm off now and was surprised when she stepped closer, voice low. “That girl you asked me about, Lavender something?”

His heart rate increased. He leaned in. “Lavender Brown.”

She bit her lip, looking hesitant. Harry felt a thrill seize him, something important within grasp.

“She’s still missing?”

“Yes.”

She fell silent again. Harry was getting impatient. “Susan, do you know Lavender?”

She shook her head quickly, eyes snapping to his. “No. I don’t. But I think, _maybe_ , I’ve heard her name before… at the-” she stopped short.

He nodded sharply, indifferent to her embarrassment or shame, the information too vital. “You think you heard her name at the opium den?”

She cringed but nodded. “I think I heard one of the other girls mention her, saying she was chosen, that she was lucky.”

Harry blinked. “Chosen? Do you know what she was talking about?”

Susan glanced down. “A lot of those girls are companions. They’re there for a different reason than I am. They don’t confide in me much. I just overheard that bit, I think anyway. I don’t know anything else.”

Harry swallowed, taking a deep breath and leaning back again. “Thank you, Susan. Any information is better than none. I appreciate it.”

She glanced up, her hesitant expression a far cry from the outspoken woman who ordered him around a few minutes ago. “You won’t tell anyone about what you saw?”

Harry held her gaze steady. “I won’t. You have my word.”

She released a small breath and stepped back.

“Thank you.”

And then she was darting away, skirts trailing behind her before disappearing back into the main room.

Harry sighed, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

This was just great.

He’d lost track of his one viable lead and now he had a key burning a hole in his pocket and no bloody idea what to do with it.

He put his glasses back on, watching the only remaining couple on the balcony head inside as well. He basked in the peaceful solitude, nothing but the bustling street below and the moon and stars above.

He turned around, leaning against the ledge to gaze at the buildings ahead, the carriages milling around between them, as he tried to decide what the hell to do next.

The door opened behind him, followed by the sound of footsteps. Harry stepped away from the railing, reluctantly turning back around to head inside-

His heart skipped a beat, muscles turning to stone as though he had locked eyes with Medusa herself.

“Potter.”

Harry blinked, releasing a short breath.

“I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

“I have appearances to keep as well, social obligations.”

Harry’s eyes flickered between theirs. “You came with a date.”

“As I said, appearances to keep.”

His jaw ticked. “Is it serious?”

They tipped their head, eyes roaming his body from bottom to top. “Is it serious between you and the girl you snuck out here with?”

Harry raised a brow. “Susan?”

Their eyes flashed. “Who is she?”

“She’s not important.”

“Whatever you were talking about looked important.”

“It was. But she isn’t. Not to me.”

The silence that followed was deafening, sweltering, all-consuming. And then it broke.

They leaped at the same time, a perfect harmony of two desperate bodies in motion, closing the chasm that divided them and colliding in a fit of grasping hands and hungry mouths. They staggered into the shadows, out of view of the balcony doors, and battled for dominance over the other.

Harry lost track of time, lost track of reality. All that existed was the warm body before him, the throbbing pulse beneath his tongue, the salty expanse of taut skin-

The door swung open.

They sprung apart.

Harry swallowed heavily, spinning on his heal and facing the street, straightening his lapels, his cravat, running a shaking hand through his hair.

“Bloody hell, there you are,” spoke a familiar voice, heavy footsteps sounding behind him. “Already hiding? Oh, didn’t see you there Potter. You hiding, too?”

Harry tried to regulate his breathing, glancing over his shoulder at the new addition.

“Guilty.” His voice sounded thick, foreign to his ears. He cleared his throat, turning around fully. “Actually, I have a question for you Zabini.”

Blaise raised his brow, as well as his newly filled glass to his lips.

“A question for me? This should be good.”

Harry reached into his coat once more, his emerald gaze flickering to the other person on the balcony, casually leaning against the railing, face flush and eyes gleaming.

“I have a question for both of you.”

He pulled the key free, dangling it by the red ribbon before their eyes. He knew he hit gold when they both went rigid, gazes firmly locked on the item in question. Blaise blinked, then to Harry’s great surprise and dismay, he started to laugh, the sound rich, deep and ominous.

“Fucking hell, Potter. You can’t just pull that out in the middle of a party, for the Scotland fucking Yard no less-”

“I take it you know what this is then?”

Blaise tipped his head, laughter fading but his smirk remaining. “Yes, do _you_?”

“No, I don’t. But you’re going to tell me. Right now.”

Blaise sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “Only you, Potter…” then glanced over his shoulder. “You want to take this one, Theo?”

* * *

Hermione took a deep breath as she came to a stop outside the clinic door. She clutched the empty iodine bottle so tightly in her hand she feared the glass would break.

Her Matron’s words rang through her head, as clear as if she stood within the whimsical office of doom across from the she-beast herself.

 _“Stay_ away _from Doctor Riddle.”_

Hermione had no idea why the woman felt compelled to instill such a warning.

Such a command.

But she’d stayed up late into the night replaying the encounter over and over in her head, searching out some hidden meaning, some deeper message.

By morning all she knew for certain was she desperately wanted to rebel against those orders.

_Is that what I’m doing here?_

She bit her lip, shuffling on her feet.

_I should have let Luna come to replace the bottle._

_But you spilled it. It’s only polite you fetch her a new one._

_Is that really your justification?_

She swallowed thickly, closing her eyes.

_I shouldn’t have come…_

And yet her arm raised of its own volition and pushed the door open.

She opened her eyes. The interior was masked in low light, the gas lanterns along the walls burning dimly. She held her breath and stepped inside. She heard no movement, saw nothing but the dancing shadows.

She stepped inside, hovering just past the threshold for a long moment before turning and closing the door behind her.

The click was deafening. She placed her palm against the wood for a moment, swallowing again.

“May I help you?”

She spun around, facing the desk. But she didn’t see the owner of the deep voice.

She blinked, glancing around, and then she spotted him, facing the windows at the far corner, once again with his back to her while he read something in his hands.

She wet her lips.

“I-” she stopped short, taking a deep breath.

Her one syllable seemed to have a strange effect upon him. His spine straightened, shoulders drawing back, his entire body tensing before her eyes. He glanced up sharply from whatever he was holding, staring straight ahead at the foggy window pane.

She felt frozen as well, heart climbing up her throat as he continued to face away.

“I’m sorry to bother you so late…” she swallowed lightly, feeling inexplicably foolish. “I need a bottle of iodine.”

The world was static, all its inhabitants moving in slow motion. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears at half speed and her breathing slowed as she watched the Doctor turn around frame by frame, like a film strip being fed through a praxinoscope.

“Ms. Granger.”

His voice was deeper than usual. Her entire body throbbed. She was disturbed by her reaction.

“Yes.” She briefly closed her eyes, mortified by her response.

“I have a feeling the bottle is not for your own personal use.”

She stared at him once more, heart beating fast as she saw he’d turned around, awarding her his full attention.

“No, it’s for my friend.”

“Luna.”

She blinked. Then flushed at her own stupidity. Of course he knew Luna, he’d treated her hand for goodness sake. She felt like her mind was slipping the longer she lingered in his presence.

“Yes. I accidentally knocked her bottle to the ground and spilled the contents. I’m terribly sorry, I am happy to have the expense added to my account-”

“Are you always this contrite?”

She blinked again, flushing deeper. “Yes.”

He smirked, the low light casting most of his face into shadow but his eyes burned brightly.

“Another thing you must work on. Come, let us fetch you a new bottle.”

She couldn’t prevent her lips from curving into a smile. She was used to receiving admonishments from most everyone in her life, from the advice of well-meaning friends to Snape’s blistering remarks, and of course Umbridge’s hateful derision.

But Doctor Riddle’s comments affected her differently. She didn’t take them as an insult and she didn’t brush them off. She found herself cataloging each one, storing them at the forefront of her mind for later reflection, later obsession.

She took a deep breath as she forced her legs into motion, cutting a path towards the cabinet, following in his wake. He opened the large doors and reached inside without hesitation, grabbing a bottle from the pit of darkness. She was impressed he’d already memorized the inventory layout. The layout she’d designed.

He turned around, a cloud of his scent wafting over her. She blinked rapidly, trying to discern the different notes. She smelled a heady arrangement of earthy wood and fresh citrus. And suddenly her mouth was in motion without permission from her brain.

“Do you wear cologne?”

She blinked, face aflame in embarrassment.

 _Bloody hell, I did_ not _just ask him that!_

She swallowed convulsively as he raised a dark brow, his expression betraying great amusement, either at her question or her obvious reaction to it.

“I just- I smell bergamot and sambac, and I’m used to more medicinal scents in the clinic.”

She clamped her mouth shut, willing the ground to open wide and swallow her whole.

His smirk merely grew. “You have a keen nose, Ms. Granger. I was mixing tonics earlier. Bergamot is good for lowering fever and sambac can be used as an antiseptic and sedative. I also ground up plums and cedar leaves.”

She bit her lip, his scent invading her nasal passage further at his words. Yes, she could smell the clean and sweet notes now that he’d mentioned them…

It was a divine combination.

She swallowed lightly, still plagued by a full body blush. “I didn’t realize you made your own tonics.”

“I like to have alternative options on hand for those who are either sensitive or allergic to typical medicines.”

She nodded slowly. “That’s a good idea.”

His eyes gleamed brighter than the lanterns at their backs. “I’ve been known to have those on occasion.”

The entire exchange was so mortifying that she came out the other side, immune to any additional embarrassment at this point. She laughed, shoulders relaxing.

“I think I’ve met my quota for the day, only poor decisions for the remainder of the night.”

He tipped his head, eyes rendering her motionless. “Is that so?”

“Yes. After I leave here I think I’ll climb up to the roof, gaze at the stars. Perhaps invite Filch to join me.”

He tipped his head back and laughed, the sound beautiful and deadly all at once, for it caused her heart to seize in her chest, dimming her vision at the corners.

“I think there is far more appealing company to share such an adventure with, but to each their own, I suppose.”

She smiled, chest swelling at his teasing banter. This was her favorite version of the Doctor. For she had a feeling very few were allowed to witness it. She felt a strong sense of pride at being able to coax it out of him.

Such a feeling was dangerous, she knew, but she couldn’t find it within herself to care. Not right now. Not in his company.

And suddenly she found her mouth moving of its own accord once more, hardly aware of what she was saying.

“One night, when I was young, my father woke me in the middle of the night. He was so excited to show me something, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was. He took me outside and pointed to a ladder leaning against the side of the house. My mother nearly had a conniption but he convinced her to allow me to climb it. When we got to the roof he pointed into the sky and-”

She stopped short, heart lurching painfully. She swallowed, shaking her head. “I- never mind, I don’t know why I-”

“What did you see?”

She blinked, gazing up at the Doctor. His eyes were a raging storm. She stood in the eye of the hurricane, the walls around her trembling, set to tumble down any moment.

“I saw an explosion of color. Greens, blues, purples and reds, crashing like waves over the stars. I thought I was seeing the gateway to heaven. I asked my father if that’s what it was.” She smiled fondly, remembering the way the lights reflected in her father’s gleaming gaze, making him seem an otherworldly creature kneeled at her side.

“He explained geomagnetism to me. I was quite tired so I retained only half the information, I’m sure. But I remember him saying there was an intense disturbance that caused a low latitude aurora. He said it could be seen all over the world, that there was a little girl standing on her roof on the opposite end of the globe watching the event just as I was.”

She swallowed thickly. “It was such a profound moment. I was too young to comprehend it fully. But I still think about it every time I gaze into the night sky. Wondering how many others are staring at those very stars at that very moment, feeling just as I do.”

She took a shaky breath, coming back to reality, the force of his gaze weighting her limbs, quickening her pulse and slowing her thoughts.

“And how do you feel?”

Her entire body pulsated with the next throbbing heartbeat.

“Tiny. Inconsequential compared to the vast cosmos above and below.” She wet her lips, afraid to blink, afraid to lose whatever magic held them firmly in this moment.

His presence seemed to swell, his spine stretching and limbs lengthening, chest expanding until he filled every corner of her vision, blocking out the flickering glow of the lanterns, the steady beam of moonlight, and casting her world into darkness. Her entire existence centered on his next breath, his next word.

“Frightening, is it not?”

His simple question was tinged with hidden meaning. A private message for her alone to decode. She responded on instinct.

“No. It’s liberating.”

She didn’t feel herself move, didn’t see him move, but suddenly they were standing so close to one another she could feel his steady breath on her face, causing loose strands of hair to dance along her neck and chest.

Heat radiated from his body. She absorbed it hungrily, soaked it in greedily, basked in it.

He tilted his head slowly, face tipping down, eyes studying her carefully as their mouths aligned, separated by a narrow abyss.

“You don’t belong here, Hermione.”

His low spoken words triggered a great transformation within her. Her skin split at the jagged seams, tearing apart and falling away in shreds. She burst through, shedding the outer layer that kept her trapped and dormant for so long. She stood before him, dripping the remnants of her old self like blood onto the stone floor.

“Neither do you.”

His eyes flickered between hers, the conviction in her voice brokering no room for argument.

“You don’t know the first thing about me,” he whispered, words glancing off her lips and spilling down her chin.

“I don’t know the circumstances that led you to take this job. But I know you’re not happy here. No one is happy here. And therefore you don’t belong anymore that I do.”

His eyes turned wild, feral. She could see lightning striking within their depths, could count the bolts.

And then he surged forward.

She gasped, head tipping back to maintain his gaze. She braced herself for impact, for attack, for whatever came next…

He inhaled sharply, his entire body jerking back as though an invisible leash ripped it away. He blinked rapidly, running a hand over his face, Adam's apple bobbing heavily as he swallowed.

She staggered back, the force of his reaction awakening her from whatever dark trance took root within her.

It took him several moments to collect himself, shoulders tense, eyes guarded and narrowed as though presented with some great problem. She blushed hotly beneath such scrutiny, this new examination unsettling.

“I… I’m-”

“Your iodine.”

She blinked, eyes alighting on the bottle he held out between them. His posture remained stiff but he’d regained his composure, the invisible wall erected between them once more, solid and impenetrable.

She took the bottle mutely, eyes averted down, chest quaking with remnants of the storm. She swallowed before attempting to speak.

“Thank you.”

There was a beat of silence that prompted her to glance up, nervous, hopeful.

“It is late, Ms. Granger. You should head to your dorm.”

She nodded but remained frozen in place, feet not obeying her commands. He stepped back, putting more distance between them.

“Allow me to escort you out.”

His clipped words triggered the deep ache within her chest. She fought the urge to press her hand against it as she slowly followed a few feet behind as he led her to the doors. He gripped the handle but didn’t pull. Instead, his entire body went taut as a strung bow, gaze fixed firmly ahead, expression hidden from view.

“We are both interlopers, brought to this place because of circumstances beyond our control.” His words deepened the ache. “That doesn’t mean we have to play the role of passive bystander.”

She swayed on her feet from her place just behind him. And then he released the handle, turning to face her once more. His eyes were glowing, magnetic, sweeping her out to sea, pulling her beneath their depths.

“If the walls refuse to hold you, tear them down. Build a new fortress atop the ruins, with your name carved into the very foundation.”

He made no move in her direction and yet seemed to tower above her. She forgot how to breathe.

“Do not compromise. Take it all.”

Her heartbeat reverberated in every limb, vision becoming cloudy. She felt him all around her, yet he remained miles away.

And then he opened the door.

“Goodnight, Ms. Granger.”

She moved jerkily towards the threshold, hands trembling, the full bottle nearly slipping from her grasp.

“Goodnight, Doctor,” she managed to force from her tightened throat before darting away, out of the clinic, cheeks aflame.

But not with embarrassment.

No, Hermione burned with something else entirely.

And it frightened her.

Because she enjoyed it so.

* * *

“How _the hell_ did you come by that, Potter?”

Harry cringed at the derision in Theo’s voice, the flatness of it, so different in public than behind closed doors. He pushed past the tightening in his chest.

“What _the hell_ is it?”

Theo glared, unamused. “It’s a ticket into a very exclusive club.”

Harry blinked, staring down at the key dangling from his fingers.

“Fucking Christ, put it away,” Blaise hissed, his smile fading. “You want the entire party to see you holding that?”

“I don’t even know what _that_ is.” Harry slid the offending item back into his coat.

Blaise shook his head, rolling his eyes toward the sky. “You really do accept invitations without having a bloody clue what they’re for.”

He narrowed his emerald gaze. “Will one of you tell me what the hell you’re on about?”

“First tell us how you came by the key,” Theo said, stepping away from the railing, closer to Harry and Blaise.

Harry made a concerted effort to feet his feet in place, his natural instinct to step closer or put more distance between them so he wasn’t tempted to step closer.

“I purchased it off a bookie. Nice guy.”

Theo rolled his eyes and Blaise laughed. “Never knew you had it in you, Potter,” the latter said, taking another swig of his drink.

“Why the hell did you purchase it if you don’t know what it is?”

Harry took a deep breath, letting it out through his nose, gaze locked with his sometimes-lover. Theo raised a challenging brow, shoulders tense, a look Harry recognized well.

He knew he wasn’t getting answers from the man until he provided a few of his own. He trusted Theo, he just wasn’t sure about Blaise…

“Come on, Potter, you can’t hold out on us now,” the man in question teased. “How did the Golden Boy himself come to own such a sordid little trinket?”

Harry’s spine straightened, not appreciating the mocking nickname or the implication about the key. His worst fears were starting to find solid ground.

“I’m looking for someone.” He held Theo’s gaze steady. “A missing girl.”

He saw the spark of recognition ignite in the depths of his sapphire eyes. Theo no doubt recalled Hermione’s visit to Grimmauld a few days prior, her plea to Harry regarding her missing friend.

“And your search led you to that?” He gestured at Harry’s chest, to the item hidden within.

“The key is the end result, yes. I had no idea what the hell I was buying, only that it leads to the girl.” He paused, glancing between the men, matching expressions of intrigue clear on their face. “Now tell me what the hell it means.”

Just then the doors to the balcony sprung open.

“Fucking hell…” Harry muttered, rubbing his eyes, the sounds of new footsteps joining the chorus of voices emerging from the main room.

“Talk about shite timing,” Blaise laughed under his breath. “Oh, what are the chances, hello Drake.”

Harry’s eyes snapped open, Draco’s scowling visage filling his vision.

“What the bloody hell is this? Some great meeting of the minds I’m not privy to? Are you all out here discussing the global ramifications of India joining the British Empire?”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “For the love of God, Malfoy shut the fuck up.”

Blaise choked on his heavy swig, doubling over.

“Pardon my interruption, Potter. Please, proceed with your discussion. It looks positively riveting.”

“Draco?” A new voice joined the fold, emerging through the open door. “What are you- oh, what the hell is everyone doing out here?”

“For the love of Christ.” Harry groaned, shaking his head as Pansy stepped outside, closing the door behind her.

“Good to see you, too, arsehole.”

“Don’t be offended, Pans, Potter is only talking to us because he needs something,” Blaise said, voice strained and eyes red from his coughing fit.

She raised a dark manicured brow. “Is that so? _This_ should be good.”

“Can the two of you go back inside, please?”

“Are you serious?” Draco laughed without humor. “I’m not going anywhere now you sodding Shanker.”

“Bloody hell,” Theo snapped. “Will everyone shut the hell up for two goddamn seconds?”

Everyone glanced at him in surprise.

“Harry, if you’re really trying to find this girl then you need all the help you can get. Besides, you know as well as I do that telling one of us is the same as telling all of us. Especially where Blaise is concerned.”

“I reflect that comment.”

Theo didn’t spare the man a glance, holding Harry’s emerald gaze steady for several heavy beats. Harry finally blinked, nodding once.

“Fine then.”

“Wait, find _what_ girl?” Draco asked, earlier derision forgotten.

Harry sighed, facing the others. “Someone went missing from the Girl’s Home on Bromley-”

“ _What_?” Draco stepped forward, causing Harry to step back instinctively. “Is Granger okay?”

Pansy scoffed loudly, rolling her eyes. “Bloody hell, you pathetic wanker. If she wasn’t, do you really think Potter would be here tonight? He’d be out tearing the city apart by hand like a knuckle-dragging Neanderthal.”

Theo cocked his head to the side, gaze roaming Harry’s face. “True enough.”

Draco’s expression looked no less tense. “She’s okay?”

“Yes, Mione’s fine. Physically at least.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Bloody hell, Drake, calm down-”

Draco snapped his head around, silencing Balise with a lethal glare before facing Harry once more.

“What’s happened?”

“For Christ’s sake, Malfoy. Step back and I’ll tell you.”

Draco blinked, face and body taut, but he took a reluctant step back. Then another. Harry sighed, glancing at the group in turn.

“I wasn’t keen on this information spreading, I don’t want to bring harm to the missing girl or make the situation any worse. What I tell you tonight must remain between us, do you understand?”

“We understand, now fucking talk-”

“I know that _you_ understand, idiot. But not everyone here is motivated by their obsession with Hermione.”

Draco reared back, eyes bright with flame. He opened his mouth but before he could spew venom Pansy elbowed him in the side.

“Fucking hell, we won’t spread any gossip, Potter. I doubt it’s even interesting enough to share.”

“I don’t know about that, luv,” Blaise shot her a wink. “He has a Black Key.”

Pansy blinked. Then her head snapped round to Harry.

“No _bloody_ way.”

Harry’s pressure headache was really gaining momentum.

“Will someone please tell me what the hell the Key is all about?”

Theo sighed deeply. “Harry, tell us how you came by it and we’ll tell you what we know,” He pinned Blaise with a meaningful look. “We all agree not to breathe a word about this to anyone.” He glanced at Harry once more. He was standing close. Too close. “And then we’ll help you as best we can.”

“Um, I never agreed to that-”

“Shut _up_ , Pans.”

She scowled, crossing her arms but falling silent. Harry swallowed heavily, nodding to Theo.

“Mione’s roommate went missing from the Home a few days ago. No one knows where she is and they’re not searching for her, the Matron’s labeled her a runaway. But Hermione swore to me that’s not the case, and the more shite I uncover the more I believe her.”

“What has that got to do with a Black Key?” Pansy asked, her annoyed tone doing little to undermine the curiosity brimming in her narrowed gaze.

“Mione told me about a guy she runs around with.”

Draco jolted. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Not Mione, you fucking knob. He messes around with Lavender, her roommate, the missing girl.”

“And this guy led you to the Key?” Theo prompted.

“Yes. But now I can’t find the idiot to question him about it. Hence this unbearably frustrating conversation.”

“I didn’t think I’d be saying this, but I am so fucking glad I came to this party.”

Harry scowled. “Enough bullshite, Zabini. You and Theo obviously know what the key is, I take it Parkinson knows about it, too.”

“You really have a Black Key?” she asked, tilting her head, inspecting his person as though it would materialize out of thin air.

“Yes, I _really_ have one. Now someone fucking talk!”

“The Key grants you access to Amortentia,” Theo said, gaze intense.

Harry blinked. “Amort- _what_?”

“Amortentia,” Pansy repeated, looking far more intrigued than she had moments ago. “A private Club in Knightsbridge.”

Harry glanced between them, preparing his next question when Draco cut him off.

“You’ve _got_ to be bloody kidding me.”

“Why?” Harry raised a brow. “Have you heard of it, too?”

Draco shook his head, glancing between the group, his eyes landing on Theo.

“Since when are there Keys?”

Theo rolled his eyes. “There’s always been Keys, you fucking ponce. Not everyone is related to the owner.”

Harry’s heart lurched. “You’re related to the owner?”

Draco scowled at him over his shoulder. “So are you, thanks to your bloody adoption.”

Harry paled, taking a step back, as though distancing himself from the truth. “Wait, don’t tell me-”

“Dear Aunt Bella and Uncle Fucking Rod are part owners, yes.”

Blaise started to laugh anew. “I am _so_ bloody happy I came tonight.”

“Shut up!” Harry and Draco shouted as one, glaring at the man.

“ _That_ was disturbing,” Pansy muttered, straightening her skirts without a care in the world. “So are we going or not?”

“What?” Draco asked, glancing sharply at her.

She shrugged. “Why wouldn’t we? Potter has a Key, you have a blood relation, surely that’s enough to get the rest of us in.”

Theo shook his head. “That’s a bloody terrible idea, tell them, Potter.” He glanced at Harry, then scowled. “Fuck. Don’t even say it-”

“I need to get a look at the place,” he said, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “I need to see if Lavender’s there.”

“Excellent!” Pansy said with exuberant cheer, clapping her palms together. “It’s settled then. We’ll all head over-”

“That’s _not_ what I said-”

“Honestly, Potter,” Blaise cut in, “You can’t expect to just leave us here.”

“That’s exactly what I can expect to do-”

“This Lavender chit,” Draco interrupted, voice steady and loud, silencing the quartet. “She’s important to Granger?”

Harry held his gaze. “Yes.”

Draco was silent for a long beat before finally backing away towards the door.

“I’m coming with you.”

“Malfoy-”

“Just try and stop me, Potter.”

“If Drake’s going then I’m _definitely_ going.”

“If Blaise is going then I’m coming!” Pansy snapped, spinning on her heel and marching towards the door in Draco’s wake.

As the three disappeared back into the main room Harry rubbed at his eyes once more, groaning.

“What _the fuck_ just happened?”

He heard footsteps slowly draw near, stopping just to his right. Then a hand was pressed to his shoulder, fingers lightly squeezing. Harry glanced up.

“See what happens when you play knight in shining armor, Potter?”

Harry stared at his mouth as he spoke, heart thudding painfully.

“I can’t seem to help myself.”

“I know. That’s what I like about you.”

Harry sighed, pulling his gaze up to meet Theo’s.

“You’re coming, too, I take it?”

He arched a dark brow, a coy smirk transforming his face into something devastatingly beautiful. “Potter, God himself couldn’t prevent me from witnessing this shit show play out.”

* * *

Hermione knocked gently on the door, still a scattered mess from her earlier encounter with the Doctor.

“Come in.” The pleasant voice rang out, a soothing balm to her raw nerves.

Hermione opened the door and slipped inside the dimly lit room, the gentle flicker of a candle flame the only light source.

“Hello, I brought you the iodine,” Hermione half whispered, glancing around the room for the second occupant.

“Where’s Hannah?”

“She should be coming to bed soon.” Luna tucked her knees beneath her from her spot on the bed, marking the page of whatever book she held and setting it aside. “She was kind enough to finish pruning the rose bushes after I injured myself. It put her behind on the rest of her chores.”

Hermione sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, setting the bottle on the side table.

“How is your hand?”

Luna held it aloft, turning it over as they both gazed upon it.

“It’s fine.”

“May I take a look?”

Luna smiled. “Of course.”

Hermione turned to face her fully, smoothing out her skirts and patting her lap, prompting Luna to lay her palm in the center facing up.

Hermione began to gently unwind the gauze bandages.

“My mother taught me to treat cuts when I was very young. She took me with her to volunteer at the hospitals when I got older. She let me change dressings for cuts and burns.” She glanced up, meeting Luna’s gaze. “I promise, I know what I’m doing.”

Luna tilted her head. “I trust you.”

Hermione smiled in response, turning her focus back to the delicate hand in her grasp. “I should have asked Doctor Riddle for honey…” she muttered, inspecting the gash as the dressing was removed.

“Honey?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Honey has been used to promote healing since before Van Leeuwenhoek discovered bacteria. It reduces the chance of infection and inflammation, as well as helping dressings stay in place. Perhaps I can run down to the kitchens later.”

Luna tilted her head the other way, watching Hermione work.

“Did your mother teach you that as well?”

Hermione nodded, reaching for the iodine. “Yes. Between her and my father, there was hardly a medical fact that went unknown in our household. It could be quite overwhelming at times.”

“What do you mean?”

Hermione shrugged lightly, uncorking the bottle. “I wanted to make them both proud, I studied night and day, trying to absorb as much knowledge as I could. I was so terrified of not meeting their expectations. Not that they’d ever be disappointed in me. Perhaps I feared disappointing myself.”

She swallowed lightly, a sense of hollowness taking hold. “I suppose in the end it was all for naught. They won't see what becomes of me either way.”

“That’s not true.” Luna reached out with her uninjured hand, resting it atop Hermione's knee buried under the mounds of skirts. “I’m sure they’re still watching you, Hermione. They would be so proud of you.”

Hermione smiled sadly. “That’s sweet, Luna.”

“You don’t believe me?”

She sighed. “I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

There was a heavy beat of silence before the blonde spoke again. “I never knew my mother.”

Hermione glanced up sharply, the gentle admission taking her off guard. She’s never spoken to Luna about her past. She found herself immensely curious.

“No?”

She shook her head. “She died giving birth to me. Daddy said that I look just like her. A mirror image.”

Hermione held her breath, filled with emotion but not wanting to interrupt.

“He had a photograph of her he kept on his desk. It was taken just after they married, the day they found out they were expecting me. She said it was the happiest day of her life. He paid to have her picture taken so he could capture the emotion on her face. He said it was the most radiant she’d ever looked. The most beautiful. Like an angel descended from heaven.”

Hermione struggled to breathe normally, her throat tightening. Luna’s gaze became unfocused, drifting slightly.

“I like to think that they’re together now. Even if they aren’t watching me, that’s okay. As long as they get to be happy wherever they are.”

Hermione blinked, biting her lip. “May I ask how he died?”

Luna looked remarkably composed, but her eyes betrayed an emotion Hermione wasn’t used to seeing on the persistently happy girl.

“He was shot.”

Hermione reared back. “Shot?”

“Yes. With a gun.”

“I-” she stopped short, shaking her head. “Who, I mean, _why_?”

Luna shrugged lightly. “I don’t know the answer to either of those questions. Daddy was working late one night and never came home. I went to the office to see if he was alright and found him lying in a pool of blood.”

Hermione clutched the hand resting on her knee. “Luna, I’m so sorry. That’s terrible. You being the one to find him is even worse.”

Luna’s eyes came back into focus. “It was very difficult. But if I hadn’t of seen it with my own eyes I don’t think I’d have believed it. That he was really gone, that is. I’d still be waiting for him to come home.”

Hermione swallowed thickly. “There were no suspects?”

“No. Daddy was an editor at the London Chronicle. They think it could have been a disgruntled reader who disagreed with some of the articles he published. They have a heavy liberal slant. But there were no witnesses, no clues, nothing was stolen or disturbed. The investigation never could gain momentum.”

Hermione shook her head. “The police are bloody useless.”

Luna shrugged once more. “I suppose in this case they really didn’t have much to go on.”

Hermione bit her tongue, feeling it wasn’t the appropriate time to go off on an angry tangent. She was so upset on behalf of her friend she expelled steam with every breath. But she also knew there was the large possibility she was projecting her personal feelings onto the matter due to her own unsolved case file sitting deep within the basement of the Scotland Yard.

Hermione brought her attention back to Luna’s hand, trying to distract herself from the swelling of emotion within her. She dripped fresh iodine over the gash, tipping her head to inspect it at an angle.

“The cut is clean. That’s fortunate, considering it was made with gardening shears. He did a good job of irrigating the wound.”

Luna tipped her head in turn, studying Hermione as Hermione studied her hand.

“He is a good Doctor. That is fortunate.”

Hermione nodded, still focused upon her task. “Yes, it is. Especially considering the last physician was a-”

She blinked as Luna jolted lightly, her hand pulling away.

“Does it hurt?”

Luna shook her head, quickly putting her hand back in Hermione’s lap. “No, I- I’m sorry, it’s fine.”

Hermione blinked. “Luna,” she wet her lips. “Are you okay?”

The blonde nodded once more, perhaps a bit too quickly. Hermione’s heart started to beat faster, recognizing the guarded expression, the averted eyes. She’d seen it in the mirror countless times. She took a slow breath, treading carefully.

“Luna, you can tell me anything, you know. I promise to never repeat anything you confide in me, not to Parvati, not to Hannah, not to anyone.”

Luna was still and silent for a long beat before smiling once more, but it looked strained and out of place on her pretty face.

“I know that, Hermione.”

Hermione swallowed lightly, slowly returning her focus to the hand in her lap. She wanted to ask more, to dig deeper, but she couldn’t justify doing so when she too kept a dark secret harbored within the depths of her soul. If Luna wanted to confide in her, she would do so in her own time.

Hermione set the bottle back onto the side table, grabbing up the stack of fresh bandages in its place, and began wrapping Luna’s wound once more.

“There,” she said, tying off the end. “I’m sure the Doctor told you, but do try and avoid using this hand if at all possible, preferably for the next week. Keep the dressing clean and dry, and change it at least once a day. I’m happy to do that for you if you’d like.”

Luna pulled her arm back, nodding. “Yes, I would appreciate that.”

Hermione held her gaze, opening her mouth to reply when the door behind them burst open.

“Bloody hell, there you are,” Parvati said, sounding winded. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Hermione blinked. “I was just-”

She stopped short as another figure entered the room just behind Parvati.

“Whoa, are we having a slumber party?” Hannah asked, gazing around the tiny room.

“I have a lead on Lavender,” Parvati said without preamble, stepping towards the bed. “But we have to go right now-”

“Wait,” Hermione held up a hand, heart skipping a beat. “Slow down, Parv, what are you-”

The girl shook her head, reaching out and grabbing Hermione’s arm, pulling her up. “No time! We have to haul ass.”

Hermione dug in her heels. “We can’t leave! If we’re caught-”

“If we’re caught _what_ , Mione?” Parvati pinned her with an intense look. “Umbridge won’t expel you and you know it, you’re one of the few who pays a monthly stipend, she’s too desperate for cash to kick you to the curb. I’m the only one really at risk.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better!”

“Um,” Hannah said loudly, eyes flickering between the struggling pair. “Maybe I have a solution?”

Hermione blinked, pulling her arm from Parvati’s tight clutch. Hannah shrugged lightly. “Filch doesn’t inspect our floor too closely. He spends most his time scouring the upper dorms, where the troublemakers are.”

Hermione opened her mouth to argue the point but Parvati spoke first, tossing her braid back with a raised brow.

“Damn straight. And proud of it.”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “As I was saying, if he even comes down our hall he never bothers to open our door. As long as there’s no noise disturbance. So…” she glanced to the bed. “Luna and I could sleep in your beds tonight. That should keep you covered when he peeks in.”

Hermione shook her head but was once more prevented from voicing her argument.

“That’s bloody aces, Hannah. You sure you don’t mind?”

“Hey, a bed’s a bed.”

“It sounds exciting,” Luna added, smiling serenely.

“It’s too risky,” Hermione finally added, glancing at each girl in turn. “If we’re discovered then we’re all going to punished severely. Being expelled may be the least of our worries.”

“Worse than disappearing without a trace and having no one even bother to look for you?”

Hermione sighed, gazing back at her roommate. “Parv, you know I want to find Lavender, but-”

“Then come with me, Hermione. I’m leaving with or without you, but I could really use that giant brain of yours.”

Hermione groaned, shoulders drooping. “Jesus… this is going to go terribly.”

Parvati squealed, leaping forward and throwing her arms around her, nearly knocking her off her feet. “You’re the best, Mione!”

“Okay,” her friend drew back, grabbing Hermione’s hand in her own. “Let’s go.”

* * *

“Oi, Ron!” Harry called from the opposite end of the bar, stealing the man’s attention away from the woman he was talking animatedly to. Another guest moved aside and she came into view.

Susan.

Harry groaned.

Ron bid her to wait and maneuvered his way through the crowd to Harry’s side.

“Hey, mate! Where the hell have you been?”

Harry sighed. “It’s a long story,” he paused, debating how much to reveal. Then his eyes flickered over his friend's shoulder and met Susan’s narrowed gaze. His jaw ticked. “Having a good time?”

Ron beamed. “Harry, you have no idea, this girl’s amazing. She’s laughing at all my jokes, she’s really smart too, I mean, not Mione smart, but certainly smarter than me-”

“Maybe you should slow down a bit, yeah?”

Ron blinked. “What do you mean?”

Harry shook his head. “I just, I mean, you just met her. And she’s the commissioner’s daughter.”

Ron shrugged. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

_Bollocks._

“Nothing, mate. Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

He didn’t have time for this now. He’d sort it out later.

“Listen, I gotta head out-”

“No fucking way!” Ron said a bit too loudly, earning surprised glances and glares from nearby guests milling about the bar. His ear’s tinged pink. “I mean, you can’t just leave me here,” he hissed more quietly.

“You can leave, too.” He hoped he would, but he already knew the answer he’d receive.

“No, I think I’m going to stick around, see if I can hit it off with her. But I’m still pissed you’re flying the coop so soon.”

Harry clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll make it up to you, mate. I gotta run.” He stepped past Ron, heading down the bar and passing Susan on his way to the exit.

He slowed his tracks, keeping his gaze averted forward but speaking clear enough for her to hear. “If you hurt him, our deal’s off.”

She blinked, eyes narrowing slightly, but then she glanced away and nodded lightly.

Harry released a long breath through his nose, making a dash for the main lobby.

He was relieved to see Pansy and Blaise standing near the doors, the former glaring daggers at him and the latter bouncing on his heels. “About bloody time!” Zabini said as he approached.

“Where’s Malfoy?”

“Ditching his fiancé.”

Pansy elbowed him in the side. “They _aren’t_ engaged, you bloody moron.”

Blaise smirked down at her even as he rubbed his sore rib. “Still holding out hope, Pans? You know if he doesn’t marry Greengrass you still have to get through Granger.”

Pansy scoffed. “Do shut up.”

“Why don’t you both shut up. You’re giving me a migraine.”

Pansy turned her derision upon him. “Have you ever heard the phrase don’t bite the hand that feeds, Potter?”

He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You’d have no idea Amortentia even existed if it wasn’t for us.”

He shook his head. “Does she ever stop?”

Blaise smirked. “Never.”

Before Pansy could respond a new voice joined the fold. “What are all you wankers still doing here? Hail a bloody carriage!”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Theo has one waiting for us, your Majesty.”

Draco seethed, stalking past them and pushing open the door before the doorman had an opportunity.

Pansy rolled her eyes, following in his wake. “Always so dramatic.”

Blaise pushed away from the wall. “I don’t understand what you see in him.”

“Sodding idiot.”

Harry shook his head, reluctantly heading up the end of the procession.

They all piled into the carriage, Harry and Draco sharing a seat while the other three smashed into the one opposite.

“Fucking hell, Pans, you could fit twelve arses into that skirt.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, Theo.”

“Why don’t you sit on my lap, luv? Give us more room.”

“Not in this life or the next, Blaise.”

“Will everyone just shut the fuck up and tell the driver where to go!”

Harry blinked, glancing sideways at Draco. “You don’t know the address?”

Draco rolled his eyes, ignoring Harry and glancing across the tight space to his friends.

“Who’s?”

Theo shook his head. “Not mine. Father’s home.”

Harry felt his blood run cold at the simple pronouncement.

Pansy pulled him from the dark reverie as she sighed dramatically, slapping Blaise’s hand away as he played with the copious excess of her skirts. “Same here.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry asked, scowling in annoyance as they continued to ignore him.

“Alright, mine then,” Blaise said with a casual shrug. “Lord knows I have plenty to go round.”

“Plenty of what? God dammit, I really hate being ignored.”

“Jesus, Potter, you’re giving me a headache.” Pansy’s cruel smirk made his blood boil.

Before he could respond Blaise was thumping the roof of the carriage, shouting through the narrow window to the driver.

“Lancaster Gate, good Sir!”

Harry blinked as the carriage lurched into motion, gently rocking its inhabitants from side to side.

“Why are we going to your house?”

Blaise settled back into his seat, idly playing with Pansy’s skirts once more, his eyes gleaming in the fading moonlight.

“Honestly, Potter. You can’t go to a costume party without a costume.”

* * *

“Where _are_ we?”

“Outside Trafalgar Square.”

Hermione stuck her head back inside the carriage. “Why are we here again?”

Parvati rolled her eyes. “I told you, we’re meeting one of my old friends, she thinks she has a lead on Lav.”

“She _thinks_?”

“On occasion.”

Hermione’s jaw ticked. “We broke curfew _and_ house arrest for a hunch?”

“No, we did it to find Lavender, and this is the best lead we’ve got, unless you’ve heard back from that friend of yours?”

Hermione’s mouth clamped shut as she deflated in her seat. She was upset Harry hadn’t sent any word to her yet, even just to tell her he wasn’t able to track down Cormac. She hated being in the dark, and she suspected Harry was keeping her there for a reason, which only frustrated her further.

She was tired of other people controlling her life, thinking they knew what was best for her.

She drew her shoulders back. “Alright, let’s do this.”

Parvati smirked as the carriage came to a halt at the corner. “Thatta girl.”

Hermione paid the driver with coins from the bundle Snape provided her earlier that day, she’d yet to remove them from her skirt. Then she steled herself, following in Parvati’s wake along the sidewalk, dashing quickly through shadows with their heads downturned from the illuminating pools of the lamp posts.

White Horse Lane ran along the west side of the Square, a dividing line with the middle class on the west and lower income families on the east. They turned right at the corner, heading east, deeper and deeper until they passed the low income sector into border line squalor.

Shouts could be heard from a nearby tavern, along with the screams of children running along the street, faces and hands caked in filth, toothy smiles wild with abandon. Hermione lept to the side to avoid a small boy from plowing head long into her.

“Sorry, Miss,” he said with a cheeky grin, removing his threadbare cap and dipping into a low bow.

“That’s quite alright-”

“Enough of that!” Parvati snapped, aggressively shooing the boy away. “Common thief, ain’t ya? Saw you trying to feel up her skirts a mile away. Find another mark, kid.”

She grabbed Hermione by the arm, pulling her along, the boy scowling in their wake before darting back into the shadows.

“Parv, was that really necessary?”

“He’s a little pickpocketer, Mione. Would rob you blind and not bat an eye about it. Keep your head down and eyes open, don’t trust anyone.”

“Not even the children?”

“ _Especially_ not the children.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Don’t give me that look. I grew up in a neighborhood even worse than this one. I know all the tricks. All the cons. Kids learn to rob from the time they’re old enough to walk. It’s the only way to survive. I don’t fault ‘em for it. I just don’t want to have to walk home because your bleedin’ heart gave away our last pence.”

Hermione tilted her head, studying her friend at an angle.

“Your accent is different.”

She sighed. “Always happens when I’m back on the streets. I can’t help it.”

Hermione smirked. “I like it.”

Parvati laughed, quirking a brow. “Want me to talk dirty ta ya, luv?”

Hermione joined in the laughter. “Maybe later, after we meet with your friend.”

“I’m gonna hold ya ta that.”

Hermione shook her head, knowing the girl was purposely throwing her voice for amusement sake now.

They passed a multi-unit complex, falling apart by the looks of it, the balconies over run with clotheslines and junk. Stray cats darted between the trash filled alleys. Hermione pulled her cloak tighter to her person, keeping close pace beside Parvati. For her part, Parvati walked with an air of authority, shoulders back and chin up, eyes gleaming in the dim lights.

She looked as much a predator as the wily felines, hunting after their midnight meal. Hermione felt a wave of comfort being at her side, feeling as though Parvati could navigate her through the worst of the city and out the other end.

She just hoped they didn’t encounter any rowdy tavern patrons or other obstacles. Parvati told her once that she knew how to throw a mean right hook, but she doubted the thin girl would prove any real challenge to a full grown man. Hermione knew she herself would be little to no help should something occur, other than to try to talk or reason their way out of it. But somehow she highly doubted keen intelligence was the traded currency on these streets.

“Who is this friend we’re meeting?”

“An old chum from the Timber block. Grew up a few units down from us. I’ve known her since we first came to London.”

“She’s your main contact on the outside?”

“One of them. But I trust her. If she says she has something for us, I know she has something.”

Hermione nodded, remaining silent the rest of the short haunt until Parvati came to a stop outside an old brownstone.

“This is it. She’s on the top floor.”

Hermione followed her up the rickety staircase, clutching the railing with white knuckles as one of the steps groaned so loudly she feared her foot would burst through the slat.

“Watch your step, nothing here is up to code.”

“I can see that.”

They ducked beneath a stained sheet hanging on a line between the second and third level, finally coming to a stop outside a matte black door. Parvati stepped forward and knocked softly, in a distinct pattern that made Hermione burn with curiosity.

“No one opens their door for just anyone out here,” the girl said over her shoulder by way of explanation.

Hermione nodded, as though that made perfect sense, as though she wasn’t questioning her sanity for agreeing to traipse through the dredge of London streets in the middle of the night with no means of protection.

Her earlier indignation induced bravado was rapidly wearing thin.

But she was distracted from her rising panic as the door creaked open just a touch, forming a narrow gap just large enough for a set of golden eyes to peer through.

“That you Parv?”

“It’s me, luv. And company.”

“I was worried something happened. Hang on, let me take the chain off.”

The door closed once more before opening all the way, revealing a tall, lean young african woman with a striking face and long braids tied at her back. She smiled widely, gesturing inside. “Come on then, don’t want pretty birds lingering on my doorstep attracting all kinds of attention.”

Parvati laughed lightly, stepping into the room with Hermione following nervously behind.

“Mione, this is Angie, Angie, this is Mione.”

“Mione, eh? That’s a bit unusual, no?”

Hermione grinned. “Tell me about it. It’s lovely to meet you, Angie. Thank you so much for-”

She stopped short as the other girls burst into sudden laughter.

“See?” Parvati said, gesturing to Hermione at large. “I told you she was somethin’.”

“That you did, but I admit she’s even better in person.”

Hermione crossed her arms, eyes narrowing. “ _Excuse_ me?”

They burst into another fit of laughter. Hermione huffed in annoyance, not liking being the butt of anyone’s joke, especially when she didn't comprehend the punchline.

“Sorry, Mione. I just have trouble explaining your perfect manners to other people sometimes. They hafta see it in person to really get the full jist of it.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “My manners are far from perfect. For one, I wouldn’t be standing here if-” she stopped short, eyes widening. “I mean, pardon, I didn’t mean any offense-”

“Take a breath, luv,” Angie waved a hand. “I assure you, I’m not easily shocked or offended. Not by the likes of a delicate little thing like you.” She smiled as Hermione’s eyes flashed. “But maybe you aren’t so delicate, eh? That’s good. You gotta have a spine of steel to survive in this world.”

She winked at her, then turned to face Parvati. “Alright, let’s get to it then?”

Parvati nodded. “You have enough for us both?”

“Of course. She’s a tiny little thing but it’s easier to take the clothes in than let em’ out.”

Hermione blinked. “I’m sorry?”

Parvati glanced at her over her shoulder. “Oh. Right…” she glanced away, making alarm bells ring loudly in Hermione’s head. “So, the thing is…” she trailed off once more, shifting on her feet.

Hermione inhaled sharply, stepping forward. “Parvati Patil, _what_ did you do?”

Her friend bit her lip, glancing up through her lashes. “I knew if I told you you’d never agree to come.”

Her heart leapt into her throat. “Tell me what?”

Angie glanced between them, smirking. “Parv, you really didn’t tell her where we’re going?”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Going? We’re going somewhere?”

“We’re going to look for Lavender,” Parvati said, reaching out to her.

Hermione stepped back, dodging her hand. “I thought that’s what we were doing here.”

“Well, we are, technically-”

“Just tell me what’s going on!”

Parvati sighed, shoulders dropping as she relented. “Angie works at a Club on the upper West side. She’s seen Lavender there before. Lots of times, actually. Cormac brings her. Angie’s going to get us in so we can look for ourselves.”

Hermione blinked, paling. “I… that’s… we can’t-”

“We can and we will. We’ve already come this far.”

“You brought me here under false pretenses! Why can’t Angie go and look for her on her own?”

“Because Lavender is our friend and it’s our job to find her!”

They stared each other down, gazes narrowed. Angie stepped forward, clearing her throat.

“So, not that this isn’t immensely entertaining, but I’m going to be late for work if I don’t start getting ready. Are you dames in or out?”

“In.” “Out.” They spoke at the same time.

Angie nodded her head. “Right then. I’m going to start getting dressed. Let me know what you decide. Just decide quick.”

She turned and disappeared through a curtain divider, the flat one giant room that afforded them zero privacy as their argument commenced.

“I can’t believe you lied to me!”

“I didn’t _lie_ , I just withheld a tiny piece of information-”

“Oh stop, Parv, you know you misled me on purpose-”

“Of course I did! How else was I supposed to get you here?”

“There is no way I’m going into some random Club! What if we’re spotted, reported to Umbridge?”

“Trust me, no one there will know who we are, little less where we come from.”

“Yes, I’m greatly comforted by the fact it’s some place McLaggen often frequents. It’s probably some-” she glanced sharply at the curtain, at the silhouette of Angie getting dressed. She threw her voice low, hissing. “It’s probably some scandalous sex den or something!”

Parvati blinked, mouth remaining closed. Hermione’s eyes widened as she reared back.

“Are you bloody kidding me?”

“Listen-”

“You want to walk into a _brothel_?”

“It’s not a brothel, it’s an entertainment parlor-”

“Calling it that doesn’t make the business any different!”

“Well, it’s where Lavender is most likely to be, Mione, what do you want me to do?”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, blinking rapidly. She shook her head. “I want to find her, Parv, I really do, but…” She trailed off, still shaking her head.

“But what, Hermione? This is our best shot at finding her or at least picking up her trail. Like I said before, I’m going, with or without you. I’m sorry I lied. But I was desperate.” Her voice thickened. “I’m desperate and scared. I don’t know what else to do. If you have a better idea, please, tell me.”

Hermione swallowed, holding her gaze for a long while. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. Her jaw ticked, a long sigh of resignation marking the turning point in her resolve.

“Bloody hell. I was joking before.”

Parvati blinked. “About what?”

“When I said I was only going to be making poor decisions from here on out.”

Her friend looked confused for a moment before her expression transformed into a wry smirk.

“You haven’t even seen the outfits.”

That didn’t sound good.

“Outfits?”

“The Club has a very strict dress code,” Angie called out from behind the curtain. “For guests as well as employees. I can only sneak you in through the back if you’re wearing a uniform.”

Hermione felt light headed, sensing something truly awful about to be unleashed upon her.

Angie’s hand appeared around the curtain, pulling the excess folds of fabric back.

“Trust me, once you put it on you get used to it.”

She pulled the rest of the barrier away, revealing her outfit to their eyes. Parvati cringed, glancing sideways at Hermione.

“Did I mention that I’ll owe you for this?”

Hermione shook her head, eyes still fastened on the dark skinned girl before her, who looked far too amused for the situation.

“Parvati,” her hands curled to fists at her sides. “You’re going to owe me into your next life.”


	8. Until the Ribbon Breaks

_But, I nearly forgot._  
_You must close your eyes._  
_Otherwise... you won’t see anything._  
.   .   .

“This is ridiculous.”

“Don’t knock it til’ you’ve tried it, Potter.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, the only part of his visage visible through the white Venetian mask.

“I don’t know what’s more disturbing, that we’re required to wear this awful getup or that you have a walk-in closet full of it.”

Blaise smirked from his spot on the opposite seat. “It’s my mother’s collection, if you must know. And thank god for her perversions, otherwise we wouldn’t be making it through the front door.”

Harry shook his head, gazing out the window at the passing scenery, a blur of shadows against the backdrop of foggy London night.

“I hope she remembers to wipe the masks down before putting them away,” drawled Theo from his spot beside Zabini, eliciting a dark laugh from the latter.

Draco and Pansy were in a second carriage following theirs. Pansy’s change in outfit required a seat all to herself, the skirts more obscene than her previous dress. The moment her eyes landed on the costume she insisted on wearing it, no matter that it took three maids and thirty minutes to get her properly suited, much to the boys’ annoyance.

Harry had spent their forced time waiting in the large parlor of Countess Zabini's London home badgering the other men with questions, trying to construct an accurate image of what to expect.

“What type of place is this exactly?” he had asked, inspecting his velvet jacket with gold brocade and over extended ducktales at the back. “I take it we aren’t going to a Renaissance fair?”

“It’s a place to escape the constraints of modern day life and societal expectations,” Blaise had said with a Cheshire grin, sprawling back on a tufted sofa. He’d elected the most colorful of the costumes, constructed of a fine gold fabric that glimmered every time he moved. His velvet cape was blood red, a striking combination.

Harry was indifferent to what he wore, all the options equally appalling to his eyes. He’d grabbed for something dark and simple at the back of the closet, only to have Theo thrust an outfit into his chest, stopping him short.

“Wear this,” the man had said, eyes burning a hole through him. “It goes with your eyes.”

Then he’d walked away to select his own garment, leaving Harry blinking stupidly in his wake. The overcoat Theo had selected for him was a deep green, almost black, with an emerald lining that was almost an exact match for his gaze. Beneath it he wore a plum colored undervest and black trousers that stopped mid way down, his calves covered in black knee-high tights.

He felt like an idiot.

Draco looked equally disturbed by his own costume, though Harry thought it suited him well, preening aristocrat that he was. The blonde’s overcoat was a deep charcoal, his vest a gleaming silver that matched the cape at his back, clasped to his lapels by intricate silver dragons.

When Theo stepped free of the changing room Harry had done a double take, earning a knowing smirk from the man. His velvet coat was a deep, midnight blue that paired perfectly with his sapphire eyes. It made Harry’s chest ache to stare at him for too long, so he averted his gaze and started asking questions instead.

“That doesn’t answer my question, Zabini. If you’re this excited to go I can only imagine the types of services they offer.”

Blaise tipped his head and laughed, offering no other information. Harry turned to Draco, currently pouring himself two fingers of whiskey. “You’ve been there before, Malfoy? Outfit and everything?”

Draco scowled over the rim of the glass, taking a deep swallow before responding. “Once. Theo and I went on my eighteenth birthday.”

Harry fought the urge to glance at the other man, currently seated with a bored expression at the front of the room.

“Only once?”

“It’s not really my scene.”

“I take it they don’t have a gambling hall then?”

“Very funny.”

“Perhaps someone can tell me what they do have.”

“Of course, Potter. They offer a variety of-”

“Someone _other_ than Zabini.”

Theo leaned back in his chair, casually inspecting his nail beds. “It’s an anonymous sex emporium, Potter. How you haven’t worked that out yet is beyond me.”

Harry rolled his eyes, reluctantly turning to face the source of the voice. “Well excuse me, I didn’t realize there were brothels in the upper west side.”

“It’s not a brothel,” Theo glanced up, locking gazes. “At least not the kind you’re imagining. It’s a high-end members-only club that caters to the wealthy and elite. How much did that key cost you?”

Harry straightened, jaw tensing. “Sixty pounds.”

Blaise whistled low under his breath. “Bloody hell, I can’t wait to get inside.”

“You’ve never been there?” Harry had a hard time believing that, the man seemed the target customer for such a venue.

Blaise shrugged. “I tend to only visit such establishments on holiday. Better not to piss where you eat.”

Harry cringed, dismissing the man and turning back to Theo. “So it’s an upscale gentlemen's club-”

“I didn’t say that either.”

Harry’s confusion obviously bled through. Theo smirked. “They have many wealthy female members as well, at least they did when Draco and I attended years back.”

Harry blinked. Sex dens with a female clientele weren’t unheard of, there were certainly a few on Jermyn Street, renowned for its underground population of rent boys and female on female eroticism. But it was rare to hear of a Club catering to both men and women, in such an upscale location no less.

“It’s a modern-day Hellfire Club then?”

Theo’s smirk broadened. “Now you’re on the right track. Except it’s a touch classier. People don’t screw out in the open. The back portion of the building is comprised of private rooms.”

Harry swallowed, forcing down the burning question within him.

_Did you use one of them?_

Theo seemed to read the look in his eyes, his smirk rising. “Not that I visited them myself. Draco and I spent the majority of our evening getting sloshed at the bar.”

Harry released a breath, forcing his gaze away, terrified of being too obvious.

“The people who work there, they’re paid employees?”

Draco raised a brow, pouring himself another glass. Harry had half a mind to tell him to slow down but suspected it would only spur the man to drink more out of spite.

“Why are you asking me, Potter? How the bloody hell should I know? My deranged aunt and uncle own the place, not me.”

“You’ve never overheard them talking about the Club?”

Draco sighed. “A few times, but nothing in depth. They hardly discuss their bustling sex business at the family dinner table.”

“But it might be possible this Lavender girl took a job there?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “As I said, I wouldn't know.”

Harry’s lips pressed into a firm line, annoyed, eager to get going, to find out something useful.

He recalled Susan’s words from earlier that night.

_“I think I heard one of the other girls mention her, saying she was chosen, that she was lucky.”_

A chill raced along his spine.

He had a sinking feeling Lavender wasn’t as lucky as they thought.

Then Pansy came down the main staircase in a grand entrance, causing Harry’s thoughts to scatter.

He blinked.

Then blinked again.

“You _are not_ going in that.”

“Just try and stop me, Potter.”

“At least take off the headdress.”

“The headdress is the best part! You don’t know anything about fashion.”

“You won’t fit through the bloody door.”

“Then I’ll have to climb in through a window, won’t I? Are we going or not?”

Harry rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time, barely tamping his frustration as she did, in fact, struggled to get her massive skirts and obscene feathered headdress through the doorway. Blaise laughed uncontrollably, helping shove her through, Theo shaking his head and Draco ignoring them all, climbing into a carriage with an obvious air of impatience.

At least they had that in common, bound by their tie to Hermione, for better or worse.

Fast forward twenty minutes and they were pulling into the front of the venue, a massive baroque inspired structure with a crimson carpet rolled down the steps.

Since the reign of Victoria brothels and sin dens had taken on a lower profile. Prostitution was as legal and widespread as ever but it was kept hush hush in the richer communities, no one in the gentry wanting to earn a sordid reputation that put them in the Queen’s bad graces.

So Harry was quite gobsmacked to see the outlandish opulence of Amortentia, its extravagant entrance and finely clad doormen, the fact that they required a costumed dress code, a mark of their influence and control over society’s elite.

Only Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange would have the nerve to so openly subvert the Regent’s prudent orthodoxy.

Harry braced himself for the madness he was sure to face inside.

He emerged from the carriage with a heavy sigh, hands itching to remove his mask. He was no stranger to hiding his identity, but this felt more stifling than liberating.

“Come on,” Draco said, voice muffled by his own white mask, stepping forward to lead their little group up the red-carpeted steps to the main entrance.

“Hello, gentlemen, lady,” the doorman said with an oily smile, bowing at the waist to Pansy. “Welcome. May I see your invitations?”

Harry had brought the key with him but Draco had claimed he wouldn’t need it, not with him in tow.

Draco lifted his mask. The Doorman’s eyes widened. “Oh, excuse me, Mr. Malfoy. I apologize for not recognizing you sooner.” He stepped aside, opening the large gold inlaid door. “I hope you and your guests enjoy your evening.”

Draco replaced his mask with a look of derision, walking past the man without a word. Harry followed suit, not wanting to speak and risk being recognized as well. He was just as well known among this crowd.

They walked down a wide hall to another set of doors, which were promptly opened by another set of doormen, these men clad in Venetian themed wear and masks, standing rigid and silent as the Queen’s Guard.

And then they emerged into the main room.

Harry stopped dead.

“Fucking hell…”

The space was huge, the ceilings vaulted with a wrap-around viewing ledge above, white masks gazing down upon them from behind the banister.

There were sofas and chairs, loveseats and settees, clusters of people gathered around various… demonstrations. The house girls were clad in distinctive uniforms, red ribbons wrapped around their bare wrists and necks, same as the one tied to the key in his pocket.

Harry spun in a slow circle, the crowd was huge, everyone clad in a mask, decked in costume, making each into an anonymous stranger.

_How am I supposed to find the girl in this mess?_

“Is that my boy?”

Harry’s heart lurched at the familiar sound, he spun around just in time to see Malfoy jolt with an entire body cringe. A broad-shouldered body appeared before them, pushing through the milling crowd. They wore a mask but their voice was easily recognizable.

“Little Drakey finally pays another a visit to my humble establishment. About time, boy. I was beginning to wonder about you.”

The man seized Draco with a muscled arm, pulling him close.

“What brings you here?” He glanced up at the rest of the group, everyone watching with guarded eyes. “Having a party? What are we celebrating?”

Draco jerked free of his grasp. “Hello, Rodolphus. How kind of you to pay me a personal greeting. But I’m sure I’ve pulled you away from your business long enough-”

“Nonsense. I always have time for family. Speaking of which, I need to pay the Manor a visit soon, talk to your father about a few things regarding the new Bill his party is-”

“No offense, Rodolphus, but I’d rather not discuss politics at the moment.”

The large man laughed, shoulders bouncing with the force of it. “Of course!” He glanced around the group once more, his eyes narrowing through the holes in the mask as they lingered on Harry. “Wait a moment… is that Potter with you?”

Harry’s jaw ticked, fists tightening anew.

Rodolphus laughed once more, something dark taking root in his eyes. “What kind of party is this, Draco?”

“The kind better left undiscussed.”

“Hm. Intriguing.”

Draco stepped back further. “Where’s your wife?”

His question served its purpose, pulling Rodolphus’s gaze away from Harry. “Your _aunt_ isn’t here this evening. She’s going to be incensed she missed seeing you. She won’t believe me when I tell her you showed up with Potter in tow.”

“Perhaps we can keep this encounter between us men?”

“I think it’s too late for that,” the man’s gaze cut past Draco’s shoulder. “Lovely costume, luv. I know of only one young woman who would brave such adventure. Parkinson, I presume?”

Pansy dipped into a perfect curtsy, despite her copious skirts and massive headpiece.

“Lord Lestrange, a pleasure to see you this evening.”

“The pleasure is all mine, luv.” His gaze moved back to his nephew. “Alright, I can tell when I’m unwanted. I’ll leave you and your guests to your evening. Enjoy the festivities, children.”

He dipped his head, eyes lingering on Harry once more, before clapping Draco heartily on the shoulder and departing. The group breathed a collective sigh of relief as soon as he disappeared into the crowd.

“Well that was a warm and tingly reception,” Theo deadpanned, eyeing the crowd with little interest.

“What can I say. We’re a tight-knit family.”

“We need to split up,” Harry spoke, eager to move past the unsettling encounter. “Everyone take a-”

“I think I’ll go search the private rooms,” Blaise said, flourishing his cape as he strode past, tossing a wink over his shoulder. “I promise to be very thorough in my investigations.”

Harry shook his head, turning to face the others. “Parkinson-”

“I appreciate your attempt to take control, Potter, but I’m not into being dominated. I’ll see you boys later.” And then she too was slipping away into a nearby group gathered around a half-dressed young woman.

Harry sighed. “Fantastic.” He turned. “Theo-”

“Will be investigating the bar.” Theo smirked and back away slowly, holding Harry’s annoyed gaze before disappearing from sight.

“Bloody hell.” His emerald gaze snapped to Draco. “Do you intend to actually be of assistance?”

“Calm down, Potter. I wouldn’t have insisted on coming here if I didn’t mean to help you find the missing chit.”

“Good. There’s a lot of ground to cover. I need all the help I can get.”

“Admitting your inadequacy is the first step to recovery.” Draco glanced about the room. “We’ll split up. Take opposite ends. You take the front half of the venue, I’ll take the back half.”

Harry nodded. “Alright. We’re looking for a girl about Mione’s age named Lavender Brown. She’s blonde and very pretty.”

“Well, that should narrow it down. I spot at least a dozen young blondes from where I’m standing. And Granger thinks everything’s pretty. Does the girl have any distinguishing marks?”

“Like a massive scar running down the side of her face or a missing limb?”

“Precisely.”

“I think Mione would have mentioned it.”

Draco shook his head, backing away into the throng of people. “Happy hunting, Potter.”

Harry watched the man depart before turning in another slow circle, the low hum of conversation and tinkling glass filling his ears.

Time to get to work.

* * *

Hermione pulled her cloak tighter to her body, fidgeting nervously as she followed the girls up the narrow walkway leading to the back entrance of the Club.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Shh!” Parvati hissed over her shoulder. “Don’t let anyone hear you say that, you’re supposed to be an employee.”

“If I were employed here I’d be ranting and raving every moment of every day. No offense, Angie.”

“None taken, doll.”

“I can’t believe I’m wearing this-”

“Didn’t you complain enough at the flat?”

Hermione clamped her mouth shut, eyes narrowing. She felt completely within her rights to continue but decided maybe now wasn’t the best time. After all, she’d committed to seeing this insane task through and wasn’t going back on her word now. Not when her friends were counting on her.

But in her defense, the outfit _was_ atrocious.

She wore a black corset and shortened bloomers that stopped mid-thigh, with see-through stockings pulled up to meet them, the edge of her garters visible. She had no shift or dress, the only bit of coverage the black half skirt attached to the base of her corset. It was missing the front panel, leaving her minimally-clad legs entirely on display from every angle but directly behind. The underside of the fabric was blood red, as were the ribbons wrapping her wrists and neck.

The outfit was scant and shocking, meant to provoke. It certainly did its job, she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Parvati shrugged her costume on without hesitation, barely batting an eye as she waltzed out of the flat, bare arms and cleavage on display. Hermione had rushed after her to throw the cloak around her shoulders, blocking her naked limbs from view until they arrived inside the venue.

Amortentia. It sounded elegant. Hermione had a sinking suspicion it would be anything but.

“Oh, I nearly forgot!” Angie said, stopping in her tracks and spinning around. She pulled on the drawstring of the velvet bag in her hands. Hermione hadn’t paid the satchel much notice until now. Her heart rate increased. “You have to wear these as well. Lucky really, seeing as you don’t want to be recognized by anyone.”

Hermione swallowed audibly as Angie pulled out two black masks that covered the top half of the face. “Employees wear black, the customers wear white.”

Hermione took hers with numb fingers, trembling lightly.

“It’s going to be okay, Mione,” Parvati said, resting a hand on her arm. “We’ll be in and out, hopefully with Lavender in tow.”

Hermione took a deep breath, nodding. “I’m okay. Let’s go.”

Parvati squeezed her arm lightly before releasing her, continuing their journey to the door. A man standing guard ran his eyes over their mask-clad faces.

“Evening, Bastian,” Angie said, walking in front of them.

“Hey, Ang. Who’ve you got here?”

She shrugged. “A couple new girls, I’m saddled with showing them the ropes.”

He tilted his head. “I don’t remember hearing about new hires.”

Hermione’s heart was beating through her chest, blood pounding in her ears, drowning out the sound of the city around her.

“That’s really interesting, Bastian. You want to call Lord Lestrange out here or can I get on with my shift?”

Hermione rocked back on her heels with the force of her shock.

_Lord Lestrange?_

_Oh my god._

Her vision dimmed at the edges.

“Alright, alright,” the man said with a smirk. “Have a good night, ladies,” he said with a wink as he opened the door.

Once it shut behind them Angie spun around, pulling off her cloak. “Alright, I have to run to a private booking but I’m going to leave you with a friend of mine, she’ll take care of you. Drop your cloaks in the closet and follow me.”

Hermione unclasped her cloak with shaking fingers, still reeling from the revelation moments ago.

“Angie, do you know Lord Lestrange?”

The girl furrowed her brow. “Of course, he’s one of the owners.”

Hermione blinked. “Rodolphus or Rabastan?”

“Rodolphus. Why, do you know him?”

She released a sharp breath. “You could say that. Shite.”

“What’s the matter?” Parvati asked.

Hermione shook her head. “If he spots me here I’m done for. Umbridge will be the least of my worries.”

Parvati nodded. “Then we’ll make sure he doesn’t spot you.”

Hermione was reluctant to part with the shield of her cloak, feeling utterly exposed without it. She crossed her arms over her exposed cleavage as they followed Angie down a narrow hall. Other girls appeared, wearing matching corsets and half skirts, masks hiding the tops of their faces.

They turned a corner and entered a changing room, vanities set up along the walls and racks of clothing at the other end. Hermione blinked at some of the items dangling from the hangers.

Perhaps clothing was putting it generously.

“What is that?”

“Hm?” Angie turned around, following Hermione’s perturbed gaze. Then she laughed. “It’s a harness, luv.”

Hermione blinked. “Oh.”

Parvati and Angie exchanged a look before they both smirked. Hermione put her shoulders back. She wasn’t a prude, at least she never considered herself one before. She just hadn’t been exposed to these types of things before.

“It looks really big.”

“That’s because it’s designed for a man. Makes them easier to ride.”

Hermione fought back a blush, a plethora of mental images flooding her mind like spilled ink across a page, staining everything in its wake.

“Oi, Ang!” A girl called from one of the vanities. Angie spun around, sighing with relief.

“Allie, thank god.” she started cutting a path across the room. “These are the girls I mentioned, you still good to take them?”

“Sure thing,” the young woman stood from her stool, smiling. “Hi there, I’m Alicia.”

“Hermione,” she stuck her hand out. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Alicia glanced down at her extended hand and laughed lightly, taking it gingerly in her own and shaking. “This is going to be fun.”

“You have no idea, luv. I’m Parvati.”

“Ang has talked about you before. It’s good to finally meet you. You’re looking for a friend?”

Parvati nodded. “A blonde by the name of Lavender, usually hanging off the arm of Cormac McLaggen.”

Alicia raised a brow. “A lot of girls hang off his arm, I’m afraid.”

Hermione scowled, opening her mouth but Parvati beat her to it. “They weren’t exclusive.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Okay, well I haven’t seen her in a while but I haven’t been to work since last week. I hope you’re able to find her.”

“I gotta run, ladies,” Angie said from behind them. “Good to meet you, Mione. Parv.” She leaned in, exchanging a lingering hug with the girl. “I missed you,” Angie whispered. “I miss Pad, too.”

Parvati swallowed. “So do I.”

Hermione glanced away, affording them what privacy she could. Alicia seemed to be doing the same. Finally, they broke apart, Angie sparing them one last wave before dashing out of the room.

Hermione bit her lip, looking to Parvati. She wasn’t surprised that her friend was stoic as ever, emotions already buried somewhere in the recesses of her resilient mind.

“Okay,” she said, expression hardening. “Lead the way, Alicia.”

Alicia rubbed her palms together with a smile, eyes bright beneath her half mask. “Follow me, my sweets.”

Hermione couldn’t help but smirk, the woman’s remarkably bubbly personality in light of their surroundings a balm to her nerves.

“Alright,” she spoke over her shoulder, leading them to the same door Angie had disappeared through. “I’m assigning you both to drink duty. Walking around with trays will give you an excuse to mingle with the crowd without having to worry about being groped. Well, not groped too badly anyway.”

Whatever brief relief Hermione had felt died in her chest, heart seizing painfully. She swallowed thickly, willing her rising panic back down. It was as futile as trying to stop the ocean tide from coming in.

“If someone tries to deter you into a private room just tell ‘em your shift is almost up and you have to ask the manager for permission. That’ll give you an excuse to slip away.”

Hermione took a deep breath, nodding quickly, trying to pretend this was just another lecture hall she was sitting in on, listening to someone discuss a new medical breakthrough or scientific theory. Just another learning opportunity. Nothing to worry about.

She clasped her hands together to stop them from shaking.

They emerged into a small room with a long narrow table at the center, covered in trays of champagne flutes.

“This room is behind the bar, one of the staff keeps it stocked with trays, the guests drink like fish so you should be okay with this cover while you’re here.”

Hermione followed Parvati’s league and grabbed a tray, nearly dropping it right away.

“Oh!” Alicia sprung forward and helped her balance it out before she lost her hold entirely.

“Sorry!” Hermione said, flushing brightly.

“It’s okay, they can be tricky to balance when you’re not used to them.”

Hermione nodded, dazed with fear and adrenaline.

Alicia cocked her head, studying her. “You alright, hon?”

She swallowed, nodding. “Yes, fine, thank you for asking.”

Alicia smiled again, though her expression held some inner sadness that tore at Hermione’s chest further.

“It’s a sweet thing you’re doing, searching for your friend like this.” She placed a hand on Hermione’s bare shoulder. “Most people would sit back and be sad without trying to do anything about it. You’re very dedicated.”

Hermione held her gaze for a heavy beat before sharing her own saddened smile. “I know she’d do the same for me.”

Hermione glanced over her shoulder, meeting Parvati’s dark gaze. “We’re going to find her.”

Alicia dropped her arm and stepped back. “I’m sure she’ll turn up.”

Hermione blinked, smile fading in lieu of a jarring memory.

_“One way or another, they always turn up.”_

She shook her head, willing his voice away. Thinking of their exchange would only rattle her further.

“Okay, you girls are set. Good luck. And if you need anything feel free to ask. I’ll be around.”

“Thank you, Alicia,” she said, taking a deep breath and steadying her tray.

Alicia winked, smiling once more and leading them to the exit, a butler’s door that swung both ways.

The three girls emerged into the main room.

Hermione gasped.

Her immediate instinct was to turn around and run back into the galley. She became hyper-aware of every inch of her exposed flesh, a full body flush taking over. She shifted awkwardly on her heels, feeling off balance, sure to fall.

“Just breathe, Hermione,” Parvati whispered to her sharply. “You look like you’re going to pass out.”

Hermione tried to take a deep breath, to steady her racing heart. Her eyes scanned the crowd before them, the room packed with men and women dressed in extravagant Venetian costumes from the Renaissance period. A sea of white masks, they all seemed to be staring at her, closing in rapidly-

“Mione!”

She gasped, blinking rapidly.

“Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. Thank you, Alicia, we can take it from here.”

Alicia looked hesitant, glancing between the girls before nodding reluctantly. “Okay… please, come get me if you need anything.”

Hermione was in a stupor, barely registering the girl’s departure. Parvati shifted her tray in one hand and placed her other on Hermione’s arm, gently squeezing. “Hermione, please, I need you.”

Her words shook Hermione from her trance. She bit her lip, closing her eyes briefly and stealing herself.

_Get a grip. You aren’t locked in a room. You aren’t pinned against a door. You’re in control. Just breathe._

She swallowed.

_Lavender needs you._

She opened her eyes.

“I’m okay. Sorry, I just-”

“Don’t apologize. I understand. Thank you for doing this, Mione. I know it’s asking a lot of you.”

Hermione shook her head. “I meant what I told Alicia. I know you and Lavender would do the same if I was missing. I’m going to see this through.”

Parvati held her gaze, nodding slowly. “Let’s find our girl.”

They both turned to face the bustling room, Hermione did a double take as a girl wearing red ribbons climbed onto a table, methodically unlacing her black corset as the crowd around her clapped, creating a rhythmic beat she swayed her hips to. Hermione watched in a half-trance, knowing what was coming but still feeling her mouth run dry as the girl’s naked breasts came into view.

If there was any pretending she was in the middle of a crowded lecture hall, the moment had surely passed.

She glanced away sharply, pushing past her unease and trying to formulate a plan of execution. Thinking was her strong suit, her prime contribution to this mission. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a word a new voice emerged.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

A man burst through the crowd, marching straight for them. He was in costume, face entirely hidden by a mask, but his frame and voice were unmistakable.

Rendering her numb with terror.

Rodolphus.

She went rigid, helpless to run, to hide, panic rushing through her veins and displacing her blood, filling her heart with pure adrenaline.

“How did you get here? Did he bring you?”

Hermione opened her mouth but her brain couldn’t form any words.

He was upon her now-

And then he marched past her, seizing Parvati by the arm.

“Oi! Watch it!” her friend snapped, jerking out of his grasp, barely maintaining her grasp on the tray.

Rodolphus reared back, blinking behind his mask.

“ _What_ did you just say to me?”

Hermione glanced rapidly between the pair, too shocked to form words.

“I said, _watch it_. Don’t you dare lay your hands on me again.” Her voice dripped venom, eyes licked by flame.

Hermione shook her head, trying to send a silent warning, but Parvati was lost to her anger.

“I don’t care what kind of place this is, you can’t just-”

“Who are you?”

She fell silent at his question, gaze turning hesitant. He stepped closer and reached for her mask. Hermione held her breath. Parvati ducked out of his reach, holding out the tray between them, blocking his path.

“I’m Carmen,” she said, voice radically subdued from its earlier intensity.

Rodolphus lowered his arm, staring at her hard.

“Carmen.” He repeated, not sounding the least bit convinced. Hermione took a deep breath, fighting through her rising panic for a way to get them out of this bizarre interaction.

“My apologies, Carmen,” he said suddenly, standing to his full intimidating height. “I thought you were someone else. You look _just_ like a friend of mine.”

Hermione swallowed, eyes briefly meeting Parvati’s before her friend locked gazes with him once more.

“Some friend.”

Hermione cringed. But Rodolphus merely tipped his head back and laughed. Parvati looked as disturbed by his rapidly changing mood as Hermione.

“No,” he said eventually, shaking his head. “I see now that you’re nothing like her.”

He stared upon Parvati for another long moment before taking a step back. Hermione sensed he was about to turn around and face her. Panic seized her by the throat. She quickly spun on her heel and dashed to a small gathering of men, holding her tray aloft.

“Beverages?”

The men stopped their conversation, glancing at her. “Why thank you, darling. What a pretty thing you are.”

She smiled, adrenaline surging through her every pore, dispelling every last remnant of hesitation. She’d venture into a private room if it meant getting Rodolphus off her tail.

_Actually, that isn’t such a bad idea…_

Her mind raced as the men grabbed flutes of champagne, a few trying to engage her in conversation. She nodded along, not listening in the slightest, shoulders sagging in relief as Rodolphus walked past. She swallowed heavily as he glanced once more over his shoulder, his gaze sweeping across the area in which she stood.

She ducked her head down, loose curls falling over her mask, obscuring her vision.

She blinked, slowly peeking up.

The coast was clear.

She abandoned the group of men without preamble, oblivious to their heated looks of longing. She darted to where Parvati still stood, confused and shaken.

“Are you okay?”

Parvati nodded slowly. “Yeah. That was…”

“Weird.”

“I was going to say fucking nuts, but that works.”

“Do you know Rodolphus?”

Parvati’s eyes widened. “Wait- _that_ was Lord Lestrange?”

Hermione nodded quickly. “Yes. I was trying to signal you but I was afraid to speak. He’d recognize my voice.”

“Why the bloody hell did he grab _me_?”

“I’ve no idea. He thought you were someone else apparently.”

Parvati rolled her eyes. “I don’t believe that any more than he believes my name is Carmen. He’s part owner as well as a manager, he probably knows every girl who works here.”

“I know, but I’m glad you didn’t give him your real name. I think we’re better off if we both avoid crossing paths with him again.”

Her friend sighed. “Agreed. But the stakes are higher for you if you’re caught.”

Hermione bit her lip. “I was thinking of heading to the back, looking at the private rooms. I think I’ll be able to keep a lower profile that way.”

“That’s a good idea. I’ll stick to the main floor.”

“You sure you don’t mind?”

Parvati shook her head. “No, it’s fine.”

Hermione set her tray down on a nearby table, briefly touching her friend’s hand with her own. “You sure you’re okay?”

Parvati took a deep breath. “Yeah. At least I didn’t punch him.”

Hermione couldn’t help but smirk.

“ _That_ would have made this entire evening worth it.”

Parvati mirrored her expression.

“The night’s still young. I’m sure I’ll be hitting someone in the face before it comes to an end.”

* * *

Harry shook his head as he passed another blonde clad in a black mask and red ribbons.

So far none of the girls he asked were named Lavender or had heard of the girl. Unless someone was lying. Perhaps they were skilled at hiding the truth. Given their profession, it was a likely possibility.

He wanted to run his hand over his face in exhaustion but the damn mask prevented him from doing so. The costume was as imprisoning as it was ridiculous.

He groaned in frustration until his sweeping gaze fell upon a shock of familiar feathers. He crossed the distance to where Pansy stood.

Then he slowed his approach, seeing what held her focus. Two girls sat on a couch in the center of a small crowd, pawing and kissing, slowly removing each other's already limited clothing. His jaw tensed, eyes alighting upon their hair. Neither were blonde. His shoulders dropped.

He came to a stop beside her. She didn’t glance in his direction.

“Giving up already, Potter?”

His spine straightened.

“Not at all. Just had to take a look over here since it seems you aren’t offering any assistance.”

“You made fun of my outfit, why would I help you?”

He rolled his eyes. “I see. Is that what has you in such a mood.”

She finally averted her gaze, glancing at him sharply.

“What does _that_ mean?”

Harry met her eye. “Are you sure you’re not upset that we’re here on a mission for Hermione?”

Pansy raised a dark brow, staring at him for another few seconds before bursting into a fit of laughter.

“Is that what you think? That I’m _jealous_? Oh, you’re such a bloody idiot. No wonder you can’t find the missing girl.”

His chest burned.

“So you’re over Malfoy then?”

She laughed anew, shaking her head in some private amusement he couldn’t begin to comprehend. “I was never _under_ Malfoy, Potter. Despite popular belief.”

Harry swallowed. “So you’re under Theo then?”

His question seemed to take them both off guard. He hadn’t meant to voice it aloud, though his curiosity had been burning a hole inside his lungs since watching them arrive together at the party.

Her laughter faded, eyes bright.

“I find it curious you refer to the rest of us by our surnames, but never Theo.”

Harry blinked.

She slowly smirked.

He glanced away, staring blankly at the kissing girls, white closing in around the edges of his vision.

“Do I? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Hm.”

She faced forward as well. His heart was pounding through his chest. He swayed with the force of it.

“No. I’m not under Theo either. But I think someone else is.”

Harry released a slow breath, unable to look at her.

“I’ve no idea who, but I can tell he’s fucking someone.”

His hands flexed at his sides. “Does that upset you?”

She tilted her head, still watching the show before them.

“Why would that upset me?”

He wet his lips. “Aren’t you an item?”

“We’re chess pieces in our parent’s elaborate game,” she said with a roll her eyes. “Something you’d understand if you actually had parents. Lucky bastard.”

He shook his head.

“So no. I don’t care that Theo’s fucking someone else. Just as he doesn’t care I’m doing the same.”

He finally looked her way, studying her masked profile. He drew in a breath but she spoke first.

“Don’t even _think_ about asking me who it is. A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.”

Harry chuckled lightly, the tension melting away in light of her confession. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind when I encounter one.”

“Don’t you have some damsel in distress to rescue?”

Harry smiled, knowing she couldn’t see it and backed away slowly.

“That I do.”

* * *

The private room section of the venue was divided from the main hall by a set of blood-red velvet curtains that hung from the vaulted ceiling, a rather difficult sight to miss.

As Hermione slipped past them she came to a standstill. She stood at the head of a short hall that ran perpendicular to another. When she came to the intersection and looked left and right she found the same intersecting points at either end.

A maze.

She turned right, feeling her pulse thrum rapidly as she finally passed by a closed door. A black key was sticking out of the lock, a red ribbon tied to the end. She paused, the sight giving her chills.

She stepped closer and swallowed heavily as the sound of muffled moans met her ears. She stepped back quickly.

She’d come back to that room later.

She continued her journey, following the twists and turns of the narrow halls, passing door after door with the same ghostly looking key hanging from its lock. She bit her lip. Perhaps she didn’t really think this through. How was she supposed to find Lavender behind a closed door?

_And what’s the alternative? Knocking? Peeking my head in and interrupting the festivities to ask about my missing friend?_

Hermione sighed, turning yet another corner, wondering if she’d be able to find her way back out-

Just then the sound of laughter jolted her. It was loud, unmuffled. She spun on her heel, glancing about, looking for the source of the noise.

A door stood ajar at the end of the hall.

She looked around once more, as though expecting to find someone lingering past her shoulder.

The hallway was empty.

She returned her focus to the open door, the sound of whispered voices and melodic laughter continuing to filter out, and slowly approached.

_I’m only going to glance in, just to see if Lav’s there._

Her hands curled at her sides, limbs rigid with anticipation.

She hesitated at the opening, body blocked by the wall. The voices were hushed but distinctly male and female. She took a deep breath and leaned forward, glancing inside.

A man and woman sat sprawled on a chaise lounge, perched at opposite ends. The woman was wearing a white mask, her outfit tight and just as revealing as Hermione’s. The man leaned forward, shirt undone, saying something that caused her to erupt into another fit of wild laughter.

Hermione was relieved they weren’t on top of each other, as she’d been expecting.

But then the man tipped his head back and joined in the laughter as well, and Hermione stumbled back in shock.

She knew that voice.

_Fucking hell, am I going to run into Harry and Draco while I’m at it?_

Tonight was turning out to be a rather obscene reunion of sorts.

She held her breath as the noise stopped abruptly. Her adrenaline spiked, she was poised to run but barely had time to blink before the door was being thrown open.

“Who’s there? Oh, hello, poppet.”

She continued her retreat until she collided with the opposite wall.

“Shy, are you? I like that.”

_He doesn’t recognize me._

“Who is it, Ami?”

The man glanced over his shoulder. “A tasty morsel. Perhaps we should invite her inside?”

_This isn’t happening._

He focused upon her once more, stepping aside, beckoning her forward. “Come in, little one. We won’t bite. Hard.”

The woman sat up from the chaise, lifting her mask to get a better look. Her eyes narrowed as she examined Hermione’s face. She felt her knees weaken.

Then the woman slowly smiled, sliding her mask back down. “She’s fantastic. Come in, dear, we’ll take excellent care of you.”

_Oh my god. This is happening._

Hermione swallowed convulsively, desperately trying to get her vocal chords to work. She prayed they wouldn’t recognize her voice, that her heightened nerves would throw it to a distorted pitch.

“I- I’m sorry,” she said, pressing harder into the wall. “I can’t. My shift is nearly over.”

The man laughed. “We’ll pay you double your hourly rate to stay.”

She swallowed again, mind firing rapidly. What else had Alicia told her to say? Oh, yes...

“I’ll have to ask my manager.”

The woman scoffed. “I know the manager, luv. Quite well. Trust me, he won’t mind.”

Hermione wondered if she could get out of this by feigning a seizure.

_I may not have to fake it…_

“Now, now, Alecto. I think we’re scaring the poor thing.”

Alecto rolled her eyes. “Bloody hell. Go check with Roddy if you must. But _do_ hurry back.”

Hermione nodded, pushing away from the wall on shaky legs and sprinting down the hall, so desperate in her need to escape that she had no idea if she was heading in the right direction.

By some miracle she found her way to the exit, bursting through the red curtain with a gasp, as though emerging from the sea after a shipwreck.

She glanced around, looking for Parvati, looking for anything to grab onto for balance.

She didn’t see her friend anywhere, just a sea of white masks broken intermittently by red and black. A blurred mess, smudges on a canvas. She darted to the place she left her tray but it was gone.

_Shite._

She bit her lip, glancing up as an employee darted past, heading for the galley room with a wine bottle in hand.

“Excuse me?”

The young woman stopped, glancing at Hermione.

“I can take that for you.”

She glanced down at the bottle.

“It’s empty.”

Hermione shrugged. “I’ll take it anyway.”

The woman quirked a brow but ultimately relented, handing her the item and walking back in the direction she came from. Hermione held the bottle tightly in both hands, pressing it to her abdomen like a shield, and slowly slipped into the crowd.

Only to stop dead at the sight before her.

A house girl in nothing but her bloomers was at the center of a gathering of spectators, bound and gagged. Her face was pressed into the expensive oriental rug, back arched and bottom up. Hermione blinked as another woman walked up from behind and proceeded to flog her.

_Perhaps I’ll go this way._

She spun on her heel, her head turned down and eyes desperately searching the crowd.

She had to dodge a drunken man stumbling in her path, causing her to knock into a table, something hard prodding against her lower back.

She glanced over her shoulder and felt the blood drain from her face.

_What on god’s green earth…_

She blinked rapidly, backing away from whatever bizarre contraption sat on display. She stared at it in morbid fascination until her eyes drifted down to the plaque situated beneath.

She gaped openly as she read the short excerpt.

_I’ve truly seen it all now._

A steam-powered dildo.

The massive rubber phallus protruded out of the wooden base, a medley of mechanisms stationed behind it.

Leave it to the Lestranges to find such an invention worthy of a pedestal.

She spun around once more, mind a muddled mess, and bumped shoulders with a tall gentleman with his back to her. She gasped lightly, stepping away, an automatic apology forming on her lips.

And then she looked upon him.

The perfectly styled coif of white blonde hair was unmistakable.

Her heart leaped into her throat, stomach clenching painfully.

_It can’t be…_

He didn’t spare her a glance, merely straightening his velvet coat and holding out his empty glass. “How fortunate you should bump into me, I’m in desperate need of a refill.”

She blinked. Then blinked again.

And then she got angry.

 _What_ was _he_ doing here?

She clutched the neck of the bottle so tightly she was certain it would grind to dust in her hands. She glared at his profile, hidden behind the mask, the force of her emotions giving rise to her voice.

“I’m sorry, _Sir_.” His spine went rigid, shoulders tensing. “I’m afraid the bottle is empty, however, I’m happy to break it over your head.”

He spun around, nearly losing his grip on his glass, eyes burning brightly from behind the narrow cutouts. He staggered back, shock palpable as he took in her appearance from bottom to top. And then his gaze narrowed and he surged forward, capturing her arm before she could flinch away.

She opened her mouth to demand he unhand her but gasped instead as she was pulled fully into his body. She blinked up at him, swallowing heavily at the lethal look he pinned her with, somehow more malevolent when accompanied by the neutral visage of the mask.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he hissed, voice ferocious and unyielding. “You’re coming with me _now_.”

And then he was dragging her back towards the red curtains.

* * *

Harry’s patience was wearing thin.

He’d tried to spark up a conversation with a few of the guests on the floor but it was shaping out to be a study in self-torture. Every attempt was a reminder of why he loved sailing abroad so much. London’s high society was grating, unbearable, a foreign world at this point.

He sought momentary refuge at the bar.

Perhaps he’d overhear snippets of conversation that were more worthwhile than the useless banter on the main floor. He could also ask the bartender about Lavender.

Yes. It was purely strategic.

It had nothing to do with the handsome young man seated at the end of said bar, nursing a glass of burgundy wine, mask discarded on the counter.

But while Harry was headed in that direction anyway…

It only made sense to ask Theo whether he’d learned anything relevant.

He took a deep breath, approaching with a forced air of calm, spine straight. He slid into the seat beside the man, eyes carefully averted towards the bartender.

“Whiskey sour, mate.”

The bartender nodded. Harry rapped his knuckles against the glossy wood, unable to quell his urge to fidget. He removed his mask with the other hand, sighing in relief as the cool air swept across his face, free at last.

He didn’t see the knowing smirk that overcame his lover’s face as he watched Harry from the corner of his gaze.

“How goes the search?” Theo finally asked, bringing the glass to his lips.

Harry released a slow breath, turning to face him. “Utter failure at the moment.”

“Hm. Is that so.” Theo took another long swallow, eyes dancing with humor over the rim.

Harry’s emerald gaze narrowed. “What’s so funny?”

“I didn’t say anything.” He set the glass back down, licking his lips. “I’m just sitting here enjoying my drink.”

“I can see that. I was hoping you’d be a bit more helpful.”

Theo arched a dark brow. “Did you now? And why would I break character?”

Harry rolled his eyes, leaning his forearms against the counter. “I forget, you have a role to play.”

“We all have roles to play, Potter.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Parkinson noticed that I address you by your first name.”

Theo drummed his long fingers along the counter, an elegant imitation of Harry’s more nervous gesture.

“And what did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Avoidance is the most telling response of all, Potter.”

Harry glanced away. “It made me realize that you never use my name.”

“I don’t think Areshole is appropriate in mixed company.”

Harry fought back a smirk, holding tight to his serious resolve.

“Even when we’re alone, you never use my first name.”

Theo leaned forward. “Tread carefully, Potter,” his voice was low, ominous. “This isn’t exactly an ideal setting for such a conversation.”

Harry traced the wood grain detail of the veneer with his fingertips. “You would avoid this conversation if we were stranded on a desert island.”

“Of course I would. I’d be far more concerned with getting an even tan while you slaved away at building a raft.”

Harry lost the battle, the smirk breaking free.

Damn.

Theo always found a way to subvert his moods, making it all but impossible to have a meaningful conversation with the man. Theo leaned back once more, taking another sip of his wine as the bartender returned, sliding Harry’s drink across the hardwood.

“Cheers, mate,” Harry said by way of thanks, eagerly taking a swig as the man once more departed.

Harry savored the burn down the back of this throat, the pool of warmth ignited in his stomach. He stared into the glass a few moments more before continuing.

“The point is, you keep your distance.” He wet his lips, gaze still averted to his drink. “Even when there’s nothing between us.”

They sat alone at the far end of the bar. He didn’t fear being overheard, but he kept his voice low anyway, providing the man at his side one less deterrent.

Theo sighed, face pinched in annoyance as he glanced over his shoulder at the crowd. Harry deflated in his seat, convinced he wouldn’t respond, jolting when he did.

“I don’t know what you expect of me, Potter. What you think this is. It can only ever be one thing.”

Harry glanced up, searching his sapphire gaze. He sensed the answer in the man’s closed off expression but needed to hear it spoken aloud.

“And what is that?”

Theo didn’t blink.

“A secret.”

The silence that followed thickened the air, made it difficult to breathe, coating his lungs with an invisible film.

Harry nodded, facing forward once more, both hands wrapped tightly around his lowball glass.

“Don’t do that,” Theo said, brows drawn. “I _hate_ it when you do that.”

Harry glanced at him in confusion. “Do what?”

“Mope like a sad puppy with big green eyes and its fucking tail between its legs.”

Harry blinked. “I don’t-”

“You do. All the bloody time. And it drives me fucking insane.”

Harry’s jaw ticked. “I’m sorry I annoy you so badly.”

Theo rolled his eyes. “I didn’t say it annoys me, idiot. I said it drives me insane.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Yes. I avoid things that annoy me. I’m driven insane by the things I can’t.”

Harry swallowed, blinking rapidly.

“You’re doing it again! God dammit.”

Harry smirked. “I’m not trying to. Driving you insane must come naturally.”

“I’m not surprised.” Theo finished off the rest of his wine in a large gulp. Harry watched his throat convulse as he swallowed. Heat crept up his neck as he realized Theo watched him steadily over the rim.

“I think I prefer _that_ look much better.”

Harry released a slow breath, eyes flickering between Theo’s, searching for something he couldn’t begin to understand, finding something wild and chaotic that blossomed within his own chest.

“Come to Grimmauld tonight.”

He didn’t phrase it as a request, didn’t see the point. He knew Theo liked it when he took command.

Sure enough, he watched his lover melt back into his chair, limbs loosening.

“I can’t.” He pushed the empty glass away with two fingers on its base. “Father is home. He’ll get suspicious if I disappear all night so soon after the last.”

Harry bristled. “How long is he back for?”

Theo shrugged one shoulder, his posture one of calm indifference, but his averted gaze held a rigid hardness that made Harry’s stomach clench.

“Is he…” treading lightly was never his strong suit. “Is he being a total fucking arse?”

Theo smirked, the darkness in his eyes receding at the edges as he glanced up. “You’ve met him, Potter. When is he not a complete fucking arse?”

Harry leaned in towards him, just a touch, just enough for Theo’s pupils to expand beneath Harry’s steady green gaze. “All the more reason for you to escape that prison. Come to Grimmauld. Who gives a fuck what that tyrant thinks.”

Theo’s tongue darted out as he wet his lips, mouth parting on a sigh. “Unfortunately I’m forced to care. Privileges of being the only child and sole heir of a powerful elitist and peer of the realm.”

“Exactly why you shouldn’t give two shites. He won’t cut you off or disown you. You’re his only chance at keeping the Nott empire intact. He can’t do anything to you.”

Theo glanced away once more, shadows cast across his face.

“You’d be surprised what he’s capable of doing. I’d rather not incur his wrath. At least not on this particular night. I’ll already have a hell of a time explaining this god awful get up to him.”

Harry glanced at Theo’s deep blue jacket. “You wear it well.”

“Trading barbs now, are we?”

“I mean it. The color suits you.” He smirked. “ _It goes with your eyes_.”

“Hilarious.” Then his gaze roamed Harry’s figure. “I chose well, though. You look rather decent, all things considered.”

“High praise coming from you. Trying to butter me up for something?”

“I have much more effective methods of bending you to my will, Potter.”

His body pulsated with desire.

“I’m well aware.”

The heated moment was punctured, deflating rapidly as a familiar voice invaded their private space.

“I need all the girls who aren’t with guests to search for him.”

Harry and Theo glanced over their shoulders, eyes latching on Rodolphus’s tall form as he cut a path to the red curtains marking the private rooms. A sea of house girls in tight corsets and bloomers trailed in his wake, disappearing behind the barrier.

“What the hell is that about?”

“I don’t know,” Harry replied, gaze narrowing. “But I have a bad feeling about it.”

“Let me guess, you’re going to dive head first after that bad feeling?”

Harry spared his lover a wink as he reached for his mask.

“You know me so well.”

* * *

“What the _bloody hell_ are you doing here?” Draco hissed as he dragged her down the maze of hallways, searching out an empty room.

“I could ask you the very same question!”

He glared over his shoulder. “You seriously think I came here for sex?”

“Oh silly me, you’re obviously here for a meeting of the minds. Are you discussing the practical applications of the combustible engine?”

“Such a brat,” he grumbled, facing forward once more. “For your _information_ , I’m here looking for your missing friend.”

Hermione blinked, body going lax in her surprise. She stumbled into his back, losing her footing and nearly falling. Draco spun around and steadied her with his hands, fingers gripping her narrow waist. She swallowed heavily, hyper-aware of his burning touch through the thin fabric.

He didn’t release her, merely glared down through his mask. She reached up on instinct and removed it, needing to see his face.

She expected to see a scowl. Instead, she was met with another painfully familiar expression.

Desire.

Mixed with a hearty helping of anger.

It always went hand in hand with Draco.

She pressed a hand against his chest, trying to put distance between them, to get her thoughts sorted, but he merely grasped her tighter, holding her in place.

“I… how…” she swallowed. “Harry told you?”

“Yes.” Her face must have betrayed her dismay. “We forced it out of him, he didn’t want to divulge the information.”

Her brow furrowed. “We?”

“It’s a long story.”

“You came to help Harry?”

His eyes flickered between hers.

“I came to help you.”

Her heart thudded painfully. She wet her lips. “Draco, I-”

“Shouldn't be here.”

Her gaze narrowed. “I have every right to be here, she’s _my_ friend.”

His fingers pressed harder against her corset. “What do you think will happen if you’re seen within these walls? In _that_ outfit? Rodolphus is on the floor tonight, what if he’d recognized you?”

She sighed. “I already saw him. It was a close call but I slipped away.” She bit her lip. His eyes tracked the movement. “That’s not all,” she began tentatively. “I saw the Carrows as well. It’s a miracle they didn’t recognize me.”

His eyes snapped back to hers and his face transformed into a sneer. “Lovely. Half the pervert population of London is here. What a superb night to throw your reputation to the wind, Granger.”

She tried to emulate his look of pure derision but found it an impossible task, the expression a finely crafted visage inherited from generations of aristocratic disdain.

“Are you deaf or dumb, Malfoy? I told you what I’m doing here, I couldn’t care less who’s in attendance as long as I find Lavender!”

“Shh!” he hissed, pressing harder against her, pushing her into the wall. “Keep your voice down you stupid bint.”

“You’re the only idiot here!”

Voices could be heard in the distance from one of the connecting halls.

“I’d have to disagree, it seems you’re itching to be discovered.” She huffed but he cut off her seething response. “You are leaving, _immediately_ , and _maybe_ I’ll consider not telling Potter what I saw. Lord knows he’ll tear the roof off this place if he knows you’re here.”

Her heart jolted at the realization that Harry was here. Of course he was, he’d never allow Draco to come on such a mission alone.

“I’m not leaving, Draco. Not until I find what I came for.”

“Potter and I will search.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t get it, I’m not leaving this one to the boys. Not this time. Besides, I didn’t come here alone.”

His hands clenched along her waist.

“Who are you with?” His voice was low and lethal. She furrowed her brow, confused by the sudden wave of hostility.

“My other roommate, Parvati.”

His expression softened considerably. She shook her head, too overwhelmed by the night’s events to try and decode his rapid mood changes.

“I need to go back out there-”

“Are you insane?”

“Stop questioning my mental faculties!”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight. I’m starting to debate whether to even let you return to that hovel on Bromley, they obviously have shite security if you’re able to sneak out dressed like a tart.”

Her eyes widened to saucers, reacting on instinct, forgetting that she held a similar reaction upon first seeing Angie in the tight revealing uniform.

“This may come as a shock to you, Malfoy, but I _don’t_ need your permission to live my life.”

“Live your life?” he repeated, face alight in malicious mirth. “I apologize, Granger, I didn’t realize you were making a career of working in a brothel. At least you chose an upscale one, I’m sure you’ll find it very lucrative, men just love to discuss politics before fucking.”

She cringed. “Don’t be crass, Malfoy.”

“I’m only giving you pointers to help you earn better tips, luv. Try debating the Franco-Prussian war, that’s sure to get their blood boiling.”

“It certainly had an effect on you that night in Albert Hall.”

His smirk faded, eyes scorching. “Are you really bringing that up _now_?”

“You brought it up!”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Then walk away, you seem to be good at that.”

They stared each other down, chests heaving, racing hearts aligned through their tightly pressed bodies.

And then the ribbon broke, chaos unleashed. Their claws descended, mouths connecting with a powerful magnetism that forced her entire body along his, as though trying to merge into one being.

Hermione gasped as he ground his lower half into her thin bloomers, feeling the outline of his manhood with stunning clarity. The sensation was frightening and exhilarating, she moaned as his hand wrapped delicately around her throat, thumb tipping her chin back so he could feast upon her rapidly thrumming pulse, his other arm wrapping around her middle and holding her firmly in place against his body.

She blinked dazedly at the ceiling, clutching at the velvet fabric of his charcoal coat, losing herself to the sensation, oblivious to their surroundings-

“Well I’ll be damned, is that little Drakey?”

They both lurched but stayed firmly attached, the voice recognizable to their ears. Draco’s face hovered just above hers, eyes burning a hole through her mind, a silent warning. She nodded, light-headed in the wake of their wild kiss and the resounding shock of the interruption.

Draco swallowed thickly, holding her gaze as he composed himself, carefully crafting his signature scowl and casting it over his shoulder.

“Fuck off, Carrow. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Amycus laughed. “I _can_ see that. And I’m impressed. I didn’t think you had it in you.” His eyes flickered to her, then narrowed. “Wait a minute…”

Draco moved slightly, blocking her from view, hands dropping to firmly grasp her hips as he continued to glare daggers at the man.

“I know you.”

Hermione swallowed so loudly she heard it echo off the walls.

“You’re that bird from earlier, aren’t you? I thought you were going to ask Roddy about staying a while longer.”

Draco raised a pale brow. “She did. And she’s staying with me.”

Amycus tipped his head back with a dramatic sigh. “Oh come on, Malfoy, be a gent and share! Alecto and I had our eye on this one.”

Hermione fought back a cringe, averting her face behind Draco’s shoulder.

“I am sure you will find another bird to share.”

“But we want _that_ one,” he whined like a petulant child. “I’ll take her when you’re through, I don’t mind waiting. Hell, I’d love to watch.”

Draco’s fingertips dug painfully into her flesh, she bit her lip and stifled a gasp.

“I don’t share, Carrow. You know that. Now fuck off.”

“You’re such a stick in the mud, Malfoy. What about letting Alecto join in, two on one? What bloke can say no to that?”

Her pulse thrummed rapidly, hands clutching at the fabric of Draco’s undershirt.

“The only person interested in screwing your sister is you, mate.”

Amycus’ face turned lethal. “Fuck you! I’ve never laid hands on her. We like to have fun is all, you could stand to learn a few things from us.”

“I’m sure the treatment for syphilis is top among them.”

“You little prick!”

“Ami, darling, what’s the matter?” A feminine voice joined the fold.

_Bloody hell, this can’t get any worse._

Alecto rounded the corner, mask off, concern marring her expression. Her eyes fell on the trio in the middle of the hall.

“Oo, a party, may I join in?” she smiled lasciviously, winking at Draco. “Good to see you, darling. Don’t you look handsome.” She tipped her head. “And who do you have pinned to the wall?”

_Great. It’s worse._

“Don’t bother, Allie. He’s being a little twat, as usual. Let’s go.” Amycus grabbed her arm and dragged her along the hall. Hermione sighed in relief, then scowled as Alecto slipped her hand along Draco’s shoulder blades as they passed.

“I’ll see you later, Draco,” she blew him a kiss and giggled as her brother angrily jerked her forward, the twins finally disappearing around the corner.

Hermione inhaled sharply, starved for oxygen.

“That was close.”

He glanced down, eyes bright. “Now do you understand the risk? You can’t stay here, Granger. Too many people may recognize you.”

She closed her eyes, head falling back to thump against the wall. “I know. I just don’t know what else to do. We have no other leads on Lavender.”

“Let me and Potter search for her.” Her head sprung back down, eyes narrowed. “I _know_ ,” he continued, “you want to contribute, I got it. But there are other ways to do so without risking your reputation.” His eyes slowly flickered down, resting on her cleavage. “Among other things.”

She flushed. “For the record I wasn’t keen on the idea of coming here, little less wearing this. But it was the only way to get inside. I’ll do anything to find her.”

His eyes latched onto hers, holding her gaze steady for several heartbeats before his hand rose to her face, knuckles skimming her cheek and thumb tracing her bottom lip.

“I know,” he said lowly, the rumble of his voice reverberating through her own chest. “You’ve always had more concern for others than yourself.”

She unconsciously leaned into his touch, eyelids heavy.

“Draco.”

“Hm.”

“I’m scared for her.”

He tilted his head.

“I know.”

His hand left her face to wind around her waist. “Let me help you.”

She sighed deeply, resting the side of her face against his chest, the steady pound of his heart against her temple.

“I thought you wanted nothing to do with me anymore.”

She felt his face press into her hair, his chest rising on a deep inhale. He stood silently with her in his arms, holding her scent in his lungs, before releasing a long slow breath.

“I was angry. I still am.”

Hermione nodded against him. “I’m so sorry, Draco. I never meant to hurt you. I would never seek to hurt you.”

She felt the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed. “I know. We’re just-” he stopped short. Hermione pulled back, tipping her head back to gaze at him.

“We’re just what?”

His eyes held a sadness that stabbed at her heart.

“We’re just a mess. We’ve always been a mess.”

She searched his gaze. “You’re just now realizing that?”

She meant it in jest but couldn’t bring herself to smile. She didn’t expect him to either.

“You were right.”

“I usually am. To what are you referring?”

“My parents would never accept us. My father told me to stay away from you.”

Hermione felt a burning behind her eyes. She made to pull away from his grasp but he clung to her tightly.

“I don’t care what they think, Hermione. I know you don’t believe me. I don’t blame you. I’ve answered their beck and call my entire life. I’ve done everything they’ve ever commanded of me. I attended Eton and Oxford like my father, joined Parliament just like my father, so why wouldn’t I marry who they want as well?”

She blinked, vision blurred by tears.

“But I’m done. I’m done living my life for them. I want to live it for me.” His eyes turned molten. “I want to live it with you.”

She swayed on her feet, his arm the only thing keeping her upright. His hand returned to her face, thumb sweeping beneath her eye, coming away wet.

“Draco… I-”

“Split up. Find him. Tell him I need to speak with him _immediately_.”

Hermione's eyes widened at the thundering voice emanating from just around the corner, a chorus of footsteps quick to follow.

“Rodolphus,” she whispered, face paling.

Draco’s jaw ticked but he set his emotions aside and burst into action, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her along the hallway at a sprint. She struggled to keep up, sighing in relief when he found an open door, practically tossing her inside the empty room before sliding in behind her.

He put a finger to his lips and braced his hand against the knob. She nodded, shifting anxiously from foot to foot as the sound of footsteps passed by. She swallowed heavily when another set stopped just outside their door.

A delicate knock sounded.

Draco scowled.

“ _What_?” He bit out, still braced against the wood.

“Sorry to bother you, Sir,” spoke a soft feminine voice. “My mistake. Please have a good evening.”

The footsteps proceeded further down the hall, the muffled sound of knocking and conversation filtering through from the other rooms.

“What was that about?” Hermione whispered, stepping closer.

“They’re looking for someone.”

“I got that.”

He shook his head, slowly stepping away from the wall. “The girls must recognize the voice of whoever they’re searching for.”

“Who would Rodolphus be trying to find?”

“I honestly couldn’t care less, as long as it isn’t me or you.”

Hermione sighed. “We can’t hide in here all night, Draco, I have to check on Parvati.”

“If she was able to convince Hermione Granger to show up to an upscale brothel in nothing but a corset and bloomers I have no doubt she’s more than capable of handling herself.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’ve already made your opinion of my outfit perfectly clear-”

“I’m not complaining. Not now at least.” He started to slowly stalk towards her. “I can’t abide other men seeing you like this. But I don’t mind when I can have you all to myself.”

Hermione wet her lips nervously, pulse quickening at his approach. Yet she didn’t move, arms falling away from her chest as his reached out to grab her once more-

The door burst open.

Hermione gasped, leaping behind Draco to hide from view, but it was too late, the newcomer had already seen her.

“What the bloody hell is this?” They demanded, voice enraged.

Draco’s spine straightened, hands curling to fists at his sides. Hermione cringed, willing the ground to open and swallow her whole for the second time that evening.

“I said,” they stepped inside the room fully, eyes narrowed. “What _the hell_ is this?”

Draco released a heavy sigh through his nose, glancing over his shoulder at her crouching figure.

“We’re fucked, luv.”

* * *

Harry carefully maneuvered through the crowd, hot in pursuit of Rodolphus and his harem.

He made it past the red curtain and down the short hall before reaching the intersection, glancing both ways and seeing a girl turn a corner at the end. He turned left and dashed after her.

“Hey!” She stopped dead in her tracks, spinning around, her half skirt fluttering around her bare legs. “Wait for a second, luv.”

“Can I help you, Sir?”

“Yes, I’m looking for a friend of mine, she often comes as a guest. Lavender Brown, the name ring any bells?”

The girl blinked, taking a step back.

“I- I don’t- I’m not supposed to-” she stopped short, swallowing nervously.

Harry took a step forward, heart racing. “You know her?”

She shook her head, a bit too frantically. “No, I’m sorry, I have to go.”

She started to turn but Harry reached out, catching her arm. She flinched and he released her. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to frighten you. But I’m worried about Lavender, I think she might be in trouble. If you know something about her, anything at all, please tell me.”

The girl gazed up at him with raised brows. “You’re her friend?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, a very close friend, she’s practically a sister to me.” He pictured Hermione’s face in his mind as he spoke, giving his words the conviction they needed.

The girl bit her lip, looking hesitant, and then she glanced over her shoulder with an obvious longing to escape. His fists curled at his sides, frustration setting in, but he resisted grabbing her again.

“Please.”

His one syllable plea held a great weight he felt all the way to his marrow. She faced him once more, eyes filled with such a stricken sadness it scattered his thoughts.

“I’m sorry.”

Harry blinked, blood rushing through his ears.

“What?”

She took a step back.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I can’t help you.”

And then she disappeared around the corner.

Harry stood there for several beats, something painful twisting in his chest, wrapping around his heart and squeezing.

The girl hadn’t said she didn’t know Lavender. She said she couldn’t help him.

The distinction was his first true lead.

He hated to chase her, to make her feel like cornered prey, but this was too important to let slip.

He removed his mask and headed after her, rounding the same corner and drawing short.

She was gone, but he could hear the faint conversation in the next hall, the sound of knocking. He followed the noise, realizing belatedly that they were looking for someone. He recalled Rodolphus’s words from earlier, wondering who the man was searching for.

He noticed black keys sticking out of several doors, the faint sound of murmurs and moans emanating from within. He finally spotted a closed door without a key and darted for it, hoping to hide inside and wait for the girl to walk by, perhaps he’d have a better chance of intercepting her if she didn’t see him coming.

He started to enter but reared back as he realized the room was already occupied. He was readying an apology when his eyes processed the scene before him.

Malfoy.

Pressed tightly against a girl in scant uniform.

“What the bloody hell is this?”

Malfoy came to his full height, body tense as he spun around.

“I said,” Harry took a menacing step closer, chest tight with a torrent of emotion. “What _the hell_ is this?”

Malfoy merely sighed, face resigned as he glanced over his shoulder at the girl cowering behind his tall frame.

“We’re fucked, luv.”

Harry’s jaw ticked, the casual intimacy in the man’s voice making him see red.

“You backstabbing louse! I thought you cared about Hermione, that you wanted to help find her missing friend. But you came to dip your quill in a bit of ink. You pathetic excuse for-” Harry stopped short, brows drawing. “What the fuck are you laughing about?”

“Should I tell him or should you?” the blonde asked the girl with a smirk that only served to frustrate Harry further.

“This night can’t get _any_ worse,” spoke an all too familiar voice from behind the man’s back, dainty hands appearing on his biceps as she gingerly stepped out from her hiding spot.

Harry’s jaw fell open, mind rapidly trying to process what he was seeing.

She cringed.

“Harry, I can explain-”

“This should be good. Hold on a moment.” Draco sat down on the chaise, leaning back with his arms over the backing and his legs crossed at the ankles. He smiled widely. “Proceed.”

Harry’s mind finally moved beyond the initial shock.

He exploded.

“Hermione?!”

She cringed again, leaning away with the force of his volume.

“What the bloody hell is going on here? Why are you-” he blinked rapidly, face crumpling. “What are you _wearing_?”

She opened her mouth but he continued unabated.

“Jesus Christ, why are you in a uniform, Hermione?”

She stepped towards him with her hands up, mouth opening once more.

“Fucking hell, are you kidding me? I can’t-”

“Why don’t you try letting her get a word in, Potter.”

“Shut up, Malfoy!”

Draco laced his fingers behind his head. “Pardon my interruption. Please, continue to rant and rave like a lunatic, it’s immensely entertaining.”

Harry’s jaw clamped shut so hard his teeth clinked audibly. Hermione closed the distance between them, placing a hand on his chest.

“Harry, I came here to look for Lavender. Draco told me you came here for the same reason. We’re both-”

“You’re pretending to be a House girl, Mione? Are you fucking daft?”

Draco smirked. “And it gets better.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed, hand falling away. “I’m going to give you a pass on that one because I know you’re still in shock. But the next insult will cost you.”

Draco scowled. “I didn’t get a free pass!”

Hermione glared over her shoulder. “That’s because you’re an arrogant arse. Now hush.” She faced Harry once more. “Did you find out anything about Lavender?”

Harry shook his head. “What? Are you serious? I’m not past the fact that you snuck in here!”

Hermione rolled her eyes, groaning. “Can we _please_ skip over the inevitable argument regarding my welfare? I’m exhausted.”

His eyes narrowed as he shrugged out of his jacket, stepping close to drape it over her shoulders.

“We’re not skipping it, but we can delay the argument until the ride home, which is happening _now_.”

Draco chuckled behind them.

“Good luck with that, mate. I’ve been trying to drag her out of here since she threatened to break a bottle over my head.”

Harry pinned him with a sardonic look. “You dragged her to the back of the Club into a private room looking for an exit.”

Draco shrugged. “I was getting round to it.”

“Stop it, both of you!” Hermione snapped. “I am tired of everyone telling me what’s best for my life! I am looking for my missing friend and I’ll do whatever the bloody hell it takes to find her! If that means dressing up like a- a-”

Draco raised a pale brow, smirking as she struggled to find the word. She shook her head, pushing on.

“If that means dressing up and sneaking into a brothel then that’s what I’m going to do!”

Harry blinked, dumbfounded.

She heaved a breath. “Besides, I’ve met the girls who work here. They’re kind and intelligent and hard-working- stop laughing, Draco! I’m serious! They are good people and I’m not ashamed to pretend to be one of them. They stuck their necks out sneaking me in here and I’m not leaving until I find out something useful!”

She locked gazes with her best friend, the air around them charged with the force of her conviction.

Harry knew a losing battle when he saw one, on sea and on land, especially when it came to Hermione. She was a formidable opponent, easily talking circles around educated men twice her age. If they were lucky she left them licking their wounds, nursing bruised egos. Others she eviscerated entirely.

He didn’t feel like being skewered through the middle, at least not while wearing tights.

“Bloody hell…” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair, grabbing a handful and tugging in frustration. “I don’t think this night can get any w-”

“Ah ah ah!” Draco shouted from his prone position on the chaise. “Don’t be a dumb shite and jinx us any further, Potter.”

Harry sighed, dropping his arms at his sides. But it was too late.

The night got worse.

“Bloody hell, you broke my nose you crazy bint!”

“Damn right I did! Teach you to keep your paws to yourself you fucking- oi! Did you just pinch my arse? Want me to break your arm as well?”

Everyone turned to face the open door, the hallway beyond empty but for the loud voices bouncing off the walls.

“Zabini?” Harry asked, glancing to Draco with a raised brow.

Hermione rushed past them, dropping Harry’s coat to the ground and flying out of the room.

“Shite!” Harry shouted, sprinting after her, Draco springing off the chaise just behind him.

“Goddammit, Potter! She’s ninety bloody pounds and a foot shorter, fucking grab her!”

Harry reached out but she slipped around the corner before he could make contact. He and Draco crashed into the wall, unable to check their momentum in time.

“Ow! Fuck!” Draco groaned, grabbing his shoulder as Harry cursed under his breath, pushing off the wall and dashing down the hall.

Hermione came to a dead stop in an open doorway and Harry stumbled behind her, nearly falling face first onto the runner to avoid toppling into her.

“What the hell are you- Mione?” She darted into the room, Harry leaping after her. He blinked at the sight within.

Blaise was leaning over in an upholstered chair cradling his face, blood seeping out from between his fingers. A girl stood a few feet away, poised in a defensive stance, fists clenched.

“Parvati, are you alright?”

“Is _she_ alright? I’m the one fucking bleeding!”

Hermione blinked. “Zabini?”

He blinked as well, sitting upright. “ _Granger_?”

“You know this tosspot, Mione?” Parvati asked, hands perched on her hips.

Draco entered, panting lightly. “What the bloody hell is...” he trailed off as he gazed about the room. “...going on.”

Harry shook his head. “We’ll sort it out in the carriage, we’re leaving.” No one moved. “Now!” he shouted, making everyone jolt.

Hermione crossed the room and reached for the other girl, everyone ignoring Blaise who continued to scowl as he took to his feet.

“I’m _fine_ , thanks for asking.”

Harry tipped his head, inspecting the man’s bloodstained upper lip and chin as his hands fell away.

“I don’t know what happened, but I’m sure you deserved it.”

Blaise glared, stomping past Harry and a laughing Draco. Harry turned his attention to the girls, ushering them into the hallway as quickly as possible. If they heard the commotion from two halls away it was only a matter of time until more people showed up.

“Did he hurt you?” Hermione whispered to her dark-haired friend. The girl shook her head, eyes narrowing.

“No. The wanker made a pass when I was walking down the hall looking for you. Then the idiot had the nerve to pinch my arse after I punched him! Cheeky bastard.”

Hermione smirked, intertwining their arms as they headed down the hall.

“On the bright side, you got to hit someone in the face before the night was through.”

* * *

Approximately forty-five minutes later and a rather hurried explanation to Pansy and Theo, which left them both laughing outright at Blaise’s bloodied appearance, the carriage was pulling alongside the corner of Bromley and Wade, the drop off point Hermione had insisted on to ensure they weren’t seen.

The ride had been a tense one, the car’s four occupants all brimming with exhaustion and stress in the wake of a chaotic evening.

Hermione had confessed to the boys that she and Parvati had made a pit stop outside Trafalgar Square to change clothes, leaving their garments at Angie’s flat. They were none too pleased to hear the girls had been running around the backstreets of London but agreed there wasn’t time to swing by and collect their belongings before the sun came up.

Which meant the girls were not only sneaking into the Home after curfew but were also doing so in their corsets and bloomers. The boys had given them their coats to help shield their arms, but their legs were still woefully exposed beyond the flimsy half-skirts.

Hermione could only imagine Umbridge’s reaction if she caught them in such a state. She took small satisfaction picturing every blood vessel in the toad’s face bulging with the force of her outrage, her head bursting like an overripe plum.

But her brief humorous interlude was squashed as Harry made good on his promise and proceeded to have out the argument about her welfare. It was mostly one-sided as Hermione was too exhausted to put up much fight.

She was also despondent that the night had turned up no additional information on Lavender. While Hermione had been subjected to a revolving door of close call discoveries, Parvati had actually been able to ask around the floor and speak to some of the house girls. While a couple claimed they’d seen Lavender before, none of them had any handle on her current whereabouts.

It had all been for naught. They were back to where they started, empty-handed and clueless.

Meanwhile, Draco, who’d insisted on accompanying the girls home as well, hadn’t spoken a word throughout the duration of the ride, which was immensely frustrating. He didn’t come to her defense when Harry lectured her, didn’t even speak up to agree with the man. He also didn’t spare her a single glance beyond helping her into the carriage initially.

Was this the same man who claimed only an hour ago that he longed to spend his life with her?

It felt as though a stranger was seated across the carriage.

Did he regret what he said in the hall? Did he wish he could take it all back? Was he pretending she didn’t exist in the hopes of erasing it from her memory as well?

_Then why would he insist on seeing us home?_

Hermione sighed as the carriage lurched to a stop, her mind overtaxed and unable to work out the oddity that was Draco Malfoy any further this night.

Harry was seated by the door and opened it, leaping down and reaching up to help the girls find their footing. Parvati exited first, extending her thanks as Harry grabbed her hand and helped keep her balanced on the dismount.

Hermione bit her lip, sliding along the seat waiting for her turn. She glanced over to Draco with trepidation, the unease that steadily built up throughout their ride overflowing from her lips.

“I’d say goodnight, but I don’t think it’s fair to call it that.”

Draco glanced away from the window and locked gazes. A stray beam of moonlight filtered through and illuminated his eyes. They looked surreal, glowing otherworldly from his shadowed corner of the carriage.

“We’ll speak soon, Granger.”

His words rattled her, sounding more like a threat than a promise. She blinked.

“Are you angry with me?”

Parvati was fully on the ground now, Harry reaching up and waiting for her to exit.

Draco cocked his head. “Furious.”

Her heart leaped into her throat. She didn’t want to end their interaction on such a note. Not again.

“Draco…” She trailed off as she noticed the glimmer in his eyes, the soft upturn of his lips. She tipped her head back with a sigh, relief pouring over her like warm water on cold skin. “Hilarious,” she groaned. “You make me want to scream my bloody lungs out sometimes.”

“We’ll turn that desire into reality the next time I see you.”

Her head snapped back down, a flush overtaking her body in the wake of his heated words. She opened her mouth but before she could formulate a response Harry popped his head in.

“Planning to stay the night in here, luv?”

She blushed deeper. “Oh, sorry,” she took his offered hand and leaped down to the pavement, glancing over her shoulder one last time but unable to see Draco through the shadows.

“So, this is where we exchange heated barbs or makeup, I’ll leave the decision up to you,” Harry said with a small smile.

She rolled her eyes. “Come here, idiot.”

His grin widened as he stepped forward and wrapped her in his embrace, speaking softly against her hair.

“I’m sorry I didn’t send word to you sooner. I was afraid of what I might find at the Club and didn’t want to upset you.”

She nodded against his shoulder. “I know. But I’m not a child, Harry. I deserve to be kept in the loop, especially since it involves someone close to me. How would you like it if I left you in the dark about Ron?”

He went suddenly rigid in her hold. Hermione glanced up. “Harry?”

He cleared his throat. “Um…” he shook his head. “I was just thinking how disappointed Ron will be that he didn’t get to see you in this outfit.”

Hermione arched a brow, not entirely convinced that’s what he was thinking but allowing him to divert the conversation in light of the circumstances.

“It’s a small blessing you were the one to find me. He’d never let me hear the end of it.”

Harry smirked. “Don’t think you’re getting off that easy. I plan on throwing this evening in your face for many years to come.”

“I would expect no less.” Her eyes moved past Harry to Parvati who shifted from foot to foot, glancing around the empty street warily. “Well, we should probably go.”

“Are you sure I can’t escort you inside?”

“We’re going to have to sneak back in, better if we’re not accompanied by a man when we do so.”

Harry sighed. “I can’t stand this place. I really wish you’d take Ron up on his offer.”

Hermione blinked. “He told you about that?”

“Gin told me he was going to ask you to move into the Burrow when he got back, knowing Ron I assume he brought it up in the first five minutes.”

She glanced away. “I can’t, Harry.”

“Fred and George will be gone soon-”

“It’s not that.”

Harry arched a brow. “What is it then?”

She shook her head, swallowing lightly. “I don’t want to go into it right now, we really have to get going, the sun will be up in a few hours and Filch sleeps hanging upside down from the rafters as it is.”

Harry sighed deeply, releasing her from his grasp and stepping back.

“Send word to me in the morning so I know you weren’t caught and flogged within an inch of your life.”

Hermione blinked, an image of the girl being flogged in the Club coming back to her in stunning clarity. She cleared her throat. “Of course.”

Harry’s expression turned somber. “I won’t stop looking for her, Hermione.”

She smiled sadly.

“It’s alright, Harry. There are no more leads to go on.”

“I’ll find McLaggen.”

“I don’t think he knows anything more, he’d have told you if he did.”

Harry’s jaw ticked. “I’ll knock him around some more, shake something loose from his memory.”

“As wonderful as that sounds I think the only thing you’ll knock loose is his already limited brain function.”

They held each other’s gaze a while longer until Parvati’s soft shuffling broke the trance.

“Goodnight, Harry.”

“Mione,” he caught her arm as she started to walk past. She glanced up, brow raised. “Please, don’t run around London looking for her. Whatever she was involved in…” he exhaled slowly. “Whatever she was involved in isn’t the type of stuff I want you getting tangled with. Let me keep searching for her. I’ll keep you informed of everything I find, I promise.”

She gently pulled free from his hold. “I love you too much to lie to you, Harry. I’m not going to stop searching for answers. But I’ll keep you in the loop as well so that there aren’t any more surprises like tonight.”

He didn’t look happy about that response. “You’re the most stubborn person I know.”

She smirked. “Funny, I was thinking the very same thing about you.”

Five minutes later she and Parvati were slipping through the gap in the back gate, carefully maneuvering through the garden beneath the bright moonlight.

“I like him,” Parvati whispered over her shoulder.

Hermione smiled. “Everyone likes, Harry.”

Her friend gazed upon her again, a coy smirk playing at her lips. “I wasn’t referring to Harry, though I like him, too.”

Hermione blinked. “I don’t-”

“No need to pretend, luv. I was in the carriage. Sexual tension was thick in the air. It was delicious.”

Hermione flushed, opening and closing her mouth but finding her usual lies inaccessible while pinned beneath the girl’s knowing stare.

“How did you figure that out?” she finally asked, resigned to the truth. “He didn’t spare me a word the entire ride.”

Parvati chuckled quietly, creeping past the freesias. “Exactly. It’s all about body language, not what a bloke says. Blondie was tense the whole ride, hands clenched at his sides to keep from reaching for you. He studied the window frame like it held the meaning of life.”

Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek. “He’s a whirlwind. One moment he’s burning hot and the next he’s ice cold. I don’t know what to think anymore.”

They carefully stepped around the hawthorn bush.

“Then don’t think. Feel.”

Hermione tipped her head, examining Parvati’s face in the darkness. “I wish it was that simple.”

“It can be simple. You just like to complicate everything.”

“Says the girl who tricked me into spending the night in a sex club.”

Parvati smiled. “I tricked Hermione Granger. This is a huge milestone in my life, you’re sarcasm won’t ruin it.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, fighting back a smile and failing miserably. “The kitchen door will be barricaded, thanks to my earlier escapades. We’ll have to use the old servant’s entrance.”

“The one Filch uses all the time?”

“Unless you feel like scaling the side of the building to find an open window.”

“Not in these shoes. Alright, let’s meet our fate.”

They were able to slip inside without issue. But their luck ran out as they entered the first-floor corridor that led to the stairs.

A shadow appeared on the far wall, illuminated by a swinging lantern.

The broken gait that followed was unmistakable.

They both dodged behind a tapestry, crouching low.

“Shite!”

Hermione nodded her agreement. “We have to find a way around him. Remember, we’re heading to Luna and Hannah’s room, they’ll still be asleep in ours.”

“How the hell are we going to get past him? He’s blocking the stairs!”

Hermione bit her lip. “One of us will have to create a diversion so the other can slip past.”

“That’s great for the person who doesn’t get trapped on the first floor.”

“They can lead Filch around in a circle. We’re both faster than he is. We can be under the covers by the time he makes it back to the dorms.”

Parvati shook her head. “And you accuse me of being the reckless one.”

“I thought you’d be proud.”

“I’m so proud I could burst into tears. Perhaps I’ll use that as the distraction.”

Hermione held her gaze. “No. I’ll create the distraction, you head upstairs.”

“What? No! I’ll-”

“Listen, Parvati,” she whispered sharply, reaching out and grabbing her hand. “It’s like you said earlier, if we’re caught Umbridge it less likely to kick me out. She needs my monthly stipend. She’ll lock me in the cellar for the rest of my life, but she won’t put me out on the streets.” She sighed. “We both know she’ll happily evict you in a heartbeat.”

Parvati looked stricken, her mouth opening and closing before she deflated. “If you’re caught I’ll never forgive myself.”

“If I’m caught then you’ll be obligated to slip me bread and water through the narrow slot in my cell.”

“Don’t joke.”

“Sadly I wasn’t. Okay, I’m going to head to the west end and make some noise. Don’t leave this hiding spot until he rounds the corner.”

Parvati squeezed her hand. “God’s speed.”

Hermione nodded.

“What’s one more poor decision, right?”

She took a deep breath, releasing her hand and creeping out from behind the tapestry. She carefully removed her shoes to minimize sound and then took off at a sprint down the hall.

_Bloody hell, this night…_

Her heart was pounding through her ears, body alive with the thrill of the rush. Her earlier fear and anxiety was pushed aside, her entire being possessed with the adrenaline surging through her veins.

She turned the corner so fast she skidded on her hose covered feet, catching herself against the wall.

_Good going, idiot! Do you want to sprain an ankle before Filch even starts chasing you?_

She collected herself and continued down the passage to the kitchen with steely determination. She grabbed a lantern off the wall before pushing open the butler door, eyes skimming the counters and cabinets, considering her options.

Best to keep it classic.

She set the lantern down and walked to the opposite wall, carefully removing a large metal pot from the hanging rack above. She bit her lip, eyeing the soup ladle hanging beside it. She started to reach for the instrument but then drew her hand back, shaking her head.

Classic and simple would do.

She crept back to the door, starting to push it open, but then remembered something and spun around.

She took the lantern to the store pantry and grabbed a small jar of honey, sliding it into the pocket of Harry’s velvet coat. It carried his scent, a small source of comfort. She lingered a moment longer, staring blankly at the items within before shutting the doors and exiting the kitchen, light and shoes in one hand, pot in the other.

She inhaled deeply, raising the pot high over her head, holding the air in her lungs until they burned, closing her eyes…

She opened her fingers and the dead weight dropped, crashing to the stone floor with a mighty roar, an explosion of chaos.

The immediate silence following the storm was unsettling.

But then she heard it.

_“Bloody ‘ell!”_

Muffled, distant cursing, followed by the shuffling footsteps of the caretaker.

She wasted no time, taking off at a run down the hall, passing the entrance to the dining hall as she made a large circle around the first floor, hoping Filch would be distracted by the abandoned pot long enough for her to make it to the stairs-

She gasped, stopping dead in her tracks, eyes widening at the sight in front of her.

She dropped her shoes and the lantern, the glass breaking and scattering along the ground.

Her heart skipped a beat as her mouth formed the name.

“Lavender?”

But no, it couldn’t be.

The girl stood at the end of the darkened hall, cast in shadows. She wore a plain white shift and nothing more, feet bare and dirty, blonde hair limp and stringy, hanging in a solid curtain over her face, blocking her identity from view.

The unnatural chill in the air was Hermione’s first indicator.

The girl’s utter stillness was the second.

She wasn’t breathing.

Hermione blinked back tears of terror.

“Who are you?”

The figure remained frozen.

Hermione couldn’t see its eyes, but she knew it was watching her.

Waiting.

“What do you want?”

Silence. All-encompassing, drowning out her rapid heartbeat, her nervous swallow.

“Are you in my head?”

She blinked again and the tears fell, dropping silently to her chest and carving paths along her skin.

And then the figure moved. The head tipped up, the hair parted, the face became visible.

Hermione brought a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream.

The eyes were missing. Gouged out, bloody holes left behind, jagged sockets aimed upon her.

The terror was overwhelming, shorting out her other senses, muting her thoughts.

She ran.

She had no idea where she was going, Filch was long forgotten, her mission to return to the dorms a far away memory.

She sobbed openly, oblivious to her surroundings, mindless of the noise she was making.

She had to get away.

_Away away away-_

An arm emerged from the shadows and grabbed her, pulling her into a darkened alcove.

She gasped, preparing to scream-

A large hand clapped over her mouth. “Calm down, Ms. Granger, unless you’d like to bring Filch running.”

She blinked. Then blinked again. The figure before her slowly taking shape through the tears.

She swallowed nervously as the hand slipped away. She licked her lips, tasting salt.

“Doctor?”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t look so relieved. What are you doing out of-”

He trailed off, eyes roaming her figure. “Ms. Granger, are you in your underclothes?”

His neutral tone made her glance down in confusion. She’d forgotten she was barely dressed, her body still quaking with latent terror. She pulled the coat closed, shielding her torso, and then glanced over her shoulder with wide eyes, searching the darkness beyond for a white slip, blonde hair, the nightmare visage.

“I saw- there was a- I thought it-”

“Breathe, Ms. Granger.” His hand was still upon her arm, the other was filled with a thick stack of papers. She shook her head, inhaling sharply, feeling light-headed. “You’re having a hysterical reaction. Come with me.”

“I don’t- I shouldn’t-”

“You can and you will. Focus on maintaining your breath and follow along.”

She swallowed thickly, nodding as she fell into a numb stupor, the adrenaline dissipating rapidly from her system.

She followed him blindly, assuming he’d lead her to the clinic.

But they walked steadily in the opposite direction.

She gazed around in confusion when he led her down a darkened corridor she recognized only too well. It was where she sought refuge the night she discovered Lavender in the closet with McLaggen. The night she met the Doctor for the first time. Another lifetime ago.

The corridor led to his bedroom.

Her heart skipped a beat, yet she continued to follow without opposition. Without rational thought.

But he didn’t take her to his room. Instead, he stopped at a door on the opposite wall directly across from his chamber. The door was partially open, soft candlelight flickering within. He held his arm out, inviting her to enter. She stepped inside without hesitation.

The room was small, startling so. Barely more than a storage closet, yet it managed to fit a desk, chair, and small bookcase. Every surface was covered in papers. Endless stacks of it lined the walls. It was overwhelming to look upon, making her heart race anew. She stepped back instinctively and gasped as she met something warm and unyielding.

She spun around, the Doctor directly at her back, eyes narrowed and fixed upon her.

She opened her mouth but her words fell short as his hand reached out, lightning fast, and grasped her neck.

Her pulse thrummed madly, mind going blank in this fresh wake of terror. She was hypnotized by it, a rabbit falling into a death trance as the python coiled around and around, pinning it limbs, squeezing the breath from its lungs-

Only the Doctor didn’t put any pressure on her neck, he merely tipped her head back with his thumb while his fingers grazed the delicate flesh, his eyes transfixed upon her throat.

Then she realized he was tracing the red ribbon adorning her neck like a choker.

His eyes flashed with hellflame. She watched in mute fascination as a dark transformation overcame him. It rendered her boneless. She remained upright merely by the magnetism of his hand upon her.

“You’ve been somewhere you shouldn’t be.”

She blinked, pulse throbbing wildly against his lingering touch. His fingertips burned her flesh, the fire in his gaze emitting black smoke that filled her lungs and stole her breath.

His eyes flickered up, meeting hers.

“What have you done?”

His gaze was unnatural, his body too still. Instinctual fear took root within her. She was in the midst of a predator. She understood that now.

But it was too late.

He stepped closer.

And closer yet.

His shoulder blades split down the middle, monstrous wings expanding, made of shadow and smoke, filling the room, blocking the candlelight, casting her into a dark abyss.

“ _What_ have you done, Hermione?”

She swallowed, feeling the movement against his resting fingers.

“I made a series of very poor decisions.”

His eyes flickered down once more, she couldn’t tell whether he stared upon her mouth or the ribbon.

“I can see that.” He tipped his head, the casual gesture unsettling. “You snuck out.”

She inhaled.

“Yes.”

“You changed clothes.”

She wet her lips.

“Yes.”

He stepped closer.

“You went to Amortentia.”

She blinked, a deep flush overtaking her. Part of her senses returning upon hearing the name spoken by his voice.

“You know about Amortentia?”

“I know a great deal about it.”

She flushed hotter, eyes flickering between his.

“No, I’m not a client.”

She released a slow breath. He was standing so close her chest grazed his on her next inhale.

“But I know all about it just the same. These ribbons,” his thumb grazed across the fabric, “I know what they signify. Which leaves me immensely curious as to why you’re wearing them.”

She opened and closed her mouth, his proximity too much for her frazzled nerves to endure.

He held her gaze for several beats more before stepping back, his hand dropping away, her lungs decompressing.

“Take your time. We won’t be disturbed in here.”

His comment did nothing to alleviate her stress.

“I was looking for Lavender.”

“At Amortentia?”

She nodded slowly. His eyes flickered to her body, lingering on her hose clad legs.

“You pretended to be an employee.”

It wasn’t a question. She bit her lip, averting her gaze to the ground.

She braced herself for the scorn, the lecture, the punishment.

“Did you find anything useful?”

Hermione blinked, glancing up. She stared at him in wonderment before shaking her head.

“No… we didn’t.”

She cringed at her inadvertent use of the term ‘we’. She didn’t want to bring Parvati down with her. She knew the Doctor caught her turn of phrase, the man didn’t miss anything. But his next words startled her further.

“That’s unfortunate.”

She took a deep breath, shoulders dropping.

“Yes, it is.”

“Why were you running down the hallway like hellhounds were at your heels?”

She glanced away once more.

A part of her wanted to tell him the truth. Craved it desperately. To share this burden with another person, someone who may have the answers she sought, not the supernatural speculation that Luna provided.

But she knew she couldn’t. She didn’t know this man, not well enough to place her fate in his hands. He would have the grounds to have her admitted to a mental asylum if she confided the details of her hallucinations.

She couldn’t risk it.

“I was trying to escape Filch.”

He tucked his hands in his trouser pockets, gaze steady.

“Why were you crying?”

She swallowed lightly, glancing up. “I was… I was scared.”

He raised a dark brow. “Scared? Of Filch?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Of being caught. I know the trouble I’d be in if Umbridge found me in such a state.”

He tipped his head, as though studying her at a different angle revealed something new.

“I see.”

Perhaps it did.

She bit her lip once more.

_He knows I’m lying._

She ran her finger beneath one of the ribbons on her wrist, fidgeting anxiously, and tugged too hard. It broke beneath her touch, falling to the floor. She stared upon it for a few tense seconds before forcing her gaze upward.

“Are you going to report me?”

A heavy beat.

“No.”

She breathed slowly, daring to ask the question burning inside her.

“Why?”

“You will go to any lengths to find your friend. I cannot bring myself to punish that which I admire.”

Her heart lurched, body rocking with the impact of his words.

“You seem surprised. I am not the head of this establishment, nor am I the disciplinarian. I am the Doctor. It is my job to ensure your welfare, which is why I strongly discourage you from visiting Amortentia or such establishments again. But I will not punish you after the fact.”

More of her fear fell away in light of the mystery before her.

“You aren’t like most Doctors.”

His face transformed once more, a dark humor setting in, lifting the corner of his mouth.

“That I am not.” His eyes gleamed. “You aren’t like most young women.”

Hermione’s hands curled at her sides. “No. I’m not.”

His gaze remained steady, unyielding.

“You seem to have recovered from your episode. I think it’s safe for you to return to your dorm now.”

“Safe is a pretty relative term.”

He nodded, head turning as he glanced at the door. “I will deter Filch in order for you to head upstairs.”

She jolted, trying to make sense of his offer but finding no logic to be had. She normally loved puzzles.

But not this one.

“Why…” she gathered the meager remnants of her courage. “Why are you helping me?”

He looked to her once more, his mask of calm detachment back in place.

“Because, Ms. Granger. You’re in need of my help at the present moment, and I’m in a position to provide it.”

Then he smiled, and the mask cracked.

His fangs descended.

She blinked and they were gone, his next words pulling her from the haunting reverie.

“And perhaps one day our positions will be reversed… and you’ll be able to help me.”


	9. Shadow Monsters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s official.
> 
> Lines have been drawn in the sand. Readers have adorned their respective colored headbands and war makeup… #TeamTom vs. #TeamDraco is in full effect, and I’m immensely entertained by your frustrations.
> 
> Let’s see if I can frustrate you a little more...

_Forgetting's just forgetting,_  
_Except when it's not._  
_Then they call it something else._  
.   .   .

Hermione didn’t fall asleep that night.

Her mind was too restless, her heart refusing to return to its normal pace.

After she’d slipped into the darkened dorm she’d been immediately accosted by Parvati, her friend standing guard at the door waiting for her. She said she’d been on the verge of searching for Hermione herself, convinced Filch had discovered and dragged her to some hidden dungeon beneath the Home.

They’d shared Hannah’s bed for the first hour, staring at the ceiling silently in the dark, until Parvati was finally slipped under the sweet veil of unconsciousness.

Hermione wasn’t so lucky. And lying beside the slumbering girl had only made her feel more anxious, more nervous. So she’d padded quietly to Luna’s bed and slipped beneath the covers, the mattress her own private den of solitude, an island all her own.

She was a castaway, separated from civilization, trapped in the center of an endless ocean.

_“... perhaps one day our positions will be reversed… and you’ll be able to help me.”_

Of all the chaos that had ensued over the last twenty-four hours, the utter mess that was her night, those were the words that stayed with her until the sun broke the horizon, bathing the room in a pale orange glow.

They unsettled her greatly, though she couldn’t fathom why. The comment was harmless enough. But the manner in which it was delivered, the _man_ who delivered it…

It all amounted to something more.

But what?

She had such a headache, brought on by utter exhaustion and rampant overthinking as she tried to analyze every beat of her night.

By the time Parvati stirred Hermione was already sitting on the edge of the bed, staring out the window with a haunted gaze.

They borrowed clothes from their friends’ wardrobe and slipped downstairs to breakfast for appearance’s sake, neither girl hungry but needing to see the aftermath of Hermione’s midnight run. She’d meant to leave a pot for Filch to find but also ended up leaving behind her borrowed shoes and a broken lantern.

She had no doubt he’d be out for blood, desperate to find the person responsible for giving him the runaround and making him look like a fool in a wily game of cat and mouse.

Hermione slid in beside Luna on the bench, stomach clenching at the mere sight of toast on the girl’s plate.

“Good morning,” the blonde said with a bright smile. “How did you sleep?”

“Like the dead,” Parvati responded from her spot across the table. “And you?”

“Your bed is really hard, Mione,” Hannah said, taking a bite of eggs. “I had to move to Lavender’s. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course it is. Someone needs to keep it warm for her,” Parvati said automatically, filling her glass with water from the pitcher.

Hermione glanced away.

“Your bed is quite comfortable, Parvati,” Luna said pleasantly. “I find it much more enjoyable than mine.”

“Any time you want to crawl in beside me you come right on over,” Parvati flashed her a saucy wink. Luna tipped her head, buttering her toast.

“That’s very kind of you to offer, I shall keep it in mind.”

Parvati snorted, shaking her head and taking a drink.

“So…” Hannah said lowly, leaning forward. “Don’t leave us in suspense, did you find anything?”

Hermione glanced at the head table, narrowing her gaze when she saw no sight of Umbridge. She swallowed nervously, wondering if her absence had anything to do with last night.

_Did the Doctor end up turning me in?_

But she asked the question with little anxiety, already knowing the answer in her heart.

He wouldn’t turn her in.

He needed her for something...

She felt a steady pressure build rapidly behind her eyes everytime she thought on it, the more she tried to solve the puzzle the more her head felt like it would split down the center, her brain spilling onto the floor.

She snapped her gaze back to her friends.

“We should avoid talking about it in public if at all possible, just in case.” She bit her lip, shoulders dropping. “But the short answer is no, we didn’t find anything.”

Hannah deflated as well, sighing. Luna on the other hand merely tipped her head. “Don’t be discouraged. You’ll find something.”

“Any chance you’ve had a vision, luv?” Parvati asked her in all sincerity. “Anything is better than nothing at this point.”

Luna shook her head, hair shimmering in the sunlight. “I’m afraid not. I haven’t had one in a long time, and I’ve never been able to induce them myself.”

Hermione rubbed her palms against her borrowed skirt, feeling a blossoming sense of anxiety in the wake of such a discussion. When she first met Luna she’d been gobsmacked by the girl’s claims, that she actually thought she had such supernatural abilities.

Then she’d gotten to know Luna and fell utterly in love with her kindness, selfless nature, and bright outlook on the world at large, no matter the situation.

And the more time went by, the closer they became, the less strange it all seemed. Hermione certainly didn’t believe in any of it, but she came to understand that Luna _did_ , so she learned to accept it as a part of the girl’s personality, what made her the unique and compassionate individual she was.

But now Hermione was starting to develop a different outlook on the matter.

With these ghastly hallucinations she was plagued by on nearly a daily basis at this point, her own sanity in question, she found such paranormal discussion unnerving.

“Are you alright, Hermione?” Luna asked, blue eyes upon her.

Hermione nodded quickly, trying to effect a more casual posture. “Yes, I’m fine. Just tired.”

Luna held her gaze, her expression all too knowing, but the moment was interrupted by a new presence at their back.

“Granger.”

Hermione cringed.

“What do you want, Edgecomb?” Parvati snapped.

“Is your name Granger?”

“Something looks different about you today, Rhetta. Are you normally this bloated or are you just getting fatter?”

Marietta’s hands clenched to fists at her sides, even as a malevolent smirk appeared on her face. “I won’t stoop to your level today, Patil. Besides, I know you’re just sore over the fact your dirty slut of a friend took off without you. Trouble in paradise?”

Hermione leaped at the same time as Parvati, but she flew towards her friend, while Parvati flew towards Marietta’s throat.

“Parv, stop!”

Hannah sprung to her feet as well, helping restrain the flailing girl as best she could.

“You stupid bitch!”

Diners at nearby tables stmid-conversationsation, setting down utensils to watch the show.

Marietta stepped back, laughing. “Struck a nerve, did I? I was joking about her running off, you know. I assume she’s dead in a gutter somewhere, whored herself out to the wrong bloke.”

Hermione clenched her jaw, barely tamping her own raging desire to strike the girl down. Instead, she clasped Parvati’s face in her hands, forcing their eyes to meet.

“Don’t listen to her, Parv. She’s trying to provoke you. She knows if you hit her you’ll be kicked out. Don’t give her the satisfaction.”

Parvati’s eyes were unfocused, wild.

“Parvati, please, calm down!”

“She’s not worth it, Parv,” Hannah added, glancing nervously to Hermione.

Parvati came to her senses in stages. She slowly deflated in Hannah’s hold, blinking a few times as she seemed to awake from a stupor.

Her eyes met Hermione’s.

“I’m okay.”

Hannah kept her grip on her arms a few moments longer, finally releasing her.

“Well that was fun,” Marietta deadpanned. “But I really don’t have time for such base diversions. I came to fetch Granger.”

Hermione spun around, still seething.

“Fetch me?”

“Umbridge wants to see you immediately.”

Her heart leapt into her throat. She glanced sharply at Parvati and shared a loaded look. Then she felt something brush her fingers, making her jump. She looked down and met Luna’s gaze.

“You shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

Hermione blinked, something in the blonde’s eyes blanketing her in a wave of calm.

“I’ll see you girls later.”

“Hermione-”

“It’s fine, Parv.” She gave her a meaningful look, trying to convey the silent message. Her friend nodded, albeit reluctantly, and then Hermione was exiting the dining hall, limbs stiff and mind blank as she followed in Marietta’s wake.

“I really do think she’s dead, you know,” the girl said over her shoulder as they walked down the mostly empty corridor.

Hermione took a deep breath, muscles tensing.

Marietta’s eyes narrowed, annoyed she was unable to elicit a more satisfying response. Hermione braced herself for her next attempt.

“Probably for the best. Lord only knows the disease she was spreading everytime she opened her legs.”

She scowled as Hermione remained silent, eyes averted straight ahead. Eventually, she seemed to accept that Hermione wasn’t going to play along, facing forward with a huff.

Finally they stood outside the office door. Hermione never thought she’d feel so relieved to arrive at this particular location, but she didn’t think she could bear to remain in Edgecomb’s presence for another moment.

“Good luck,” she said in a sign song voice, laughing as she left Hermione to her fate.

She paused outside the door, taking a deep breath and willing her mind to stay calm. She pictured Luna’s steady blue gaze, which led to images of a calm blue lake.

After last night she had limited remaining capacity for fear. She raised her arm and knocked solidly against the wood.

“Enter!”

The sugary sweet voice turned her stomach.

“Oh, yes. Ms. Granger.” Was the lackluster greeting she received upon entering the whimsical office.

Hermione stood numbly in the middle of the floor, relieved to see there was no one else inside. She presumed if she were being punished for last night then either Filch or the Doctor would be in attendance.

_Or perhaps I’m being punished for breathing the wrong way._

Also a possibility.

“I received word last night that your solicitor will be paying his inspection this afternoon. This will be the first of his quarterly visits, as you know, and I expect nothing less than-”

The rest of the Matron’s words faded away beneath the deafening hum that echoed through Hermione’s ears.

She swayed on her feet, the blood draining from her body and pooling on the floor, creating a great river that spread along the stone and climbed up the walls, coating every surface in bright crimson.

She blinked, vision fading. Her entire body went numb.

“Ms. Granger! Are you even listening?”

Hermione opened her mouth but no sound emitted.

“Lord help me, it’s barely sun up and you’re already driving me mad. If only you applied such dedication to being a-”

“He’s coming here. Today.”

Umbridge blinked.

“Was that a question? Did you hear anything I just said?”

She wet her lips, blinking again, eyes drifting to the red stained walls, bloody handprints appearing over everything.

“Ms. Granger!”

Hermione blinked again and the room was clean, bright sunlight spilling in through the large windows, no trace of red in sight.

“Honestly, what is the matter with you?”

She took a shaky breath, swallowing thickly.

“My solicitor is coming here today.”

Umbridge scowled. “We’ve already established that. Now listen good because I will not repeat myself again. He is arriving at noon to conduct his inspection of the premises and to ensure your welfare is being provided for. You are to escort him around the grounds and answer any and all questions in a satisfactory manner. If you try and portray me or this institution in a bad light then-”

“Why is he coming here today?”

Umbridge’s nostrils flared.

“Bloody he-” she caught herself before completing the curse. “Are you daft? Do you suffer from an ailment of the mind? That would explain quite a lot.”

Hermione briefly closed her eyes, a strong wave of vertigo overcoming her. She stumbled on her feet, opening her lids to regain her balance.

“If you’re ill then I won’t have you spreading it to the other girls-”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re white as a sheet.”

She swallowed again, her throat full of jagged rocks.

“I’m fine.” She forced herself to meet the Matron’s hostile gaze. “I’m fine.” She repeated, voice steadier.

Umbridge hardly looked convinced, but she clenched her jaw and relented. “This meeting is very important to your continued relationship with this institution. You will arrive at this office at precisely twelve o'clock, not a moment later. And you will conduct your meeting as a proper young lady, none of these wild antics you are so keen on. If you do anything, and I mean _anything_ , to embarrass me or the Home then I promise you-”

“I’ll be here at noon.” She didn’t mean to interrupt, Hermione knew the woman hated it more than anything, but she was having trouble staying upright and was desperate enough to leave that she was willing to incur the Matron’s wrath.

“Very well,” Umbridge finally bit out, eyes narrowed to thin slits. “You may go. I suggest having a lie down until he arrives. I won’t have you emptying your stomach contents all over his shoes.”

Hermione nodded, barely registering her words, and fled the office before given proper leave.

She managed to turn the corner to the next hallway before she collapsed.

She slid bonelessly down the wall, wrapping her arms around her knees and burying her face in her skirts.

She had been wrong.

She still had plenty of capacity left over for fear.

And right now, she was utterly terrified.

* * *

Harry opened his eyes, blinking away the last remnants of sleep, his lids still burning with utter exhaustion.

He’d managed to somehow find a few hours of rest after arriving back at Grimmauld right at the cusp of sunrise. It was surprising, considering his mind was an utter mess. He was plagued with fear and anxiety for Mione, the usual stress and confusion that Theo induced, and the newest overwhelming emotion, great trepidation where this Lavender girl was concerned.

Something wasn’t right. When Harry had first been presented with the missing person case he hadn’t taken it all that seriously, assuming she’d shacked up with a bloke or a few friends and neglected to tell Hermione.

But after speaking with Susan and the frightened girl at Amortentia, Harry was starting to suspect something much larger at play.

And he knew Hermione wouldn’t let it rest. Which meant he couldn’t either if he had any hope of shielding his best friend from whatever monsters lurked in the shadows, hidden beneath the bed and deep inside the closet. The greatest dangers were always those situated closest to a person. And Harry would never forgive himself if something happened to her.

He’d lost enough already at his young age, he couldn’t bear to lose Hermione, too.

Which is why he’d chosen to withhold the information he’d garnered at the Club. The mysterious house girl who fled from his questioning obviously knew more than she was telling. He just needed to figure out how much. Which meant finding her again.

If he told Mione about the strange encounter then she’d set out to find the stranger as well, leading her only deeper and deeper into this tangled mess.

No, Harry would follow up on the lead alone. She may be frustrated by his constant need to shield her from every danger in London but he couldn’t help it. As far as he was concerned she’d been through enough tragedy to last several lifetimes. He would protect her at all costs.

So he rubbed his bleary eyes and gazed up at the vaulted ceiling, trying to formulate a plan.

Planning was always Mione’s strong suit. Execution was his. It’s what made him an excellent Naval sailor but an inept strategizer, something his godfather was steadily trying to develop in him. He constantly told Harry he needed to think before he acted, plot things through before jumping in head first.

Sirius went easy on him because he claimed he was the same in his youth, always relying on James to be the big idea guy, the one to spend the night before a mission planning out every step while Sirius climbed the walls desperate to get moving.

But with age brought life experience and Sirius had been forced to develop a keen sense of strategy, especially in the wake of James’s death. Sirius had been tasked with filling his best friend’s shoes as Lieutenant. Fast forward nearly ten years later and he was Captain of an elite warship, first of her kind.

Harry knew his godfather wanted Harry to follow in his footsteps, to become the man James never had the opportunity to become.

Harry wanted to make the man proud, to honor his parents’ memory.

He just felt like he was living someone else’s life sometimes.

Suddenly there was an echoing slam of a door from downstairs.

Harry blinked, sitting up quickly.

He sat still for several moments, listening hard to the noises that followed, the steady thud of boots on the hardwood, the creaking of the baseboards.

And then-

“Get up, you lazy arse!”

The echoing voice made Harry’s heart jolt.

And then he smiled.

* * *

Hermione took refuge in the water closet.

She was terribly nauseous but hadn’t eaten in nearly twenty-four hours and her empty stomach twisted painfully as she dry heaved for several minutes.

She was breathless by the end of it, sitting on the floor without a care for how filthy it probably was. Cleaning duties for the room were assigned as a punishment and the girls saddled with the responsibility, often times Lavender and Parvati, didn’t usually put much effort into making the tile shine.

She leaned her head against the wall, gazing at the floral wallpaper with hooded eyes.

What a terrible thing memory was.

How it could plague a person so, twisting and turning, manipulating itself into endless shapes and sounds, distorting reality into a new, terrible truth.

Hermione didn’t recall many of the details of that day. She had replayed the events over and over in her head so many times she’d lost track of what was real and what her mind had fabricated in the wake of her terror and shame.

Only the bare bones of the transgression had survived unscathed.

She couldn’t remember getting ready for the appointment, nor could she recall the ride to his office or walking up the steps that led to his door.

She remembered the dress she wore. She remembered because he loved it so, tugging and pulling the fabric. She remembered because she destroyed the garment afterward, too disgusted to look upon it. Unable to wash the blood out.

She didn’t remember the conversation leading up to the attack.

The crux of the memory began the moment he locked the door.

She recalled the endless echo of sliding metal as he twisted the deadbolt, the way the sound pulled the air from her lungs. She remembered the look he flashed her over his shoulder as he stood there. The way her body screamed at her to run even as her mind went stunningly blank.

The next few moments were a blur. There was more talking. He stood behind her, hand on her neck, hand on her waist, hand on her hip, hand in her hair- hundreds of hands, thousands of fingers, searing hot breath scorching her flesh.

She couldn’t recall running. But suddenly he was chasing her around the desk. She remembered carrying her beating heart in her mouth, tasting the blood on her tongue, feeling the stuttering beats against the back of her throat, her veins and arteries pulled taught, pure adrenaline giving rise to blind fight or flight instinct.

But he’d captured her.

A wire net cast over her flapping wings, ripping her from the sky.

And then…

… and then...

“Oi!”

A rapid pounding on the water closet door.

“Come on, you’ve been in there for half an hour!”

Hermione blinked, lurching away from the wall and climbing shakily to her feet.

“Sorry.” Her voice was hoarse. She cleared her throat, trying again. “I’ll be right out!”

A muffled groan.

“Hurry up or I’m going to have to use the garden!”

Hermione swallowed, running a hand through her curls, trying to tame the loosened strands. She gazed upon her pale complexion in the mirror, pinching her cheeks to add a hint of color, the illusion of life, and took a steadying breath.

She opened the door, stepping out tentatively.

“About bloody time- Oh. Hello, Hermione. Didn’t know it was you in there.”

“Hello, Fay. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“It’s alright, didn’t mean to get so snippy with you but I’m fit to burst.”

Hermione nodded. “No offense taken, please, don’t let me keep you any longer.”

The brunette gave a quick smile and dashed into the small room, slamming the door behind her in her haste.

Hermione bit her lip, lingering in the corridor for several moments trying to work out where to go next.

She still had a few hours before…

Before she had to arrive at Umbridge’s office.

She recalled the woman’s words, her instruction to lie down.

Hermione knew she wasn’t ill, and she knew she’d never be able to catch up on sleep in her current state, but hiding away in her dorm sounded wonderful at the moment. She didn’t think she’d be able to fake her way through morning chores and congenial interactions.

She clenched her fists at her sides and took off at a quick stride to her room.

* * *

Harry threw on his clothes haphazardly and galloped down the stairs, feet bare and shirtfront hanging open.

He saw the bags in the center of the floor, a coachman exiting the entryway and closing the door behind him.

Harry leaped the bottom two steps, landing in a pounce on the finely woven rug, spinning in a circle looking for-

“You’ve been drinking all my good whiskey, I see.”

Sirius.

Harry laughed, entering the parlor.

“You have Malfoy to thank for that, you know I’m more partial to your secret brandy stash.”

The man rolled his eyes, setting the mostly empty crystal decanter down. “Not much point in calling it secret then, is there?”

Harry crossed the room. “What are you doing back? I wasn’t expecting you till next week.”

Sirius sighed, wrapping an arm around his godson and embracing him. “I lost my mind and blew up the ship. Decided to lie low for a bit. Don’t tell anyone you’ve seen me.”

Harry shook his head, pulling back from the hug. “No can do I’m afraid. I stand to inherit a lot in the event of your death or life imprisonment. I’ve been dying to buy a home on the coast of Santorini.”

“You good for nothing louse.”

“You knew that when you adopted me.”

“True enough. Now, what’s this about Malfoy polishing off half the decanter?”

Harry rolled his eyes, backing up and sprawling on the sofa.

“It’s a _long_ bloody story, and far too early to dredge it up.”

Sirius knocked Harry’s feet off the cushion and took a seat at the opposite end.

“You’ve been home for three days, how much could I have missed?”

Harry pinned him with a sardonic look.

“It involves Mione.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Say no more. Poor kid’s got it bad.”

“Yes, please say no more,” Harry groaned, rubbing his eyes. “I can hardly stomach the thought of her with anyone, little less the Ferret King himself.”

“Alright, I’ll drill you for the information later. What else has happened since you’ve been back?”

Harry shrugged, fighting back a yawn.

_Oh you know, Hermione’s friend went missing and she asked me to help find her so I pummeled the shite out of McLaggen in an opium den and was led to a shady bookie who sold me an even shadier key for a small fortune which led me to a sex den owned by the Lestranges where I discovered Mione dressed like a high-end prostitute and barely managed to sneak her out in time and now I’m trying to figure out how to continue the investigation because there’s obviously something sinister at play._

“Nothing really.”

Sirius raised a dark brow. “Is that so?”

“Pretty tame, all things considered.”

Sirius held his gaze for a moment longer before relenting. “How boring.”

“Story of my life.”

“Yes, what a simple life you’ve led, Harry Potter.”

Now Harry rolled his eyes. “So what are you doing back, really?”

Sirius sighed, tipping his head back into the couch. “We brought the ship to port early for the celebration.”

Harry blinked. “Celebration? For what?”

Sirius closed his eyes. “My promotion to Admiral.”

“What?!” Harry leaned forward. “Are you serious?”

He groaned, catching his slip too late. The other man smirked.

“You’re spared. I’m too exhausted to grab such low hanging fruit.”

“Hardy har har. But honestly, you’ve been made Admiral?”

“Honestly, I have.”

“Why aren’t you more excited?”

“Because I just got off a fifteen-hour shift and am starting to hallucinate.”

“Don’t brag.”

Sirius chuckled, opening his eyes. “I’m honored by the promotion.”

“I’m sorry, do I look like a reporter for the London Tribune?”

“Alright, I’m bloody ecstatic. And scared shiteless. And fucking anxious as hell.”

“That’s more like it.”

“That’s not the only bit of news.”

Harry leaned back. “Burying the lead, I see. Are we getting new window furnishings as well?”

“Not unless you set fire to them again.”

“For the last time, that was Ron. He was drunk and tipped the candles over.”

“You’re getting Lieutenant.”

Harry’s smile fell, heart stuttering a staccato beat.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

He opened and closed his mouth like a gaping fish. “What- I-” he swallowed. “When?”

“It’ll be announced at the party this weekend. I wasn’t supposed to say anything, but I wanted to give you ample time to process the information, prevent you from saying something stupid in front of the boss.”

“I’m touched you have such faith in me.”

“The last time you were caught off guard you referred to the Dowager of Kent as a cleaver in front of a room full of Peers.”

“She accosted me between the legs at the dinner table. Besides, I was only repeating your words!”

“I never said that. And if I did, I was drunk.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, mind reeling. Sirius leaned forward and patted him on the leg.

“It’ll be alright, my boy. There are worse things in life than getting rewarded for your hard work. You’ll survive this yet.”

“I’m not- I just-” he fell short, shaking his head in frustration.

“It’s okay, kid. If anyone gets it, I do. Which is why I told you ahead of time so you can get those chaotic thoughts in order before you’re expected to walk the stage.” He sighed, pushing off the couch. “Now, I’m going to go collapse face first into the mattress for no less than twelve hours. Disturb me at risk to your own life.”

Harry nodded, barely hearing the words as his godfather made his way for the exit.

“Oh, and before I forget,” Sirius spun around in the doorway. “The family’s coming by for dinner tonight. How they managed to find out I was heading back early is beyond me, but Andy sent a letter last night informing me there was no way out of it.”

Harry groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face.

“Fantastic. Anything else you want to tell me?”

“Yes.” Sirius started heading for stairs, speaking over his shoulder. “Refill my liquor cabinet before this evening. We’re going to need it.”

* * *

Hermione sighed into her pillow, regretting her decision already.

She’d chosen to hide out in her dorm to avoid interacting with anyone.

She didn’t think through the consequences of total solitude.

Like being trapped with nothing but her dark thoughts for company.

She groaned, pressing the heal of her palms into her eyes, counting the bursts of light against the back of her lids.

The door opened.

Hermione gasped, jolting into an upright position.

“Oh! Sorry to scare you, Mione, didn’t know you’d be up here,” Hannah said, slipping inside the room and closing the door behind her. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

Hermione took a deep breath, heart rate settling. “No, I wasn’t sleeping.”

Hannah smiled. “Good. I mean, good that I didn’t wake you. I just came to grab my journal. I left it in here this morning.”

Hermione blinked. “Oh. Of course.” She glanced to her side table, then to Parvati’s. “I don’t see it.”

“I left it in Lavender’s drawer.”

Hermione swallowed, watching Hannah cross the small space and slide open the top drawer on the dusty night table.

“Got it.” She pulled out a small black leather journal, the edge of the pages marred and warped. Hermione tilted her head.

“I didn’t know you kept a diary.”

Hannah glanced to the item in question. “Oh, I don’t. It’s a sketchbook.”

“Really?” Hermione sat up straighter, leaning back against her headboard. “May I see?”

Hannah bit her lip. “I’m not very good-”

“Stop that this instant. I’m sure you’re brilliant. Besides, I can’t draw a straight line. I won’t give you any criticism.”

Hannah laughed lightly. “I just… it’s not very, I don’t really think you’d-”

“Hannah.”

The girl glanced up, warm brown eyes meeting Hermione’s hazel gaze.

The blonde sighed, shoulders relaxing. “Alright, but I’m telling you, they’re absolutely awful.”

Hermione smiled, patting the empty space beside her on the bed. She was excited to see her friend’s talent, her passion, to learn more about the girl she’d been sharing a Home with all these months.

She was also desperate for a distraction, anything to pull her from the swirling vortex of her thoughts.

Hannah flopped down beside her, curling her legs beneath her and slowly opening the book, letting it rest between their laps.

Hermione blinked. Then she smiled, lifting the book for a closer look.

“You draw architecture.” She gazed at a detailed rendition of a Georgian style building. “Hannah, this is fantastic.”

“No it’s really not.”

Hermione raised a brow, glancing up. “Please tell me you’re being obscenely humble. This is incredible. The detail is amazing.” She flipped a page, gazing at an interior drawing. “Look at this scrollwork on the columns and ceiling. It’s breathtaking.”

Hannah picked at the quilt, eyes averted down. “I don’t know about that. It’s just a standard Neoclassical design.”

Hermione shook her head, turning page after page, more impressed the further along she went.

“Are these real places or designs you’ve created in your head?”

“A bit of both. The front of the journal is mostly real places. The more recent stuff is my own designs.”

Hermione shook her head, studying the drawing of an outdoor courtyard complete with landscaping, fountains and an ivy-covered gazebo.

“You’re gifted.”

Hannah laughed.

“I’m serious! Don’t sell yourself short, Hannah. I was honestly expecting sketches of flowers and rabbits and heart doodles. But this… this is professional level work. It has as much detail as the blueprints on display at the V&A.”

“Ok, now I know you’re laying it on thick-”

“How did you learn to draw like this? Are you self-taught?”

Hannah met her gaze. “My father was an architect and draftsman.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open.

“Blimey, don’t look so shocked, do I really come across like such a charver?”

Hermione laughed, reaching out and squeezing her hand. “No! Of course not! I’m just surprised I didn’t already know this. It’s my own fault for not asking sooner.”

Hannah shrugged, leaning into the headboard as well. “It’s not that big a deal. Most of us aren’t keen on sharing our backgrounds and history as it is. It’s not a topic of conversation to be had over dinner.”

Hermione tilted her head, studying her in a new light. “So did you have a governess growing up?”

Hannah smirked. “No. Our family had means but were far from conventional. My father traveled a lot for his work, all over the world really. He met my mother in Paris while on assignment. She was a street artist.”

Hermione smiled, resting the open sketchbook in her lap. “Two gifted parents. It’s in your blood.”

“I suppose so.”

“Why do you say they weren’t conventional?”

Hannah gazed ahead, as though staring at the memories as she described them. “My father took my mother and me everywhere he went. He said he didn’t see the point in marrying for love and having a child if he had to leave them behind every time he worked.”

“He sounds like a great man.”

“He was.”

Hermione bit her lip, brimming with more questions but waiting patiently for her friend to continue at her own pace.

“Some of his projects lasted a few years, some a few weeks. We moved around constantly. It was a bit overwhelming as I got older, unable to form ties with any one place because we were already packing to leave for the next. I can’t complain, though. I got to see a great deal of the world from a young age. That’s more than most can say, especially those living here.”

Hermione nodded. “It must have been difficult though, especially as an only child.” She blinked. “ _Were_ you an only child?”

“Yes, I was.”

“Then I know from experience how lonely that can be, and I lived in the same house my entire childhood.”

Hannah sighed, grabbing for the sketchbook, running her fingers along the edges of the page. “You’re right. It was lonely. The only people I was close to were my parents. After they died I had no one.”

Hermione took a deep breath, diving into the unknown waters. “How did they…?”

“Marsh fever. They contracted it in Essex of all places. Right here in England.”

Hermione shook her head. “Hannah, I’m so sorry.”

She shrugged. “So am I. I’m sorry for me, for you, for Luna and Parv. For everyone here. We all have a story. Otherwise, we’d be anywhere else.”

She closed her sketchbook with a snap, glancing down. “Anyway, I better get back to the kitchens. I’m on plate scrubbing duty. Filch is making the rounds. Seems scalier than usual.”

Hermione’s heart leaped into her throat.

“Have you heard anything about last night?”

Hannah rose off the bed. “What do you mean? About you and Parv?”

“About someone being downstairs after curfew.”

“Oh. No. Why? Did you almost have a run in?”

Hermione released a slow breath. “Something like that.”

“Well, you must have given him the slip up because I haven’t heard anything, and you know he’d run to the Frog Queen right away if he had anything solid, in which case _you’d_ be the first to know.”

Hermione nodded, absently pulling a loose thread on the pillowcase. Hannah tipped her head.

“What are you doing up here anyway?”

Hermione blinked. “Oh, I was sleeping.”

She raised a blonde brow. “I thought you said you weren’t sleeping.”

“I was trying to fall asleep.”

Hannah nodded, holding her gaze.

“I’m sorry you didn’t find her last night, Mione. But don’t give up hope. Hope is all any of us have anymore.”

Hermione felt the familiar ache in her chest.

Hannah’s eyes turned bright and hard as marbles.

“And when that goes, we have nothing to protect us from the monsters.”

* * *

Hermione spent the remainder of the morning sitting in the dorm staring out of the window watching the street below.

She spun wild fantasies in her head.

Various means to escape her fate.

She considered faking an injury. Then she graduated to actual injury.

She imagined throwing herself down the garden steps. There weren’t enough of them to do serious damage but she’d certainly twist an ankle or even break a limb if she angled it just right…

She imagined scalding her hand on the stove, or perhaps the steam from the kettle…

Then she really let loose and imagined running into the street and letting the horses and carriage wheels do their worst.

It was oddly gratifying.

And yet at precisely five till noon Hermione stood outside the Matron’s office, an empty husk of her former self. Her soul had left her body, her sensibilities abandoning her mind.

Her limbs were animated by the force of mechanical springs in her joints, the beating of her heart fueled by a coal engine, triggering a series of switches and gears that set her into motion.

Hermione was no more.

Whatever happened would happen to a hollow shell.

So it didn’t matter.

The sun would rise tomorrow, the moon would chase it away, and nothing that occurred within these walls would prevent either of those events from occurring.

She lifted her arm and knocked.

“Come in!”

Umbridge sounded especially cheery and bright. Hermione closed her eyes, opening the door.

She’d known what faced her on the other side.

Expected it.

Braced herself for it.

But seeing his face, his person, standing there with his hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed upon her from across the room…

The world tipped on its axis.

She scrambled to find purchase on the stone, the floor became the wall, the wall became the ceiling, the ceiling became the floor, and round and round the room spun.

“Ms. Granger!” Umbridge’s voice was laced with malice, though she kept a thin-lipped smile stretched taught across her face. “ _Do_ come in, my child.”

Hermione stepped over the threshold on wobbly legs, feeling as though she was walking on stilts.

“Come in _all_ the way,” the Matron bit out, eyes narrowing, then laughing lightly and glancing to the third occupant in the room. “Silly girl, she wasn’t feeling well this morning, poor thing. I do hope she’s recovered.”

The man smiled, silver grin reflecting the sunlight.

“Is that so?” His eyes never left Hermione. “I’m sorry to hear that. Perhaps my visit will brighten her spirits.”

“Yes, I’m sure it will. The two of you go way back, you were saying?”

Hermione’s eyes burned, desperate for her to blink, but she refused, terrified to lose sight of him for even an instant.

“That is correct, Madam. I was a very good friend of Mr. and Mrs. Granger.” His eyes flashed. “God rest their souls.”

Her heart sprung a leak, the blood draining rapidly from her head, pooling at her feet.

“ _Such_ a tragedy,” Umbridge said with a stricken look. “Poor things, to burn alive like that, no way to go.”

He finally glanced away, eyes latching onto the Matron. “An absolute loss to the world. Both were skilled healers.” He tipped his head. “Luckily they were able to pass on those skills to their daughter.”

Umbridge’s face pinched in annoyance for the space between heartbeats, then she was smiling again. “Yes, Ms. Granger is a brilliant girl, an absolute delight. We’re so thrilled to have her here.”

She cleared her throat, making Hermione cringe. “And of course we’re doing our best to develop her into a strong, capable young woman. I took it upon myself to arrange for her to work part-time at the local Apothecary. It’s so important to me that these girls discover and follow their passions.”

His eyes flickered back to Hermione. “Ms. Granger is full of passion.” His knowing grin made her stomach drop. “I am happy to hear you have found part-time work in the field of medicine, Hermione.”

Hearing him address her properly made her knees quake and throat close.

“Perhaps you can recommend an ointment for _this_ ,” his expression darkened as he gestured to the left side of his face. She finally blinked, unable to force her lids open any longer, but the burning sensation only increased, tears forming.

“Oh, my…” Umbridge said with exaggerated sympathy, bringing a delicate hand to her mouth. “I’d noticed of course but wasn’t certain how recent the injury was. May I ask how it occurred?”

His pupils expanded, drawing Hermione in with a powerful gravitational force.

“I was thrown from my horse while riding. A wild and stunning filly, not properly broken.” Hermione swayed on her feet. “I cut my face on the rocks.”

“How dreadful! I do hope the mark isn’t permanent.”

He brought his hand up, fingertips tracing the long narrow strip of raised flesh that bisected his eyebrow and grazed his high cheekbone.

“I don’t mind scars, Madam. The memories they invoke are often quite thrilling.”

Umbridge pursed her lips, glancing between them, as though finally noticing the silent turbulence in the room.

“I see…” she narrowed her eyes on Hermione. “You’ve been very quiet, Ms. Granger. How unusual.”

Hermione released a breath, slowly turning her head to face the woman.

“My apologies, Madam. I think I’m still a touch out of sorts from this morning.”

“I can tell. What a shame you aren’t always so afflicted, it makes you quite amicable.” She glanced quickly at him. “I merely jest, of course!” She laughed nervously as he raised a dark brow. “I like to have fun with the girls, it fosters a sense of kinship between us.”

His tipped his head. “Certainly, Madam. I can see why they appointed you as head of this fine institution, you obviously have a great deal of affection for your charges.”

Hermione swallowed the black bile that threatened to spew forth as Umbridge preened beneath his saccharine praise.

“I would love nothing more than to linger in your engaging company all day, but I’m afraid I have a schedule to keep and the grounds to inspect.” He flashed his white teeth. “Business never ends. You understand.”

Umbridge’s spine straightened. “Of course, of course! I’ve enjoyed our conversation but I’ve kept you long enough, please, proceed as you’d like. You have the complete run of the Home. If you need anything, anything at all, simply inform Ms. Granger and it will be yours.”

He turned his head to Hermione, eyes gleaming feral. “Wonderful.”

“Ms. Granger.” Hermione tore her gaze away, looking upon her Matron with empty detachment. She knew there would be no reprieve found in the other woman, no help offered. “Do well to remember our discussion from this morning.” She pinned Hermione with a meaningful look. “And enjoy your afternoon.”

Hermione merely blinked, stepping back and heading to the exit on numb legs. As she pulled open the door she heard the unmistakable sound of lips pressing flesh. She didn’t need to glance over her shoulder to know he was kissing the back of the Matron’s hand.

The perfect gentleman. High bred. Gentile.

“It was a true pleasure to make your acquaintance at long last, Madam.”

Umbridge tittered.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Dolohov.”

* * *

Draco emerged from his family carriage and proceeded up the opulent steps to the Greengrass Estate with a set jaw and hardened gaze.

He was on a mission.

And would not be deterred.

He knocked, his unannounced arrival taking the butler off guard, causing the man to blink silently for several moments before stepping aside and beckoning the young Malfoy heir inside.

“My apologies, Sir, but I’m afraid Lord and Lady Greengrass have stepped out for the afternoon. They are not expected back until later this evening.”

“I’m well aware. They’re at the same event as my parents. I’m here to see Astoria.”

The man blinked, the color draining from his face.

For Draco to request the presence of Astoria without her parents present was terribly uncouth. For them to be alone in the same room without a proper chaperone was absolutely scandalous.

Still, it would be even more unacceptable for the butler to deny the request of a Peer, no matter how reckless that request may be.

“Of course, Sir,” the man said, bowing at the waist, face pinched. “I shall fetch Miss Daphne as well.”

“There’s no need for the elder Greengrass’s attendance. Please fetch me Astoria and _only_ Astoria.”

The man swallowed, obviously unsettled, but ultimately nodded, departing swiftly from the marble entryway.

Draco walked into the receiving room, a large oil painting of the sisters hanging above the hearth, their pale gazes fixed upon him.

Draco took a deep breath.

He was on a mission.

And would not be deterred.

After a few minutes footsteps could be heard on the main stairs, light and clipped. Draco closed his eyes as she approached, running through the lines in his head, the prepared speech he’d thrown together during the carriage ride over here.

The footsteps neared, entered the room, coming to a stop behind him.

He turned around-

And scowled.

“Fucking bastard. I told him not to fetch you.”

Daphne perched her hands on her hips. “It’s not Leopold's fault. I saw your carriage from the balcony.” Her eyes narrowed. “ _What_ are you doing here, Draco?”

“I came to speak to your sister.” He matched her glare. “And _only_ your sister.”

“Whatever you have to say to Tori you can say to me.”

“I fell for that last time and it got us all nowhere. We’re still unofficially engaged, it’s only a matter of time before our families announce it publically, and then we’re officially fucked.”

She sighed, arms dropping and eyes glancing away. “I tried speaking to father-”

“A lot of good that did.”

“Well, at least I’m trying! What have you been doing to help the situation?”

He seethed. “This is a conversation I intend to have with Astoria. She’s a big girl, Daphne. Christ, she’s about to be my bloody wife. I think she can handle speaking to me without a chaperone present.”

Daphne’s beautiful face turned lethal. “You have no idea what it means to be responsible for another person, Draco. You’re an only child and a male of privilege. The world bows down to you. It’s not the same for us women born into families such as ours. I’ve protected Tori since we were children. She’s all I have and I’m not going to leave her to face this alone.”

His brows drew together. “Face what? _Me_?” He scoffed. “Christ, Daph, we’ve known each other since before we could walk. Do you really think I pose any threat to her?”

“I’m not talking about you,” she crossed her arms. “At least, not just you. I’m talking about the world at large. Tori and I are constantly at the mercy of another person’s whims. Be it our father’s or our future husband’s-”

“Don’t even get me started!” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head in disdain. “You preach to me about how god awful you have it when you’ve been allowed to marry for love-”

“I was _told_ who I was to marry when I was nine years old, Draco! I happened to be lucky enough to fall in love along the way, but if I hadn’t it wouldn’t have made any difference! I’d be forced to marry whoever my father said just as Tori is now-”

“That’s what this is all really about, isn’t it? You feel guilty you’re actually fond of your fiancé while your sister has to be forced into an arrangement she doesn’t want.”

Daphne’s eyes narrowed to slits. Silence permeated the room, hostile and heavy.

“You’re only going to make this worse, Draco,” she finally said, voice resigned.

His jaw tensed. “I’m trying to make this _right_.”

“You’ll never be given leave to marry her.”

Draco blinked, heart seizing, knowing immediately that they were no longer discussing Astoria.

“That’s not-”

“You’ll only start a feud between our families and leave Tori’s reputation damaged. She’ll be tarnished on the marriage market and pinned with a man twice her age.”

He swallowed thickly. “What are you saying? You actually want me to marry your sister?”

“Of course not. I’m just telling you not to make a public spectacle. It will only prevent you both from getting what you really want.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “And what does Tori want?”

Daphne sighed, glancing away and stepping back from the entrance.

“She’s in the upstairs drawing room.”

He opened his mouth to repeat his question but stopped when he realized she had relented, giving him her unspoken blessing to speak to Astoria alone. He reluctantly closed his mouth, deciding not to press his fate.

He started to exit, pausing before he entered the foyer.

“I’m not going to hurt her, Daphne.”

She nodded, meeting his gaze with hardened eyes.

“I know. But you aren’t going to protect her, either.” She stepped away. “I’m the only one who protects her.”

And then she turned her back on him.

Draco lingered a moment longer, a great burden weighing upon his shoulders.

_Fucking Christ._

He shook his head, marching for the stairs, refusing to dwell on this new emotion swelling within him.

Guilt.

He made it to the second level, pausing outside the drawing-room door, closing his eyes, trying to wipe his mind clear and return to his earlier resolve.

He was on a mission.

And would not be deterred.

He opened his eyes and the door, stepping inside without invitation-

And stopped short.

Astoria sat on a low settee, doubled over, hands covering her face, quietly weeping.

Fuck.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, unable to stand the sight of crying women.

He was thoroughly deterred.

She glanced up sharply, red-rimmed eyes going wide.

“Oh! Draco? What are you doing here?”

“I came to speak with you.”

She blinked, looking dumbfounded, then quickly recovered, wiping at her cheeks and sitting straighter, running her palms along her voluminous skirts.

“Of course, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Draco sighed, stepping into the room and starting to close the door, then thinking better and leaving it open. Best not to send the blasted butler into complete heart failure.

“You don’t have to talk like that when it’s just us, Tori. I’ve told you that.”

She blinked again, obviously hesitant. He crossed the room and sat down across from her.

“You don’t have to impress me or please me. I’m not your father, I’m not some random suitor come to pay you a visit. I’m your friend.”

She deflated in her seat. “You’re also my fiancé.”

He ran a hand through his hair and over his face. “Not yet. But if we don’t think of something, it’s going to happen bloody soon.”

She glanced away, picking at the folds of her skirt. “I don’t know what you expect of me, Draco. I told father I’d like to have another Season and he refused, told me it was the end of the discussion and not to bring it up again.”

His jaw ticked. “Another Season won’t save you, Tori. It’ll only delay the inevitable. If it isn’t me you marry it’ll be some other random bloke. Your father won’t give two shites whether you like him.”

She swallowed lightly, gaze still averted down. “But Daphne has a love match-”

“Daphne had over ten years to make the most of her situation and fell in love with Greg along the way. You think if they hated each other your father would call off the contract?”

Astoria sighed. “No.”

“Exactly. You don’t have a decade to get to know whatever man you’re saddled with after me. You’ll be forced to marry right away and then you’re in it for life. We need to think of a solution that is more permanent.”

Her pale brows drew together, eyes finally flickering up. “What are you saying? What could possibly prevent me from having to marry against my will?”

Draco wet his lips, sitting across from her and resting his forearms on his knees.

Thinking about the welfare of others was a foreign concept to him. He didn’t think of himself as a selfish person, but perhaps he was. What Daphne said downstairs was technically all true. He was an only child born to privilege, he never had to protect or think about someone else. Nothing stood in the way of him getting what he wanted.

He could easily leave Tori to the wolves, let her fend for herself after he turned his back on her.

But he didn’t want that. She was more a victim in this mess that he was. At least Draco could broach the topic of marriage with his father, not that it led anywhere, but he wasn’t shut down entirely.

Lord Greengrass considered his daughters nothing more than ornaments to hang on the mantle to brighten the room. They weren’t people, they were bargaining chips, void of emotion and desire.

No. Draco couldn’t leave her alone in this.

But his mind drew up few viable alternatives.

“Alright, hear me out…”

She raised a pale brow, face turning guarded. “I already know this is going to be awful.”

His eyes narrowed. “I said hear me out. So I was thinking about ways for you to avoid the marriage market entirely, and on the way to your Estate I passed by several churches, and I-” he stopped short as Astoria burst into a fit of hysterical laughter. It was wild and deep, she even snorted as she tried to get herself under control.

“Oh dear god, I was right! This is unequivocally awful!” she gasped between breaths.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

She laughed harder, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes. “You were going to suggest I join a convent and become a nun.”

Draco blinked, sitting back. “Well… I mean…”

She nearly toppled out of her seat.

“I didn’t realize the prospect was so amusing.”

She took a deep breath, finally coming to a calm, face flush. “That’s because you’re a man.”

He scowled. “Well excuse me for trying to think up solutions!”

She mirrored his expression surprisingly well. “You consider locking me away in a church for the remainder of my life a solution?”

“You wouldn’t be locked away, they have gardens, and food drives and they travel-”

“Yes, it’s always been my dream to travel to the world’s most poor and destitute villages to spread the holy gospel while sporting a black potato sack!”

“Well, I don’t see you coming up with any alternatives!”

“Christ, Draco! I never said I didn’t want to get married! I just said I didn’t want to get married to you!”

“I’m not keen on marrying you either! You’re practically a little sister to me, annoying as f-”

“Is everything alright in here?”

Draco growled, glancing sharply over his shoulder. “You just can’t help yourself can you?”

“Your yelling is carrying through the entire house!”

“I wasn’t the only one yelling!”

“Daphne,” Astoria said, voice calm and even. “It’s alright, thank you for checking on me but I don’t need any help.”

“I know that. I heard his nunnery suggestion and came to see if you’d stabbed him yet.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Hilarious. I’m glad that I can provide such past time amusement to you both.”

“You obviously have no concept of how highly offensive such a suggestion is-”

“ _Why_ are you still here, Daphne? Didn’t Tori dismiss you already?”

“You pompous arse!”

“Both of you, stop!” Astoria rose to her feet. “Fighting like this solves nothing.” She directed her gaze to him. “I appreciate that you are trying to find a long-term solution for me, Draco, but I am not going to enroll in a convent.”

“You’ve made that quite clear.”

She sighed. “If someone sees your carriage out front and tells my father then we’re both done for. You should go.”

He bristled. “I didn’t even get to say what I came to say!”

“Consider it said and go,” Daphne snapped, stepping into the room with crossed arms. “As usual, you provide nothing but flash and drama. Tori and I will find a solution that works for her. You just worry about yourself.”

Draco stood as well, towering above them in his rage. “Worry about myself? Are you daft? Whatever comes of this marriage contract affects me just as much as it does her!”

“Worry about _yourself_ , Malfoy. It’s what you’re good at.”

Astoria stepped forward, looking stricken. “Daphne, he was only trying to-”

“Don’t defend him.” She stepped back, gesturing to the doorway. “It’s time for you to leave.”

“You’re both mad.” He bit out as he stormed out of the room.

“And a good day to you as well!” Daphne shouted after his retreating form.

As he reached the stairs he heard her address her sister. “A _nunnery_ … why didn’t you stab him?”

Consumed by anger, it wasn’t until the carriage pulled free from the circular drive that he realized he never asked Astoria why she had been crying in the first place.

* * *

Hermione walked down the corridor with her arms motionless at her sides. Dolohov’s resounding footsteps at her back put her on edge, but she refused to walk beside him, as though they were friends or lovers on a midday stroll.

As unnerving as it was to not have him in her sights, it was also a relief. She tried to pretend it was someone else at her back, but then he spoke, ruining any illusion she may have formed.

“I have missed you, Hermione. Terribly so. Have you missed me?”

She kept her gaze straight ahead, walking briskly for the door to the gardens. She’d show him the outside first. She needed air. And witnesses.

“Do slow down, you’re practically sprinting.”

She swallowed heavily, keeping her quick stride.

“Hermione. Slow down.”

Fingers wrapped around her wrist and she pulled back violently, spinning on her heal and colliding hard with the wall.

“Don’t touch me!” she hissed, spitting venom.

His eyes narrowed as he leaned in.

“Do not think for one moment I will entertain such hysterics, Hermione.”

“ _Stop_ calling me that.”

He tilted his head, face moving closer still. “Is that not your name?”

Her chest heaved with the force of her rapid breathing, as though she’d just ran circles around the property line.

“You may address me as Ms. Granger or nothing at all.”

He smirked. “Such spirit. I am relieved to see it has not diminished during your stay in this abysmal place. I was worried you’d changed. Turned meek.”

His dark eyes flickered between hers. “But you’re too strong to let such a thing as circumstance change who you are, isn’t that right? Such a determined girl. So very clever.” He raised a hand, the backs of his fingers grazing her cheek. “So very beautiful.”

Hermione turned her head away so sharply a muscle in her neck strained. She squeezed her eyes closed, a tear tracking down her cheek, meeting his fingertips.

“I love to watch you cry. Nearly as much as hearing you screa-”

Suddenly a group of girls rounded the corner, the resounding chorus of giggles and sharp laughs bouncing off the walls. Dolohov stepped back, hands at his sides as he glanced upon them, smiling politely.

“Good afternoon, ladies.”

They nodded and whispered behind their hands with smiles, skipping off with parting glances over their shoulders.

Antonin Dolohov was old enough to be their father but remained a remarkably striking man with a tone physic and full head of dark hair, salt and pepper strands flecked through the temples. He sported a West London accent and fine bespoke suits... always charming, always disarming, and always searching for a tender bit of flesh to sink his fangs into.

His eyes found hers once more.

“Come now, _Hermione_.” He smiled deepened. “We mustn’t delay. I must inspect the entire grounds to ensure you are in a safe environment.” Fire ignited in his eyes. “I must see where you sleep.”

Hermione blinked, dazed by fear, her mind overwhelmed with it, driving out rational thought.

“I…”

“How do we get to the dorms?” He glanced around, starting to pivot, the main staircase leading to the bedrooms just behind him.

Hermione stepped away from the wall, a sudden bolt of inspiration striking within her. She had no idea where it came from, what triggered it, but she didn’t stop to ponder, merely spoke the words as they formed within her throat.

“The dorms are this way.”

He turned to face her once more, brow raised, as though surprised she gave in to his request so easily. Hermione swallowed, afraid he’d see through the ruse.

“Perhaps I can show you the garden first?”

It took every ounce of strength left within her to hold his gaze, to maintain her delicate mask of demure reluctance, hoping beyond hope he’d accept the easy victory without question.

His eyes narrowed briefly before the corner of his mouth lifted. “No need. I saw it from the street on my way inside. We fell behind schedule thanks to your rather desperate Matron.” He wet his lips. “Show me your room.”

She inhaled deeply through her nose, forcing her neck to obey her commands and nod her head. She proceeded down the hall, around the corner, past the entrance to the dining hall…

Deeper, deeper, deeper.

Just a bit further…

“Are you certain this it the way? From the outside, it looked like the dorms were on the opposite side of the building.”

_Shite._

Hermione bit her lip, briefly closing her eyes and desperately searching for a viable excuse.

Her eyes snapped open. She glanced over her shoulder.

“This is a shortcut.” She held his gaze. “A _private_ shortcut.”

She knew she’d successfully hooked him as his pupils blew wider. “Is it now?”

She wet her lips, too far gone with adrenaline to feel proper disgust.

“Yes. I want to avoid the younger students. Is that alright?”

“By all means,” he held out his hand. “Proceed.”

She clenched her jaw, facing forward once more and continuing her journey.

Hoping like hell her bet paid off.

Because if she was wrong, then she really was leading the beast to a secluded alcove.

And there’d be no escaping his clutches.

She swallowed heavily, pushing past her heart in her throat.

And then she saw it.

The oasis in the desert…

The double doors that signified solace.

Asylum.

Safety.

Or her doom.

“What is this?” He slowed his tracks.

_Shite shite shite! I need to get him inside!_

Hermione blinked, trying to maintain an air of calm.

“It leads to the stairwell.”

He tilted his head. “Are you certain about that?”

“Which of us has been living here for the last three months?”

She delivered the cutting remark with more force than intended, but it seemed to please him immensely.

“My apologies, sweetling. I will trust your direction.”

Her skin crawled at the intimate endearment. Her father used to call her sweetling.

Dolohov knew that.

She glanced to the double doors with such longing she was amazed they didn’t pull open by the magnetism of her gaze alone.

And suddenly they were within reach-

And she was grasping the handle like a life raft, pulling it with such force it banged off the opposite wall.

She leaped inside, wild, madly searching, searching-

“Ms. Granger?”

Hermione nearly collapsed with the power of her relief, her entire body deflating with the intensity of it.

“Doctor!” Her voice was too high, too eager, eyes half crazed in desperation.

And then she saw him, standing by the bookcase, frozen in his signature repose of papers in his hands, a look of concentration upon his beautiful face...

He was the most magnificent thing she’d ever seen.

Her savior.

Radiant light spilled from his limbs, illuminating him in a halo of otherworldly splendor.

She wanted to fall to her knees in worship, in gratitude, in sheer exhaustion.

His eyes narrowed, sweeping over her from bottom to top. Then they were flickering past her shoulder to the man standing just beyond. Lightning flashed in their depths. For once she found it immensely reassuring.

“I’m sorry, mate,” Dolohov said with forced cheer. “Seems Ms. Granger and I got turned around a bit. We’ll be out of your way.” He pinned Hermione with his dark gaze, still hovering at the threshold.

Hermione stepped further into the room, closer to the Doctor.

He set the papers aside, closing the distance between them.

Only to pass by entirely...

Coming to a stop between her and Dolohov, spine elongating to his full imposing height.

She clenched her fists, resisting the urge to cower behind him, remaining frozen and breathless in the middle of the room.

“Hello, there. My name is Doctor Thomas Riddle. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

His voice was pleasant enough, but Hermione had interacted with the man enough to know it now sounded more clipped than usual, harder at the edges.

“Yes, hello…” Dolohov glanced between her and the Doctor, his frustration at being misled showing through. But then he slipped his mask back on, resuming his impeccably mannered facade.

It was surreal to watch them interact, knowing what she now knew about both men- or at least what she _suspected_ of the Doctor.

They were both dangerous predators.

Stealthily hunting after prey.

She knew what Dolohov sought.

And though she didn’t have the first clue what Doctor Riddle was after, she knew it wasn’t her. And that simple truth was enough information for Hermione to formulate a clear preference and pick her side.

She made her choice known, staying safely situated behind the Doctor’s back.

“I am Antonin Dolohov, Ms. Granger’s solicitor.”

There was a shift in the air, the sunlight dimmed behind a cloud, the shadows became tangible, sentient, spread like dark pools over the walls and floor.

The Doctor’s hands clenched at his side before loosening, such a quick movement she wasn’t certain whether she’d seen it at all.

“I believe Ms. Granger has spoken about you before.”

Hermione blinked.

Then she recalled her brief mention of Dolohov days ago, in this very clinic, after she’s stocked the medical cabinet.

What cruel irony the man himself now stood within this sacred space, polluting the air with his toxic breath.

The predators shook hands.

The ground rumbled.

Their grips tightened, lingered, eyes locked. And then she sensed it…

The moment they drew the same conclusion that she had, the moment they recognized the beast dwelling within the other man’s eyes…

Their hands fell apart.

The cloud moved away from the sun, light spilling back into the room, blinding in its relentless invasion. Hermione squinted, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the bright rays.

“And what brings you to the Home today, Mr. Dolohov?”

She blinked rapidly, unable to see the Doctor’s face.

“I am conducting my quarterly visit of the grounds. As the executor of Ms. Granger’s estate it is imperative I ensure her continued welfare.”

Her eyes adjusted to the light, their shadowy figures came back into view.

“Then it is a good thing you are here. What a beautiful day to pay a visit. Perhaps Hermione can show you the outdoor grounds?”

Dolohov went rigid at the Doctor’s casual use of her first name. Hermione swallowed as his dark gaze flickered to her and back again.

“That would be lovely. But first I must finish our inside tour. And we really must be going, I’m afraid we’re already behind schedule.”

She swayed on her feet, desperate and hopeless, no other escape plans coming to mind in the wake of her unbridled terror.

Dr. Riddle stepped back, closer to Hermione, turning to face her while tucking his hands in his trouser pockets.

“I’m afraid I can’t permit that.”

She blinked, heart leaping into her throat.

“ _Excuse_ me?” Dolohov’s fists clenched at his sides.

The Doctor smiled, utterly beautiful and lethal, gazing at the other man with indifference.

“She is clearly ill. Look at her complexion. She appears to be suffering from the stomach sickness that has been going around.” He looked to her once more, eyes cast in shadow, gleaming from the darkness. “Have you been sick today, Hermione?”

His continued use of her first name made her entire body throb. She wet her lips, nodding.

“Yes. I spent half an hour in the water closet prior to Mr. Dolohov’s visit.”

His eyes narrowed, searching hers, and then the shadows passed, his expression once more masked in blank disinterest.

“There you have it. Another case of the stomach flu. As her physician, I cannot permit her to expend any more energy today. I’m afraid she will not be able to lead you on your tour of the grounds.”

She felt like she was separated from her body, watching the scene from the ceiling, hovering against the corner of the walls. Dolohov’s mask cracked, an enraged scowl overtaking his handsome features for a flash, the haunting visage emblazoning on her mind, familiar and unmistakable.

“Well, far be it for me to argue with a physician's orders,” he said slowly, gaze warring with the Doctor’s. “I’ll simply have to reschedule for a day when Ms.Granger is feeling more herself.”

“There’s no need.” The Doctor tipped his head with a smile. “A busy man such as yourself shouldn’t have to make two trips up here just to ensure the ceiling isn’t leaking and the floors aren’t filled with holes. I am happy to show you around the rest of the building.”

Dolohov opened and closed his mouth, then sent Hermione a rather accusing glare, the message clear.

_You planned for this._

She stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest and glancing down.

“I appreciate the kind offer, but I wouldn't want to pull you from your duties as sole physician. Surely you are more needed here than as a tour guide.”

“It is the residents’ lunch hour, as well as mine. The clinic is closed right now. If there’s an emergency one of the girls will summon me. The grounds aren’t that large.” His teeth gleamed. “It doesn’t take long to find what you’re looking for.”

Dolohov released a slow breath, the sound becoming music to Hermione’s ears. The melody of surrender.

“Well, I suppose I am grateful for your hospitality, then.”

The Doctor nodded, then glanced at Hermione. “Go to your dorms and lie down, Hermione. Drink plenty of fluids.” His eyes flashed. “And stay there for the remainder of the day.”

She nodded quickly, stumbling for the door in such haste she nearly tripped.

“Goodbye, Ms. Granger.” Hermione stopped dead, spine straightening as Dolohov addressed her back. “It was a pleasure seeing you again. I look forward to our next visit when you are feeling better.”

She swallowed, slowly glancing over her shoulder and meeting his dark gaze, the black tar pits of hell contained within, and felt her throat seize up.

She merely nodded, staring into the endless void for another rattled heartbeat, his purple scar standing out in stunning contrast from his tan skin.

And then she tore her gaze away, bursting through the double doors like the devil himself was in pursuit.

* * *

Tom watched Hermione flee the clinic in much the same state as she entered it.

Terrified out of her mind.

Before her spectacular arrival, he’d been cross-referencing the medical files of those deemed ‘runaways’, looking for connections, markers. Something that stood out, made _them_ stand out…

His nights were filled with much the same thing, his newly appointed secret office fit to burst with stolen files from the records room.

Only it wasn’t such a secret anymore, was it?

He’d let the girl inside.

Foolish really.

But he’d been so shocked to find her racing along the halls, a sobbing mess, he’d sprung from his hiding spot just to see if she was gravely injured, missing a limb or some other calamity. When she’d appeared physically fine other than her frazzled mental state and lack of proper attire he’d been even more intrigued.

Luckily she’d hardly noticed the contents of his office, badgering him with no questions, more concerned with fleeing than staying to investigate.

Still, he shouldn’t have taken her there. It was only a matter of time before an inquisitive mind such as hers grew curious. Worse yet, she had a bold streak a mile long that would only instigate her need to meddle.

She’d gone to Amortentia.

She’d gone as a _house girl_ …

Yes, the girl certainly had a core of steel.

She’d left one of her crimson ribbons behind. A smear of blood upon the floor.

He’d picked it up. Wrapped it around his finger. Traced the edges with his thumb.

And now for some inexplicable reason, he carried it in his pocket.

It was simply a reminder. A reminder of all that was at stake.

Nothing more.

And then the doors had burst open in a small explosion, the girl herself emerging in a cloud of smoke as though his thoughts alone had summoned her into existence.

First, he saw her eyes. Wild, desperate, searching.

And then he’d seen the creature lurking at her back.

And he’d understood.

This would simply _not_ do.

It had been a natural instinct to insert himself between the doe and the wolf. He’d faced down predators such as this many of times. It was almost as second nature as wielding a scalpel or taking a pulse.

Men like Dolohov had shaped Tom into the man he was today.

He’d find a way to show his unending gratitude.

Once the doors closed behind Hermione’s abrupt departure the curtains lowered over the stage, the play ended, the masks came off.

“So tell me, _Doctor_ Riddle, what brings you to this establishment of all places?”

Tom’s eyes narrowed, mouth lifting into a lethal grin.

“I find I am able to accomplish a great deal of work here. The post sat abandoned for so long, the residents were in desperate need of care.”

Dolohov raised a sharp brow. “Still, a young man such as yourself surely has loftier dreams than being confined to the clinic of a girls’ shelter for the duration of his career.”

Tom slid his hands into his pockets, smoothing the satin ribbon between the pads of his fingers.

“I assure you, my dreams are very clearly defined. This is merely a stepping stone to the ultimate goal.”

Dolohov tilted his head.

“And what is that?”

Tom held his gaze steady. Several heartbeats passed, and then he stepped back, gesturing to the doors.

“I’ve distracted you for too long. Shall we proceed with the tour?”

Tom felt his teeth elongate behind his lips, desperate to tear into the creature before him.

Dolohov blinked. “I don’t really think that’s necessary. I’ve taken up enough of your time today, and I’ve seen enough of the building to know it’s in good standing. I think I can conclude with today’s visit.”

His sharpened teeth receded, the surrender taking him off guard.

Perhaps he wasn’t as subtle as he’d intended.

Another thing to work on.

He nodded. “Certainly. I will escort you out.”

He couldn’t have the fox sneaking into the hen house upstairs.

“That’s not necess-”

“I insist. I’m in need of a mild excursion myself, I’ve been cooped in this room for too long. Come, I’ll take you through the garden gate, you really must see the flowers.”

Most of the residents were dining. Less prey lingered outside.

Dolohov’s jaw ticked, but he pasted on a congenial smile and tipped his head. “Certainly, lead the way, Doctor.”

Tom led the forward march out of the clinic, fingers still intertwined with the ribbon as his senses rose to high alert, ever aware of the presence at his back. Once they emerged in the corridor he altered his pace, allowing Dolohov to fall in step beside him.

The better to see his reactions.

“How did you come to be Ms. Granger’s solicitor?”

The man blinked, spine going rigid. “I was her parent’s solicitor before their untimely deaths.”

“And now you control their estate?”

“As the law dictates, with no male heirs to take control I am entitled to controlling rights until such a time as Ms. Granger marries or produces a legal male heir.”

“How antiquated that an infant boy is entrusted with rights and property denied to an adult woman.”

Dolohov laughed, a dark glimmer in his eye. “I admit that Ms. Granger is a clever girl, but I have met enough women to know that entrusting the majority of them with large sums of property and cash would only lead the world to ruin.”

“Is that so?”

“They are spiteful things, led by their emotions rather than their sensibilities. In my line of work I have seen many a man, business and even government laid to waste by a woman’s fickle fancy.” He shook his head. “Trust me when I say men are better off maintaining controlling rights, for the good of the fairer sex.”

Tom gazed sideways. The smile on Dolohov’s face was inviting, bidding Tom to agree. Instead, his focus lingered on the raised line of purple flesh across his eye.

“And how did you come by such a scar?”

“Hm? Oh,” he gingerly touched the mark. “This old thing?”

“It looks fairly recent.”

He laughed shortly. “I wasn’t paying attention while riding and was thrown from my horse.”

Tom studied the mark. Dolohov shifted uncomfortably.

“You must have hit a very sharp rock. Minimal trauma to the surrounding skin suggests the cut was made with a narrow point. Like a blade.”

Dolohov blinked, averting his gaze forward as they walked the wide corridor. “Just my luck, I suppose.”

Tom smirked, eyes still fixed upon him. “Luck has a way of always running out, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, unfortunately, it does.”

Dolohov increased his pace. Tom’s long legs easily kept stride beside him.

“Here we are.” He gestured to the doors that led outside. “This will take us on the scenic route.”

“Delightful.”

Tom held the door open, allowing the other man to pass by first, eyes flashing with malevolent glee as Dolohov kept his gaze averted forward, obvious tension in his limbs.

“So tell me, Doctor, where have you practiced medicine before? I know many physicians throughout the city. I’m curious if we share any acquaintances.”

_We most certainly do._

“I transferred here from St. Mungo’s. Before then I spent years practicing medicine on the continent, mostly throughout eastern Europe and parts of the Middle East.”

“How fascinating.” He sounded anything but. “Did you attend school abroad?”

Tom’s eyes narrowed. He knew what the seemingly harmless question implied.

Men like Dolohov, the privileged elite, measured other men’s worth first by pedigree and second by education. Tom had no doubt the man considered any school outside the UK subpar. He clearly thought Tom was saddled with this position because he couldn’t qualify for work elsewhere.

“I graduated from Cambridge before attending the Royal College of Surgeons. I placed at the top of my class and transferred to a teaching hospital in London. After being made the head of the surgical division in two years time I was offered a coveted spot on the St. Mungo’s medical team.”

Dolohov blinked, mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find words.

“I… that’s… quite impressive, Doctor.” He wet his lips. “May I ask… whatever are you doing _here_?”

Tom’s eyes gleamed beneath the bright sun. “I’ve spent my entire life searching relentlessly. I’ve yet to find what I seek. This place is merely another rock to uncover.”

Dolohov’s brows drew together, obviously unsatisfied with the vague response, but before he spoke he seemed to become distracted by something over Tom’s shoulder. Tom blinked, turning to follow the wolf’s dark gaze.

His jaw ticked.

The garden was empty of residents.

Except for one.

His Rook.

The ethereal blonde was on her knees, bent over and digging at the roots of a large hawthorn bush with a small spade.

Dolohov stood transfixed by her for several long moments before Tom shifted his stance, blocking the girl from view. The man blinked, eyes narrowing and locking with Tom’s.

“I’m starting to understand why a man might be willing to forgo his mighty reputation to work in a place such as this.”

Tom’s spine elongated, rising to his full height. The ribbon wrapped around his finger so tightly it cut off the circulation.

A scathing response was burning on the back of his tongue, but he inhaled sharply, tucking it away. There was an opportunity here, one that would require him to tread carefully. But if he was able to strategize ahead, perhaps he could advance along the board even faster.

“Yes. It certainly has its benefits.”

Dolohov smirked, eyes alight as he clapped Tom heartily on the shoulder. “Damn straight! Ha! I knew the moment I saw you that you were an intelligent bloke.” His eyes shifted past him, focusing once more upon the girl.

“So tell me…” he spoke in a low voice, leaning forward. “Just between us men, do you get to examine all the girls?”

Tom’s eye twitched.

“I am the sole physician here. Every resident is under my care.”

Dolohov nodded eagerly. “And do you get to... “ he wet his lips. “Examine all parts of them?”

Tom was silent for several beats, focused on the thrumming pulse in the man’s neck, vivid imaginings of spurting red fluid filling his mind’s eye, keeping him calm, grounded.

“I conduct all external examinations. I refer patients to a specialist for anything more invasive.”

Dolohov leaned back. “Damn. Too bad, eh?” He winked, smirk transforming his face into something wicked.

“You know,” he continued slowly. “I heard a rumor, about the last doctor to hold your post.”

“Have you now?”

“I heard that he got a bit, _hands-on_ with the girls. A bit _too_ hands on, if you catch my meaning.”

Tom inhaled slowly. “I heard similar rumors.”

And then he’d heard the truth from the horse’s blood filled mouth.

“Such a shame that a man of high standing and esteem is made a victim by the whims of a few errant school girls.”

Tom raised a brow. “You don’t believe the rumors?”

Dolohov’s expression sharpened. “I have no doubt he only did what those girls wanted him to. They’re all desperate for a handout, for a golden ticket, they’ll do anything to better their station in life. And that goes for the high born females as well, just as ruthless and cutthroat as their downtrodden counterparts, if not more so.”

“And do you hold Ms. Granger in the same regard?”

Dolohov blinked, drawing back. Then a slow smile curved his lips. Tom’s fists tightened in his pockets. His reaction perturbed him. He forced his hands to loosen.

“She is special.”

Tom’s eye twitched again. The silence continued, Dolohov electing to say no more. Then his dark gaze averted to the blonde.

“I see there are many special cases here.”

Tom couldn’t keep the beast inside him chained down much longer. His resolve was wearing thin. He gestured to the gate. “It’s been a true delight to make your acquaintance, Mr. Dolohov. But I hate to deter you from your day any longer.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” He stepped back, examining Tom with a tilted head. “I like you, Riddle. If you don’t mind me speaking so informally.”

“Not at all.”

The man smiled. “I’d like to get to know you better, learn more of your background. I have a feeling you and I share many common interests.”

_You have no idea._

Tom’s answering smile wasn’t feigned. “I have no doubt our paths will cross again.”

Dolohov nodded. “I do hope so. Perhaps I shall forward an invitation to a gathering with other like-minded individuals, help you reintegrate yourself into the proper social scene now that you’re back in London.”

Tom wet his lips, the taste of victory sweet.

“I would be honored.”

“Excellent. Well, I bid you good day, then.”

“To you as well.”

He watched the beast saunter past the flowering bushes and through the gate, finally disappearing around the side of the building.

And then he felt eyes upon him.

He glanced to the side, locking gazes with the garden’s other inhabitant.

She was still perched on her knees, gloves caked in soil, long braid draped over her shoulder.

Such a placid, angelic looking thing.

Such a delicious meal for the wild creatures lurking just outside these walls.

His gaze lingered, considering…

No.

She was too sweet, too demure. The perfect bait but the worst kind of trap. She lacked the metal teeth needed to ensnare the stealthy fox or disembowel the hungry wolf.

Tom nodded to her, once, and she nodded back, removing her gloves and taking to her feet, quickly heading back inside the building.

She’d proven helpful so far. She’d prove even more helpful yet, he had no doubt.

But she could never be more than his Rook.

Tom inhaled the warm summer air, letting the floral and wood notes linger in his lungs, and slowly withdrew his hand from his pocket.

He gazed down at his fingers, the line of bright red pressed deep into his flesh, turning his fingertip blue. Squeezing the life from the tissue. He tilted his head, slowly loosening the ribbon, savoring the sharp pang of needles as the blood rushed back into the appendage.

_“She is special.”_

Yes.

That she was.

She survived the flames of hell, only to be reborn edged in steel.

Meeting the beast she had scarred only solidified what he already suspected upon finding her hiding in his wardrobe, a burning omen of the battle to come.

He’d laid out his chessboard many years ago, steadily gathering the pawns and knights needed to bring the enemy to its knees.

And now, at long last, he’d found his final piece.

The most vital one of all.

Hermione Granger would be his Queen.

* * *

Harry was battling his bath dampened hair with a comb when a thunderous rumbling occurred downstairs.

He quickly descended, half wondering if Malfoy was once more beating a dent into the door, when the melody of voices on the other side of the barrier met his ears, making him shake his head in amusement.

He opened the door-

And promptly had the air knocked from his lungs as a small and sturdy figure darted forward, crashing headfirst into his body and driving him back.

“Uncle Harry! You’re back you’re back!”

“Teddy! What did I tell you about leaping on people like a dog?”

“It’s alright,” Harry laughed, stepping back and hoisting the boy into his arms. “As long as he doesn’t pee on my leg I can’t complain.”

The woman entering behind the boy rolled her eyes, stepping inside. “Don’t give him any ideas, Harry.”

“Hello, Dora,” he leaned in, allowing her to kiss him on the cheek. “You look lovely.”

“I look like I’ve crawled out from beneath a ton of bricks. I’ve spent the last two days unpacking. Why do we own so much shite?”

“Language!”

Dora rolled her eyes. “Sorry, mum. Why do we own so much _bloody_ shite?”

Harry fought back a smile as his Aunt entered the residence, eyes narrowed upon her daughter but lacking any real heat.

“It’s wonderful to see you, my dear, welcome home,” Andromeda said as she placed a hand on his shoulder, kissing him on the cheek as well.

“It’s good to be back. How is the publishing house doing?”

“Splendid. Ted couldn’t come tonight, he’s waiting on a delivery and sends his love.”

“Where’s Rem?”

“Forced to the back of the line, as usual,” the man in question said with a smile, entering the Manor and shutting the door behind him. “Hello, Harry. Christ, you look more like James everytime I see you.”

Harry swallowed thickly, leaning into the man’s embrace as he clapped him on the back. As they separated something hard prodded into his chest, he glanced down and saw the toy clasped in Teddy’s hands, a wooden ship with white sails. Harry smiled.

“Still want to be a sailor like your godfather and Uncle Sirius?”

Teddy nodded enthusiastically, holding his toy aloft and dipping it through the air like it was sailing the raging seas. “I’m going to be a Fleet Admiral!”

Harry tipped his head back and laughed even as Remus shook his head in exasperation. “Any hopes of turning the boy into a scholar have been dashed, thanks to you.”

Harry smirked. “No one can accuse him of setting small goals.”

“At least he doesn’t dream of becoming a pirate,” Andromeda said, unfastening the buckle on her cloak. “Like his mother did.”

“Who says I still don’t?” Dora winked.

Harry set his godson down, stepping towards his Aunt. “Let me take your cloak.”

She raised a dark brow, shrugging out of the garment. “You have no butler?”

“Sirius let him go a while back. Said he was judging him with his eyes. And watering down his liquor.”

Andromeda sighed. “Of course he did. And where is my mongrel cousin?”

“Passed out upstairs. I’ll go fetch him.”

“Why don’t we let Teddy do the honors? He’s quite capable of waking the dead, Sirius should pose little challenge.”

Harry smiled. “Brilliant.” He glanced to the boy hanging from his leg. “I have a mission for you, Teddy, official orders set down from the Queen herself.”

Teddy’s eyes widened, glimmering in the light. “What does she say?”

Harry fought to keep his earnest expression. “You are to go upstairs and wake up Uncle Sirius by any means necessary. Just don’t damage the furniture or injure yourself. Sirius is fair game, do whatever you like to him.”

Teddy’s face split in half with a wide grin. “Mission accepted! It’s an honor to serve her Majesty!” And then he was taking off at a sprint, galloping up the stairs with a five-year-old’s determination.

Harry turned to his Uncle. “How long are you back for?”

“Until the end of August, classes start on the first of September.”

“You’re still teaching Anthropology?”

“Yes-”

“They’re making him head of the Department,” Dora cut in, leaning her head against his shoulder. “The youngest to ever hold the title.”

“That’s fantastic, mate! Congratulations.”

A flush stained Remus’s cheeks as he glanced away. “Thank you, Harry, but it’s not that big a-”

“If you say it’s not a big deal I’m going to smack you upside that brilliant head of yours.” His wife threatened, eyes narrowed.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, my love. It’s a _very_ big deal. Are you happy?”

“Always.” She perched on her toes and pecked him on the lips, making him blush deeper.

Harry smiled. Andromeda sighed. “Please refrain from intimate displays of public affection in the entryway, it’s uncouth.”

Dora spun around, hands on her hips. “I’ve seen you and dad kissing all over the house. Scarred me for life as a child.”

“Then think about what you're subjecting my poor grandson to.”

“Speaking of which,” Harry interjected, glancing up the empty staircase. “I thought we’d have heard the roof caving in by now-”

Right on cue, a thunderous roar issued from the second floor, following by childish squeals of delight.

“You little hellion! Come here, I’m going to toss you out the window!”

“No!” Teddy screamed with laughter. “Uncle Sirius don’t!”

“I’ve got you now!”

Everyone glanced to the upper level as heavy footsteps sounded, followed by Teddy’s hysterical giggles. Sirius emerged from the hallway, toting the boy upside down over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Perhaps I’ll toss you over the banister instead so the neighbors don’t see...”

“No!” His short limbs thrashed, Sirius keeping him easily pinned in place.”I’m sorry! Uncle Harry told me to!”

“You little tattletale!” Harry called up.

“I see, my ungrateful godson is the real culprit! I suppose I’ll have to toss you both over the banister.”

“No! Uncle Harry, help! Help!”

Dora laughed, shaking her head. “Why don’t you ever call mom for help? You don’t think I can take Sirius in a fight? I’d have him laid flat in two seconds.”

Sirius huffed, eyes narrowed. “That’s only because you fight dirty, you lawless heathen.”

“I learned from the best,” she winked.

“Thank you, luv,” he smirked, shifting the flailing boy on his shoulder.

“I wasn’t referring to you, dolt. Mum taught me everything I know about throwing a mean right hook.”

“Dora, honestly,” Andromeda shook her head. “Don’t forget I also taught you how to shoot.”

“Trust me, she hasn’t forgotten,” Remus chimed in, wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist. “She’ll shoot the glass right out of my hand when she’s ready to leave a party.”

Dora rolled her eyes. “That only happened twice.”

Teddy let out another high pitched squeal as Sirius began to tickle him.

“Please don’t get him riled before dinner, Sirius,” Andromeda called up. “He barely sits still as it is, I don’t want him running amok in the restaurant.”

“He’s a boy, Andy! They’re meant to run wild. Besides,” he glanced to his longtime friend. “He’s a Marauder by blood. There’ll be no hope for getting him to obey the rules.”

“I wasn’t _that_ bad,” Remus said, arching a brow. “I kept you and James in line, didn’t I?”

“Your technique needs some work, my dear,” Andromeda said as she cut a path across the floor to the parlor. “I seem to recall the three of you sitting in a jail cell on Christmas Eve, one pair of pants among you.”

Remus flushed bright red. Harry’s ears perked up, smile forming. “I’m sorry-” he glanced up to Sirius, who looked equally red-faced. “I haven’t heard this story. _Please_ elaborate.”

“Yes, please do, mother!” Dora gripped her husband’s arm in excitement, bouncing on her heels.

“Don’t you dare, Andy!” Sirius shouted, quickly trotting down the stairs with Teddy flopping from his shoulder, laughing all the while. “You swore yourself to secrecy!”

She smirked over her shoulder. “I recall making no such agreement, Sirius Black. And as the only sober person involved in the debacle, I believe _my_ memory is the one to be trusted.”

“Don’t leave us in suspense, Aunt Andy,” Harry started to follow her, laughing at his Uncle and godfather’s mortified reactions. “You have to tell us the story.”

She sat gracefully on the settee, arranging her skirts in a pristine flourish, living proof you could take the woman out of the aristocracy but you couldn’t take the aristocracy out of the woman. Sirius put Teddy down and the boy promptly darted into his grandmother’s lap, her arms wrapping around him.

“I suppose we have time for one _quick_ story before supper-”

“Andy, I swear to god, don’t tell this story.”

“You have to, Mum!”

“Please, Aunt Andy,” Harry bade. “I’ve never seen Sirius this embarrassed, and I’ve caught him in compromising positions without pants before.”

“Oi! Remember one thing, kid, I’ve changed your diapers.”

Harry laughed, opening his mouth to respond but before he could utter another word there was a sharp knock at the front door. Everyone fell silent, turning their heads to gaze upon it.

“Expecting someone?” Dora asked.

“Only you lot,” Sirius replied, then glanced to Harry. “Unless you’re expecting someone?”

Harry shook his head. “Maybe it’s Ted?”

“No, he’s running inventory after the shipment arrives,” Andy supplied, running her fingers through Teddy’s sandy blonde locks. “He’ll be at the business all evening.”

Harry shrugged. “Well, only one way to find out.”

He departed from the group and crossed the entryway, peeking through the pane to see who it was, spotting only the street carriage parked behind the Tonks’. He raised a brow, curious, and opened the door a crack, peering out and meeting a set of familiar light brown eyes.

His heart dropped into his stomach.

He blinked, staring at them blankly.

“Well, are you going to invite me in or not?” She glanced over her shoulder. “The longer I stay out here the better chance I have of being seen.”

Harry wet his lips, glancing over his own shoulder at his family, currently watching him with blatant curiosity.

Fuck.

He sighed.

There was no way around this mess. He couldn’t very well speak to her outside and risk some random passerby witnessing their exchange. Which left only one alternative…

He opened the door fully.

“Come on in.”

She gathered her skirts and darted past, making it halfway across the foyer before coming to a dead stop, eyes wide and fixed upon the small gathering in the adjoining room.

“Oh…” she trailed off, blinking several times and glancing nervously at Harry. “I didn’t realize- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Harry closed the door. “You aren’t interrupting.” He placed his hands in his trouser pockets, trying to affect an air of calm indifference, knowing his family was watching the interaction like nosy hawks.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Susan. Welcome to Grimmauld.”

She wet her lips, glancing between Harry and his family. Sirius smirked, stepping into the foyer.

“Hello there, luv. The name’s Sirius Black, how do you do?” He reached out for her hand, placing a polite kiss on the back.

“Yes, I know who you are, Lord Black. It’s an honor to make your acquaintance.” Her voice sounded nervous. “My name is Susan Bones. I do hope I haven't disturbed your evening.”

“Not at all.” His eyes darted to Harry, filled with humor. “And how do you know my godson?”

“Oh, well, we…” she looked to Harry once more.

Jesus Christ. This was looking more sordid by the second.

“We met at a function for the Scotland Yard. Susan’s father was just appointed Commissioner of a new investigational unit at the London precinct.”

“Ah, I thought your name sounded familiar,” Remus said from the other room, smiling at her. “The CID is a much-needed asset to the police department. We wish your father all the best in his new position.”

She nodded. “That’s very kind of you to say, Sir. I shall pass your good wishes onto my father.”

“So,” Sirius raised a brow. “What brings you here this evening?”

“Oh,” she wrung her hands together. “Well… I…”

Dora laughed lightly from her spot beside Remus. “Bloody hell, give the kids some privacy!”

“Dora!” Andromeda scolded. “Do mind your language in front of guests!” She glanced at Susan. “I apologize for my daughter’s colorful outburst, my dear. Perhaps you and Harry would like to move your discussion to the billiards room?”

Harry nodded, relief flooding his system. “That’s a great idea,” he tilted his head towards the opposite hall. “Please, follow me, Susan.”

Sirius sighed. “No one ever lets me have any fun.”

Harry shot his godfather a glare as he escorted Susan into the hall, the curious and amused gazes of his family disappearing behind the wall.

Susan released a deep sigh as they entered the expansive billiards room. “Shite,” she whispered as he shut the door. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you’d have guests over. Ron said it was only you at Grimmauld.”

Harry blinked. “It was. Sirius got back this morning, the family just arrived for dinner.”

She looked stricken. “I was hoping my visit would remain a secret.”

“Why are you here?”

She bit her lip, reaching into her bag and withdrawing a familiar slip of paper.

Harry’s calling card. The one he’d given her at the opium den.

“You told me to come here if I had any information that could be relevant.”

His heart leaped, body jolting.

“You’ve heard something about Lavender?”

She swallowed, eyes darting down. “Maybe… I’m not sure.”

He tilted his head, stepping closer. “What is it, Susan?”

“I…” she sighed deeply, shoulders dropping. “I overheard one of the officers telling my father about something they found tonight.”

His blood rushed through his ears, pulse thrumming madly. She finally glanced up, meeting his intense gaze.

“They’ve pulled a body from the river.” Her brows drew together. “A girl.”

The air was pulled violently from his lungs, the gaslights seeming to dim at once. The silence pressed against him from all sides, finally broken by his low spoken curse.

“Shite.”


	10. Pretty Dolls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my. My last author’s note seems to have inspired some very passionate shipping pride. A few comments were so compelling they almost swayed me from my wicked, wicked plans.
> 
> Almost. ;p

_How long is forever?_  
_Sometimes, just one second._  
.   .   .

For the first time in a long time, despite all odds, Hermione was enjoying a blissful night’s rest.

Sheer exhaustion brought on by blind terror and forty-eight hours of restlessness finally gave way to death like sleep, her mind too spent to fabricate its usual haunts.

No fire, no blood, no wandering hands, _wanted or unwanted_ … just endless, all-consuming darkness.

She was suspended in the black pools of eternity, drifting steadily down a river of ink that weighted her limbs, invaded her lungs and saturated her vision.

And like all good things, it came to an end far too soon.

Hermione awoke to the sound of a click.

Her eyes sprang open, body fully alert, mind startling clear, as though she’d never fallen asleep in the first place.

She blinked, turning her head.

And saw what had pulled her from her serene slumber.

The door opening.

And the person walking in, clad in a sheer nightgown.

The new entrant closed the door behind her, head downturned, blonde hair obscuring her face.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

She _always_ snuck in after curfew, always waking Hermione in the middle of the ni-

Hermione blinked again.

And stared.

Realization set in like a heavy blanket over her mind.

She watched in dumbfounded shock as Lavender tiptoed to her bed, pulling her quilt back and slipping beneath the sheets, silently lying down with her back to Hermione.

Hermione closed her eyes. Opened them.

Then sat up and scrubbed a hand over her face.

_This is a dream._

Only, she was awake. Of that she was certain.

But this couldn’t possibly be happening. There was no way.

_It’s Luna. You mistook Luna for Lavender…_

But she knew deep down she’d never mistake her friends. They were different heights, different builds, different shades of blonde.

And Luna wouldn't sneak in unannounced. She’d be more likely to crawl into bed beside Hermione or Parvati if she came up here. She’d never slip into Lavender’s bed.

Hermione swallowed heavily. Then she worked up the courage to finally get up.

She slowly drew her covers back and swung her legs over the side, bare feet making the floorboards creak like old bones. She cringed at the noise, standing frozen beside her bed.

But Lavender didn’t stir.

_It’s not Lavender._

Her hands began to shake at her sides.

_Please… please don’t let this be what I think it is…_

She felt tears well in her eyes as she slowly crept forward.

_Please… God, I know you haven’t answered me in the past, but please, just this once, please let this be real…_

She hovered beside Lavender’s bed, currently filled by someone, _something_ …

She started to reach out a hand but quickly withdrew it, fear taking root within her so solidly it froze her in place.

She stood there for a short eternity, staring at the same back she’d spent the last three months gazing at each night. The same river of honey blonde hair, the same pale nightgown with lace detail around the edges…

She wet her lips, closing her eyes and stealing herself in the temporary blindness.

_Please let this be real._

She opened her lids and reached out her hand.

And touched the girl’s shoulder.

They slowly turned to face her.

Hermione was so overwhelmed with fear and anticipation her mind had a hard time processing the image that was revealed.

Lavender.

Staring up through her deep brown eyes.

Expression calm and serene and beautiful.

Hermione lurched forward, hand clamping down on her friend’s flesh, nails digging into her skin, leaving behind crescent-shaped indentations.

She swallowed again, throat closing up, tears streaming.

They stared at each other for a short eternity. And then Hermione burst.

“Lavender!” she cried, throwing herself down and clutching the girl tightly. “Oh my god!” she sobbed. “ _Where_ have you been? Do you have _any_ idea how terrified we’ve been? Christ, I’m so glad you’re back I don’t even care!”

Hermione was so wracked by tremors it took her a moment to realize that Lavender lay limp in her hold. Hermione blinked rapidly, pulling back to examine her friend more closely, the usually talkative girl’s silence deeply unnerving.

“Lavender, are you okay? Are you hurt? What’s happened?”

Lavender held her gaze, but at this close proximity, with their faces mere inches apart, Hermione saw just how blank her stare was. Paired with lifeless limbs, it was as though she was a life-sized doll.

_Such a pretty doll…_

The words were whispered in her mind by another’s voice, one she’d never heard before and yet recognized all the same.

Hermione shook her head frantically, heart stuttering.

“No…” she swallowed thickly. “No!” She clutched her shoulders, shaking her.

“Parvati!” Hermione screamed, mindless of waking the entire floor. “Parvati get over here!”

She glanced frantically to the other bed, the brunette’s outline beneath the covers clearly defined, her steady breathing never breaking pace.

“Parvati wake up!”

Her third roommate didn’t stir.

Hermione sobbed harder.

“No… no, no, no!” She gazed at Lavender again, clutching her tighter. “Please don’t do this to me. Please, not her!”

She fell to her knees beside the bed, arms still wrapped around the limp form. Her violent shaking had caused Lavender’s blonde hair to obscure half her face. Hermione reached out a hand to smooth it back. The girl’s face was cool and silky, like a porcelain mask.

And then Hermione noticed the red at her throat.

A perfect, gleaming line of red.

A choker.

Hermione’s heart stopped beating. Lungs stopped breathing. The world stopped turning.

She reached out a hand to caress the familiar satin ribbon.

And then blinked in confusion when her fingers drew away wet.

She stared at them, the dark ink staining her skin. She held her hand aloft in the moonlight, the liquid shimmered crimson.

Hermione’s face crumpled as she brought both her hands to Lavender’s throat, desperately trying to pull the ribbon away, but it was adhered to her skin, flush against her neck, ingrained to her flesh.

And seeping blood.

Hermione was beyond words, lost to terror and madness. She clawed futilely at the fabric but it wouldn’t budge. Her hands were slick, nail beds caked in red.

She met Lavender’s blank stare.

“Please, Lavender, please wake up.”

Her desperate plea was met by deaf ears. Lavender’s glassy doll eyes remained fixed with Hermione’s, a silent scream of terror locked in their depths.

Hermione gave up the struggle, collapsing forward and burying her face in her friend’s still chest as she cried.

“I’m sorry, Lavender. I tried. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

“Mione?”

Hermione reared back, eyes wide.

“Lavender?”

But the bed was empty.

“Mione, what are you doing down there?”

She lurched away as a hand gripped her shoulder.

“Whoa! Calm down!”

She gazed up from her sprawled position on the floor, Parvati hovering above her with raised hands.

Hermione glanced rapidly between her friend and the empty bed.

“What…” she swallowed, scrambling forward. “What happened?”

“That’s my question.”

She shook her head. “I… I was dreaming.”

She spoke the words more for herself than Parvati. The ache in her chest intensified.

“I’ve never seen you sleepwalk before. Shite, it was creepy. Here.” Parvati offered her hand and Hermione accepted, fingers trembling. Her entire body twitching with latent adrenaline.

“I’ve never sleepwalked before.”

“Well, you certainly did tonight. Not just that but you were carrying on a conversation as though someone else was there. Like I said, creepy as shite.”

“I was talking?”

Parvati nodded.

Hermione’s eyes burned. She rubbed them.

“Was I…” she sighed. “Was I talking to Lavender?”

Parvati stared at her with a guarded expression. “I don’t know. I had trouble understanding you. But you were leaning against the side of her bed. What were you dreaming about?”

Hermione took a deep breath, glancing away. She wanted to confide the details of her haunting reverie to Parvati, but she was also desperate to forget. And the easiest way to forget something was to keep it buried deep within the recesses of her mind, an easier feat to accomplish when fewer people knew the disturbing truth in question.

“I don’t remember.”

Parvati raised a dark brow, looking supremely unconvinced. “It’s alright, you know. You can just say you don’t want to tell me. I won’t be offended.”

Hermione blinked. “It’s not that-”

“My bigger concern is you getting out of bed and crossing the room without waking up. What if you make it into the hall next time and fall headfirst down the stairs?”

Hermione’s jaw clamped shut so tight it ached.

“I know you hated the medicine, Hermione, but at least it kept you in your bed at night.”

“It kept me in bed _all day_. I became useless and exhausted all the time. I won’t take it again.”

Parvati sighed, shaking her head. “Well, maybe the Doctor can suggest an alternative-”

“I don’t need sleep tonics, Parvati, I need-” she stopped short, mind reeling.

_I need an exorcist._

The thought was so random, so ludicrous it made her burst into a fit of hysterical giggles.

Parvati’s dark brows drew together. “Mione? What’s so funny?”

Hermione shook her head, unable to control her laughter. She shook with it, was consumed by it, and soon it transformed into uncontrollable sobbing.

“Mione…” Parvati stepped forward, wrapping her arms around her as her knees gave out, both girls slowly crumbling to the floor. “Mione, what’s wrong?”

Hermione felt the wetness stream along her heated face, snot, tears, Lavender’s blood, she couldn’t discern one sensation from the next anymore.

“I haven’t the first clue,” she gasped between breaths.

“I don’t understand.”

Hermione swallowed, struggling to regain control. “Neither do I, Parv. I have no idea what’s happening to me.”

Her friend pulled her closer, Hermione tipped her head forward and rested it against her chest, just as she had done with Lavender moments ago.

The thought made the ache in her chest fester and rot, spreading outward to destroy her body one cell at a time.

They sat in silence while Hermione regained her breath, until the raging waters settled into a bubbling brook. And then Hermione came to a decision.

She couldn’t keep it inside anymore.

The only thing more terrifying than telling someone was not telling someone. She couldn't go another day, another hour, another _minute_ , living this awful truth alone.

“Parvati…” she began, voice broken and strained.

The girl in question smoothed a hand over Hermione’s head, pushing the curls from her wet eyes.

“What?”

Hermione wet her lips, eyes drifting closed.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

* * *

Draco awoke in a foul mood.

He _hated_ waking up in a foul mood.

He supposed no one cared for it a great deal. But he especially detested it, usually because it signified he was at the mercy of something beyond his control. His schooling, his career, and now his future marriage.

All things dictated to him by his father.

But on this particular morning, Draco awoke to a feeling of guilt. And he hated guilt most of all, which led to this slow deterioration of his day.

He banged his fist against the door once more, the metal knocker rattling in its holder.

“Come on, open up! I know you’re in there!”

He set his jaw, eyes narrowed as he looked about the decorative shrubs for anything he might launch through the window.

Then the door swung open.

“You _fucking_ ponce, what the hell do you think you’re- Hey!” she shrieked as he barged past her into the entryway.

“Draco! You can’t just storm in like this, what if I’d had company?”

“I appreciate your attempt at humor but I’m hardly in the mood for a laugh.”

She scowled, tying the sash of her silk robe. “Congratulations, you’ve been here all of thirty seconds and are already getting kicked out. That’s a new land speed record for you.”

“I need to talk.”

“Clearly you came here to take your foul temper out on me. I’m not interested.”

He sighed, slowly turning to face her. “I’m sorry, Pans. I didn’t mean to imply you never have company. If anyone was hoarding a harem of lovers in her private abode, it would be you.”

She crossed her arms, drawing to her full, if limited, height. “It’s too late for flatteries.”

He smirked, stepping closer. “Come on, luv. I need a woman’s perspective on something. Consider it a public service for the rest of your gender, to keep me from offending any more of you.”

She raised a manicured brow. “Now _this_ has the potential to be interesting. Who did you piss off?”

He ran a hand over his face. “Can we sit? And drink.”

“I don’t drink hard alcohol before noon. Except on weekends. And holidays. And Tuesdays. Tuesdays are simply intolerable.”

He took off for the front parlor. “Then you can watch me drink.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t partake in _anything_. Pour me a glass of champagne.”

“Good girl.”

“So what great tragedy have you unleashed this time?” She followed him into the room, sitting on an overstuffed armchair and tucking her legs beneath her.

Draco strolled to the liquor cabinet, eyes narrowing at the selection. “This is pathetic, Pans. What’s the point in owning your own house if you don’t keep the bar properly stocked?”

“First of all, my father owns the house and everything inside it, including me, as you’re well aware.” Draco rolled his eyes. “Furthermore, he has no idea I’m here, and if he did, the last thing he’d be worried about was keeping the bar properly stocked for my guests. If you’re disappointed you’re welcome to do some shopping.”

“I’ll make it work.” He unstopped a decanter, sniffing the contents. “Who lived here again?”

“Mrs. Devereux,” Pansy replied boredly, weaving her long dark hair into a plait.

Draco poured the amber liquid into a low ball glass. “She’s no longer his mistress I take it?”

“She started sleeping with his business rival. You know how my father gets when it comes to competition. I’m surprised he didn’t have a contract put out on her. Actually, he might have. I haven't heard anything about her in some time.” She began wrapping the braid in a loose bun. “More spoils for me. The last house I was using was commandeered by Lestrange.”

Draco blinked, glancing over his shoulder. “Rod?”

She shook her head. “The other one.”

Draco sighed, facing forward and reaching for a bottle of champagne. “Great. Do I even want to know what he’s using it for?”

“Decidedly not.”

Draco popped the cork and tipped the bottle into a crystal flute, the sound of bubbling foam filling the room.

“Alright, I’ve let you into my hideaway _after_ you insulted me, and now I’m letting you drink the rest of my cabinet. You better have something good for me, Draco Malfoy.”

He handed her the flute.

“I suggested Tori should join a monastery.”

Pansy blinked, halting her sip. “To her face?”

“Yes. And Daphne overheard and threw me out.”

He sighed as Pansy erupted into the same hysterical laughter that Astoria had, only she looked far more pleased. She doubled over at one point but managed to keep her glass level all the while.

“I have no idea why that’s so bloody hilarious.”

“That’s because you’re a man,” she gasped for breath, wiping at her eyes.

“Tori said the same thing. I’m well aware, thank you.”

“You’re also a pompous arse with no regard for the welfare of anyone but yourself. But I’m sure you’re well aware of that, too.”

He blinked, the statement hitting him square in the chest.

“That isn’t true.” Even as he said it, he felt an underlying sense of unease unfurl in his gut. He wondered what it could be, he hadn’t eaten anything yet today. It certainly couldn't be shame. He never felt shame.

He refused to feel it now.

“I only made the suggestion for Tori’s sake. It wasn’t as though I demanded she became a nun! I was just trying to think of a permanent solution. I didn’t know it would send the female population into such a conniption or I wouldn’t have said it!”

“The fact that you didn’t know it would elicit such a reaction is exactly why you’re a pompous arse.” Her smile widened at his scowl. “It’s alright luv, what other way could you have turned out with the upbringing you had?”

“So my circumstances are to blame, then.”

“When are circumstances not to blame?” She took a sip from her glass. “Honestly, why would anyone ever take responsibility for something when there’s always the perfect scapegoat sitting in the wings?”

He ran a hand through his hair, groaning. “I take it that I said the worst thing possible?”

“Not quite. The worst thing would be suggesting she leap to her death from the roof her home. Wait a moment,” she tipped her head, gazing upward. “Actually, now that I think about it, for someone like Tori I think death would be preferable to a nunnery. So yes, you said the absolute worst possible thing. And you did so without even trying. Impressive.”

He shook his head, taking a seat across from her and setting his drink on the low table.

“I don’t understand why she threw such a fit. It’s not my fault there are so few alternatives for women besides marriage. If I could ship her off to Paris and put her up in a castle filled with everything she’s ever wanted I would, but unfortunately the only way to do that is by making her my wife. The only refuge offered to single women is the church.”

“Notice that in both those examples you dream of locking her away, whether in a castle or a nunnery, you want her behind closed doors.”

He blinked. “That isn’t- I didn’t mean it like that. I simply meant providing for her so she doesn’t have to be roped into another marriage contract.”

“Would you suggest locking Granger away in a castle or church?”

Draco reared back, nearly dropping his glass. “She has _nothing_ to do with this.”

“Doesn’t she have _everything_ to do with this?”

His jaw ticked. “I would be trying to find alternatives to this contract regardless.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, goddammit! Tori is like a sister to me, I’ve known her since the day she was born!”

“Alright then, let’s say you find a way out of marrying her. What about the next contract your father tries to arrange? And the next, and the next? The gentry extends well beyond London, Draco. There’s plenty of viable options to be had if your only reservation is marrying someone you’ve grown up with.”

He scowled, leaning back into the couch and crossing his arms. “This isn’t about me. I came here to discuss Tori. Daphne more or less banned me from the house, meddlesome witch that she is, and obviously I need help coming up with an alternative for her sister.”

Pansy set her flute on the table, leaning back in a casual sprawl. “Why are you so worried about Tori? Not to beat a dead horse, but concern for others isn’t your style.”

He ground his teeth together, hands clenching. “ _Stop_ saying that. I’m fucking caring.”

She smirked. “Yes, you’re a regular Saint.”

“At least I’m trying to change, then! What do you want from me? Would it be better if I left Tori to the clutches of her father and the rest of the vultures that want a piece of her fortune?”

Pansy sighed, her expression taking on a rare seriousness that few got to see.

“I think it’s honorable if your intentions are truly to help her. If you’re merely trying to assuage your guilt then I’m less inclined to assist.”

“What do I have to feel guilty over?”

She raised a brow. “If this arrangement falls by the wayside you know as well as I do Tori stands to suffer the worst for it. Passing her up to marry outside the gentry will leave her reputation in tatters. She’ll be a laughing stock, her father will be merciless, and I shudder to think of the man she’ll finally be saddled with.”

Draco leaned back, heart stuttering in his chest. He’d never thought through the full ramifications of his desires, at least not in terms of how it might affect anyone besides him and Hermione.

“Shite,” he whispered, tipping his head back against the cushion.

“Precisely,” she picked up her glass and took a delicate sip.

“What am I supposed to do?”

Pansy shrugged, the silk robe falling off one shoulder. She didn’t bother pulling it back in place.

“Have you ever considered just marrying her and keeping Granger for a mistress?”

Draco’s head snapped down, eyes narrowed.

“Clearly that’s a resounding no, got it.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, the bottom line is if you don’t marry Tori, someone else will. She’s blue blood. Her father is a traditionalist. There’s no escape for women like us.”

Draco blinked, her final statement catching him off guard. He raised a pale brow.

“So you and Theo…”

She groaned, tipping back the rest of her glass in a few convulsive swallows. “Yes.” She set the empty flute down with extra force.

“I think a refill is in order.”

“You aren’t as stupid as you look.”

“My perfect hair is misleading.”

“That’s one word for it.”

He made his way back to the bar. “When will it be announced?”

“I’ve no idea. My father hasn’t even told me officially. I oversaw the contract in his office the other day.”

“How is Theo taking it?”

“I haven’t discussed it with him either. You’re the first.”

Draco stopped mid-pour, gazing over his shoulder. “Are you… alright?”

She groaned. “Why did you have to choose today to develop empathy, Draco? Lord knows you have limited stores of it, better to save it all for the next time you see Tori.”

He set his jaw. “I don’t think she wants to speak with me for a while.”

“Well, unfortunately, neither of you have a while.”

“What should I do, Pans?”

She sighed, taking the newly filled glass from his hands.

“The next time you see her, try listening.”

He blinked.

“You have heard of listening, yes?”

He rolled his eyes, falling back into the cushions with a groan of resignation.

“Men are always so busy attempting to find a solution they don’t even understand the problem. Let her do the talking next time. You might be surprised what you learn.”

He tilted his head, studying her profile in the morning light.

“You know something.”

She smirked. “I know many things. I’m quite brilliant.”

“About Tori.”

“If I did I most certainly wouldn’t tell you. Woman’s code and all that.”

“Pans-”

“If you want to know her secrets try talking _with_ her instead of _to_ her. That’s all I have to say on the matter. Now,” she swung her legs over the side, rising to her feet, “I’m going back to bed. Feel free to drink yourself into a stupor. Just don’t disturb me.”

She strode past him, robe billowing around her legs, completely at ease in her scant dressing. As she neared the doorway Draco took a deep breath, calling her attention without looking at her.

“Pans.”

He heard her footsteps slow.

“If you do ever want to talk about it, I’m here.”

The room was silent for several beats. Then she laughed, light and airy.

“Why, Draco, perhaps there’s hope for you yet.”

* * *

Hermione took a deep breath, eyes narrowed in concentration as she examined the form resting on the counter between her and the dark figure at her side.

“Inventory is divided into five categories,” Snape said, voice clipped. “Tonics, Purifiers, Cathartics, Oxygenators, and Stimulants.”

She nodded along with his words, tilting her head and he drew a finger along the parchment, pointing out specific product listings.

“I do not sell the purifiers in their natural form, there is no evidence they cleanse the blood. However, the active ingredients are useful in certain mixtures I sell for other purposes. We keep the stock behind the counter, away from customers. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now-” he stopped short, scowling. “I cannot tell if you are suffering from indigestion or a thought. Nor do I care, as long as you keep either to yourself.”

Hermione sighed, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. His expression pinched further.

“Obviously you will continue to sulk until you give voice to whatever meaningless notion is rattling about in your head. Speak.”

She gazed up. “Do you consider oxygenators worthy of your shop?”

His dark eyes narrowed. “I take it you do not?”

“Well, I…” she drew back, cheeks tinging pink. “Nevermind, please continue.”

He raised a brow. “You are no shrinking violet, Ms. Granger, do not act like one now. You presented this topic for discussion, so we shall discuss it.”

She swallowed lightly, feeling like a frog being dissected beneath his penetrating gaze. “There’s no evidence that oxygenators increase blood flow to the brain. The only medical studies sanctioned by the board were conducted at St. Martin’s Hospital several years ago and returned inconclusive results for increased cognitive function or well being.”

He pulled to his full height, staring down his prominent nose at her.

“Your ability to prattle off useless information without taking a breath should warrant a study in oxygenation itself.”

Hermione lost the battle, eyes rolling of their own accord.

“While your skills at memorizing random facts are unparalleled, I had hoped you possessed critical thinking capabilities as well. Alas, it seems my expectations were too high.”

She bristled, shoulders drawing back. While his passing insults usually glanced off her shoulders, this one felt personal, an attack on her most prized possession, her intelligence.

“If you have a point to make, I’d greatly appreciate if you simply made it.”

He cocked his head. “Your temper is shorter than usual today, Ms. Granger. Perhaps it is also clouding your ability to see the most rudimentary of solutions staring you in the face.”

She blinked, shoulders deflating.

_What was he on abou-_

She blinked again, realization dawning. She sighed, tipping her head back, frustrated with herself.

“Oxygenators pull blood to the surface. They can be mixed with salves and pastes to promote healing of the dermis and increase circulatory function.”

The corner of his mouth lifted even as his eyes narrowed. “That took you long enough.”

She glanced away. “I’m having an off day.”

“An _off day_ ,” he made the words sound sordid. “I don’t know what that means, but I’ll chalk it up to women’s troubles and insist you never speak of it again.”

She fell silent, fighting back a groan of exasperation. Her nerves were still rattled after last night’s… episode. She still wasn’t certain what occurred. She just prayed it never happened again. And given her award-winning streak of bad luck, she had a sinking suspicion things would only get worse from here.

She spent the remainder of her night confiding the details of her haunting hallucinations to Parvati, sitting on the foot of her friend’s bed and wringing her hands together all the while, terrified speaking the truth aloud would cause the ghastly apparitions to appear before her eyes and drag her to the pits of hell from whence they surely came.

Alas, nothing occurred, the sun slowly rising in the east and filling the room with its warm glow, erasing the shadows from the corners of the room and Parvati's tightly drawn face.

Hermione hadn’t been certain how her friend would react, but she knew without a shred of doubt that she wouldn’t turn her in, even out of concern. Parvati understood the harsh realities of the world they lived in better than most, and that reporting Hermione’s affliction meant forced confinement in a mental asylum, a fate worse than death.

But promising to keep it a secret did nothing to alleviate the girl’s fear and worry. Hermione felt guilty burdening her with even more stress. But at the same time, she felt an enormous weight lifted from her chest, allowing her to breathe properly for the first time in weeks. Perhaps in months.

She wasn’t alone anymore.

That simple fact brightened her outlook considerably. She took comfort in the fact she wouldn’t have to harbor these dark visions in solitude, even if she was the only one who could see them.

While both girls agreed whatever was happening was confined to Hermione’s mind, neither willing to entertain ideas of supernatural forces at play, the conclusion only made the incidents more frightening.

Because that meant something was wrong with _her_. Something that couldn’t be seen or touched or addressed in a medical book.

Sickness of the mind was still a largely undeveloped field of study. Most medical professionals didn’t give it much credence. The select few alienists in practice were typically assigned to treat only the worst cases of insanity. Even so, such modern approaches were rare, brutal physical therapies and isolation remained the most popular remedies offered to the afflicted.

Parvati had begged her to spend the day inside the Home in the wake of her sleepwalking episode. But Hermione refused to stay cooped up in her room. That would only allow her thoughts to wander, for the painful memories to creep back up from the depths from which she’d banished them. She was already having trouble distinguishing hallucination from reality, nightmare from memory. The last thing she wanted was confinement.

So Hermione bathed and dressed and showed up to the Apothecary for her second official day of work. But it seemed she’d left her good sense somewhere between her bedroom and the shop, because it certainly wasn’t in her possession.

Snape tilted his head once more, a large bird of prey bearing down upon her.

“Have you eaten today?”

She blinked. The question was so unexpected it took her several beats to derive the meaning of his words.

“Yes, I had breakfast.”

His visage fell into its natural sardonic repose. She suspected his facial muscles froze into such a mask after a lifetime of considering everyone in his midst an idiot.

And then she wondered if there was anyone Snape was fond of in this whole wide world, now or in the past. The idea of him smiling, of his eyes alight with excitement by the mere presence of another, was so obscene it made her want to laugh.

Yet she suspected he wouldn’t find the same amusement in the anecdote, so she forced the wayward thoughts from her mind.

“I suggest you take your lunch break now. Eat something with starch. Avoid the sugary concoctions the gypsies are pedaling from their carts or you’ll be passed out against the shelf in another two hours. Then again, that may be preferable for me. Eat what you will.” His eyes narrowed. “Just be sure to _eat_.”

She blinked again, trying to make sense of his remark even as he walked away without preamble.

After spending so much time in the man’s company she’d come to understand Snape showed his concern in a rather unique fashion. Compliments were disguised between insults and rarely paid, but when they were it meant even more to her.

Regard for her welfare was a new one, but she found herself strangely moved, despite his callous approach.

She knew better than to linger inside after she’d been so clearly dismissed. She put away the inventory list and quickly exited the shop, emerging into the bustling street with a sigh of relief.

It felt good to be surrounded by such movement and noise, so many blessed distractions, so little time to wander aimlessly through the dark caverns of her mind.

She didn’t have an appetite, but she forced herself to eat, picking at a honeyed roll from the corner bakery as she walked along the sidewalk, gazing into storefront windows.

The bread was sweet on her tongue, almost too sweet, but then she bumped shoulders with a man walking in the opposite direction and it quickly turned to ash in her mouth.

She didn’t know him, didn’t recognize him, but he had a crop of salt and pepper hair that reminded her too much of Dolohov, and her stomach clenched painfully. She released a slow breath, watching the stranger progress down the road, and shook her head at her visceral reaction.

She had vowed to never fall victim to him again, to _anyone_ again, but within mere minutes he’d had her sequestered alone in the hallway, cornered against the wall like a terrified doe. Had she not thought to flee to the clinic she had no doubt that she’d be having a very different day.

But she had thought to flee to the clinic, her bet on the Doctor paying off. She had known on some instinctual level that he would understand her plight without the need for words. He’d looked into her eyes and read the terror, and as she expected, he didn’t bother to ask for explanations. He simply acted. He protected her.

She took another bite of bread, letting it sit on her tongue, pressing it to the roof of her mouth as her thoughts slowly trailed into the shadowy caverns…

And then someone grabbed her arm.

She shrieked, spinning around and dropping her roll to the cobblestone, eyes wide with shock.

Then she gasped.

“Harry?”

“Christ, I didn’t mean to scare you, didn’t you hear me calling your name?”

She blinked. “No, I-” she shook her head. “It’s fine.” She took a deep breath. “What are you doing here?”

“You told me in your letter you’re working at the Apothecary today. I thought I’d press my advantage and see you in person without one of us having to scale a fence.”

She smiled, senses returning as she grasped his arm, letting him escort her through the sea of pedestrian traffic.

“I’m so happy you came by, Harry. I’ve been having such a-” she paused, about to say dreadful and thinking better of it. Harry would only worry, and _dig_. She wasn’t ready to broach the topic with him yet. “Such a tiresome day,” she tried instead, forcing as much cheer into her voice as she could muster. “But seeing you chases the clouds away.”

Harry blinked.

“Bloody hell, Mione. Did you just _rhyme_? Christ, now I know something terrible’s happened.”

She sighed, barely skirting a groan.

“Everything’s-”

“Let me guess, cheery and bright, more than alright?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I thought we were reciting poetry.” His boyish smirk pulled at her heart. “Perhaps I’ll sweep you off your feet and serenade you on the street.”

“Oh my god.”

“It’s not an easy thing to do to think these up on cue.”

“I’m two seconds away from pretending I don’t know you.”

“There was a woman from Nantucket who sat on a bucket-”

“Enough!”

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “I was running out of material.”

She rolled her eyes. “That was very impressive. I pray you got it out of your system for the duration of our friendship.”

“No promises.”

She smiled, her earlier melancholy long forgotten. “So, are you simply here to waste an afternoon _serenading_ me, as you say?”

His roguish grin fell at the corners, the gleam in his eyes diminishing just a fraction. Most people wouldn’t have noticed anything. But Hermione knew Harry better than she knew herself most days.

“What is it?”

He forced his expression into something light and casual. “Nothing serious, I just wanted to ask you a couple questions.”

She clutched his arm more tightly. “About what?”

He glanced away, the most telling gesture of all. “Lavender.”

She stopped dead in her tracks. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing, I just-”

“Harry James Potter, look at me.”

He sighed, coming to a halt beside her and finally meeting her gaze. “Mione, really, I just wanted to ask you more questions about her, to help me continue the search.”

She tipped her head. “I know you too well to buy that. You’re hiding something.” Her eyes narrowed, pinning him in place. “Tell me.”

He ran a hand through his full locks, jaw tensing. “I just wanted to get a better idea of what she looks like. Her name isn’t ringing any bells for anyone but maybe if I had a more detailed description of her someone will recall seeing her.”

She straightened, sensing there was more he wasn’t telling her. It itched at her brain, the inaudible whisper that something was amiss.

“I thought we promised no more secrets.”

He swallowed. “I’m not-”

“ _Harry_.”

He deflated before her eyes, posture turning in as the air left his lungs in one fell swoop.

“Bloody hell,” he rubbed a hand over his face. “I wasn’t trying to hide anything, I just wanted to wait until I knew for sure-”

“Knew what? Just tell me, Harry.” She placed her hands on her hips, frustration taking the helm of her emotions.

His lingering silence was ominous, sending her heart aflutter.

“They pulled a girl from the Thames.”

She reared back.

“We don’t know if it’s Lavender,” he said quickly, raising his hands. “All they know is it’s a young woman, they haven’t been able to identify her yet. I wanted to take a look for myself, but all I know about her is that she’s blonde.”

Hermione blinked, spine going rigid, braced for the battle to come. “I need to see the body.”

As expected, Harry’s eyes hardened. “Absolutely not.”

“It’s the only way to be certain. Even if I describe her to the best of my ability you’ve never seen her, you could misidentify her one way or the other.”

“There’s no way in hell I’m letting you-”

“I’m not asking for your permission, Harry.”

He rolled his eyes, tossing his head back. “I knew you’d do this! That’s why I-”

“That’s why you misled me, yes, I’m well aware! I’m sick and tired of people thinking I’m some delicate-”

“This has nothing to do with you being delicate, Hermione! You’re talking about viewing the potential dead body of your friend! Think about it. Is that really how you want to remember her? I’m only trying to protect you from yourself.”

She drew back, chest heaving, mindless of the nearby spectators they were attracting.

“That isn’t for you to decide, Harry. You don’t get to know what’s best for me simply because you’re a man.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t throw that in my face, Mione! I’ve never, _ever_ tried to exert control over you because you’re a woman!”

“You do, Harry! All the bloody time! It’s so ingrained in our relationship you don’t even realize you’re doing it! You’re so used to being the Great Protector that you assume I’m too weak to face anything on my own!”

“How can you say that? I’ve always said you’re the smartest person I know!”

“Intelligence has nothing to do with strength. You didn’t tell me about the body because you didn’t think I’d be able to handle it.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying this! I’m- This is- God! I can’t even talk to you right now!”

“Stop yelling!”

“I can’t help it!” He threw his hands out. “I yell when I’m angry!”

She crossed her arms. “You’re angry because you know I’m right.”

“I’m angry because I’m scared!”

They blinked, both taken aback by the admission.

“What?”

He sighed deeply, scrubbing both hands across his face, exhaustion in his eyes.

“I’m scared, Mione. For you. All the damn time. It’s never-ending.”

She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have involved you with this-”

“I’m not talking about Lavender. Although that certainly hasn’t helped matters. I’m talking about you. All of you. All of this.” He gestured to her with a wave of his hand. She glanced down to inspect her person, searching for something amiss.

“I don’t understand.”

“I know you don’t. And that’s what scares me the most. Because you’re the most brilliant person I know and you don’t see a problem with any of this.”

Her jaw ticked in growing frustration. “Any of _what_ , Harry?”

“You’ve isolated yourself from everyone and everything that once comprised your life, Mione. You’re clearly not taking care of yourself. And you insist on living in that Girls Home when you have multiple friends begging you to live with them.” He raised a hand as she opened her mouth. “And don’t give me that drivel about reputations. Because I don’t believe it for a second. You accuse me of keeping secrets, what about _you_?”

Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as she took a reflexive step back.

“I know something’s happened. Something beyond the fire. I know this isn’t just grief. I know grief. And the fact that you won't tell me what it is _kills me_. Every single day. And I know if I ask, you’ll lie, and that hurts even more, so I don’t ask. And I feel like an arse for not asking. And I feel completely helpless and I _hate_ feeling helpless. Every time I look at you I feel like a failure. As a friend, a brother, a protector. Any title I might have worn has been stripped away. So yes, I tried to keep the body a secret. Because I’m terrified it’s going to be the feather that breaks the camel’s back and takes you from me altogether.”

Hermione blinked rapidly, his stricken face obscured by the tears brimming in her eyes. Her throat had closed halfway through his impassioned speech. She tried to swallow past the constriction.

“Harry, I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t know what else to say, crippled by guilt in light of this new reality he’d set forth. She had no idea her current circumstances affected him so. She’d foolishly hoped his Naval career kept him too preoccupied to focus on what was happening back home.

“I don’t want you to be sorry, Mione. I want you to be happy.”

She glanced away, unable to stare into the raw emotion and sincerity in his eyes. Harry had been a central figure in her life for so long, the surviving foundation beneath the rubble of her old life, she couldn’t bear to see the cracks that had formed.

“I need to see that body, Harry. I have to see it with my own eyes. No matter the consequences.”

He released a long breath through his nose, embers fading in his eyes.

“Alright then. How are we going to do this?”

She was grateful for his surrender. She knew it was only temporary, that she was biding her time and prolonging the inevitable, but she would worry about that later. In all this chaos she only had the capacity to worry about what was directly in front of her, and right now, getting to the morgue was her first priority.

“I can’t leave work, it’s only my second day and I really don’t feel like explaining the situation to my boss.”

She sighed, running a hand along her neck as she thought. “If I’m late returning to the Home my Matron will have a field day. She has her henchman waiting up for me every evening. Which means…” she wet her lips, meeting his gaze once more. “I’m going to have to sneak out again.”

He shook his head. “You spend more time climbing over the walls than inside them.”

“It certainly feels that way.”

“Are you sure you can manage it again, so soon after the last time?”

She bit her lip, slowly nodding. “Yes, I think so. I’ll be careful.”

He looked reluctant to agree, but to his credit, he tamped down any remaining argument. “Alright. I’ll wait for you outside with a carriage.”

“No, that’ll draw too much attention, especially if I’m delayed leaving. I’ll have to meet you there.”

Harry blinked. “I don’t think-”

“That it’s a good idea? None of this is a good idea, but it’s happening anyway.”

He rubbed at his eyes. “Fine. I’ll meet you there.”

She hated this version of Harry, lacking the usual fire and passion that distinguished him from all others.

“I don’t want things to be this way between us, Harry.”

He swallowed lightly. “Neither do I.”

“May I…” she bit her lip, shifting awkwardly. “May I hug you?”

He blinked. And then his face transformed once more, a bark of laughter cutting the tension like a knife. “You had better.”

She smiled in relief, stepping forward at once and wrapping her arms around him, closing her eyes and relishing his hold. Harry had always been a primary source of comfort. She fought back tears as she realized his presence no longer banished away all her fears and worries.

They slowly broke apart, meeting each other’s gaze.

“I love you, Mione.”

She took a deep breath, emotions warring within her.

“I love you, too, Harry.”

Of that she was certain.

She just hoped love was enough to keep them tethered together through the storm to come.

* * *

Harry practically jogged up the steps leading to the massive black doors, an ominous omen of the danger housed within, literally and figuratively.

He knew he shouldn’t be here.

Coming here was stupid. Short-sighted. Disastrous.

But he could think of nowhere else to go following his explosive encounter with Hermione. His emotions were still caught in a whirlwind. He hadn’t been able to release the full force of his frustrations with her, his driving need to protect her too strong to be overcome by the simple heat of an argument.

So he sought out the one person he could take out his pent-up aggression on.

He banged on the door with the side of his closed fist, heart racing.

The barrier gave way to reveal the butler on the other side, eyes widening as they fell upon Harry.

“Mr. Potter, good afternoon, Sir.”

Harry nodded. “Good afternoon, Winslow. I’m here to speak to speak with The-” he stopped short, swallowing lightly. “I’m here to speak with Nott.”

“Young Master Nott is currently in his chambers, I shall fetch him for you.”

“Thank you, Winslow.” He stepped inside, passing up the parlor for the drawing room. It had only one door, easier to see who was coming.

He paced the room anxiously, circling the tufted sofa with heaving breaths, running through the last two days in his mind.

All this shite with Hermione, her missing friend, his promotion… he no longer had control over any facet of his life, everything was happening so fast, changing so fast, it was all too much-

“For Christ’s sake, Potter, have you lost your bloody mind?”

Harry glanced up sharply, so consumed by his thoughts he hadn’t heard Theo descend the stairs or enter the room.

Theo looked over his shoulder into the hall, sighing and closing the door.

“What are you- Mfh!”

Harry slammed him against the back of the door, mouth silencing the rest of his words, swallowing them with a groan of satisfaction as his tongue lapped against Theo’s, invading the warm caverns within.

Theo’s hands clutched at Harry’s shoulders, then slid down to squeeze his biceps before descending to his narrow waist. Harry held Theo’s head in place with one hand on his neck and the other clutching his dark hair in a fist, angling him just right, devouring him one ragged moan at a time.

He pressed their bodies flush, heights aligned, pelvises bumping, erections grazing. Theo mewled low in his throat, Harry growled, biting his lover’s bottom lip and jerking his head back to scrape his teeth along his exposed neck.

“Po- Potter…” Theo swallowed thickly, Adam's apple bobbing beneath Harry’s tongue and teeth. “Potter, we can’t… not here.”

Harry once again forced his silence with his mouth, hands releasing his head to grip his hips, pinning him against the door as Harry ground against him at a relentless pace.

“Fuck!” Theo gasped, eyes rolling back into his head.

“We’re getting there.” Harry’s voice sounded foreign to his ears, dark and low. Theo didn’t seem to mind in the least, hands fisting in Harry’s undershirt, dragging the material free from his pants and sliding beneath, soft fingertips and blunt nails carving paths along his back.

The world fell away. All the stress and anger and confusion melted at his lover’s eager touch. The only reality that existed was Theo’s rumbling groans and desperate gasps, the salty sweet of his skin and the searing heat of his touch.

Until those skillful hands released his back and slammed into his chest hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. Harry staggered back, bereft of the other man’s warmth.

“Fuck! Christ, Theo!”

Theo gasped for breath, leaning his weight against the door as he pinned Harry with a narrow gaze.

“That’s my line, Potter. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I thought I’d made my intentions perfectly clear.”

“This isn’t a joke.”

“Let me show you how serious I am.”

Theo held up a hand, halting Harry’s approach. “You must be insane to think I’d do this in my father’s house.”

“Your father isn’t here.”

“The staff _is_. The same staff who saw the two of us enter the _same_ room and close the bloody door!”

Harry drew in a deep breath through his nose, spine straightening. “Then come with me to Grimmauld. Sirius will be busy all afternoon-”

“What’s gotten into you?” Theo raised a dark brow, eyes roaming Harry’s disheveled figure. “What happened?”

Harry blinked, fists clenching at his sides. “Nothing’s happened. Thanks to you.”

Theo swallowed, breathing finally regulated. “I’m not joking around about this, Potter. You can’t even imagine what my father would do if he suspected something, _anything_ , like this was happening. Little less under his own roof.”

Then he wet his lips, straightening his clothing and running fingers through his dark hair. “I know you’ve never had much good sense to begin with, but you certainly have more than this. Now you can choose to talk to me about whatever’s got you in such a state or you can leave. I couldn’t care less either way.”

Harry scowled. “Fine, I’ll leave!”

Theo rolled his eyes. “Always so immature.”

“I didn't hear you complaining a moment ago.”

“At least tuck your shirt in before you go storming into the hall like a Neanderthal.”

“I doubt Neanderthals tuck their shirts in.”

Theo sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I take back what I said at the bar. You’re starting to annoy me as well as drive me insane.”

Harry’s jaw tick as he violently tucked his shirt in, taking out his aggravation on the fabric as though it was the source of all his problems.

“Fucking hell, Potter. What is the matter with you?”

“You gave me a choice, talk or leave. I’m leaving.”

Theo folded his arms, continuing to lean against the door, blocking his only exit.

“I’ve changed my mind. You’re not leaving until you tell me what the hell your problem is.”

“I’m not in the fucking mood, Theo.”

“Well, you certainly had me fooled when you were dry humping my leg a second ago.”

Harry tossed his head back with a heavy sigh. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. But you did. And now you’re going to tell me why.”

The turbulence had calmed in his chest enough for Harry to feel a touch foolish. He ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes.

“I got into a fight with Mione. I… I don’t know why I came here.”

Theo rolled his eyes. “I should think it quite obvious. You’re terrified of wilting your delicate flower so you stormed over here to bruise me.”

Harry blinked. “I didn’t- I don’t-”

“Calm down, Potter. I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

Harry swallowed. “Hermione said the same thing. About me treating her like she’s fragile. I didn’t think it was true.”

“For someone so in touch with his emotions you choose to deny the strangest things.”

Harry glanced away, walking to the sofa and collapsing into the cushions, suddenly feeling quite drained. Theo pushed away from the door and made his way over, sitting beside him in a much more dignified manner.

“I feel like I’m losing her. But I’m starting to wonder if I’m not just pushing her away.”

“You’ll never lose her, Potter. The two of you are thicker than thieves. Add in that ginger lap dog always drooling all over the pair of you and you make quite the quaint little image.”

Harry glanced sideways at him. “You know I love her like a sister. There’s never been and never will be anything between us.”

“Christ, I’m not jealous, no need to reassure me.”

Harry nodded. “Good. Because I can’t even reassure myself at this point. I’m watching her deteriorate and I can’t do anything about it. It’s driving me mental.”

Theo sighed, leaning back and folding an arm behind his head. “I’ve told you countless times what your problem is, but you never listen to me.”

“I do _not_ have a hero complex.”

Theo rolled his eyes. “As I said, I’m endlessly fascinated by your denial.”

“I thought you wanted to have a serious discussion.”

Theo maintained his casual repose but his eyes narrowed dangerously. “I assure you, I’m quite serious. In fact, I’m being brutally honest. Your constant need to save others is slowly killing you.”

Harry glanced at him sharply. “Don’t you think that’s a bit dramatic?”

“Look at the state you’re in, Potter. Completely falling apart because your friend won’t let you run her life for her.”

“I don’t want to run her life! I just want to-”

“Tell her where to live, what to eat, how to spend her free time?”

Harry blinked, reeling back. “What? No! Of course not! Wanting her in a safe environment isn’t me trying to control her, it’s wanting her to be safe and provided for! And yes I want her to fucking eat more but I could give two shites what she-”

“My _point_ is, Potter, that you think you know what’s best for her, and in your misguided attempts to push her towards those choices you’ve driven a wedge between the two of you. The good news is the wedge is completely removable. The bad news is you have to be the one to remove it.”

Harry tilted his head, studying Theo’s aristocratic profile. “How long have you been waiting to tell me all that?”

“Since we started fucking and you started droning on about your idiot friends.”

“It’s called pillow talk.”

Theo’s stoic expression was broken by a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“I suppose that’s why I prefer chairs and walls to beds.”

“I’m not complaining.”

He met Harry’s gaze. “Has your sanity finally returned, then?”

“Unfortunately. I’m sorry I came.”

“I thought I pushed you away in time.”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “You did. I’m sorry I put you in that position.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you pinned me against a door.”

“It won’t be the last.”

Theo’s eyes flickered to Harry’s mouth. “Good.”

“I should probably go before the staff starts getting wild ideas.”

Theo sighed, glancing away. “Winslow will keep them in line. He looks out for me the best he can.”

Harry studied him some more, rubbing his palms on his thighs. “I knew I liked him.”

“He likes you as well. Otherwise, he’d never have let you in. Father’s wrath is not easily skirted.”

“Is he-”

“As you said, you should probably go.” Theo stood, keeping his back averted to Harry as he walked past.

Harry leaped to his feet and grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around and pressing a soft kiss to his lips, beckoning hands slow and tender in the wake of their earlier clawing and desperation.

Theo responded instantly, allowing Harry to coax his lips apart, tongues gently gliding. Then he pulled back, just enough to inhale sharply, hands clutching Harry’s waist as he rested their foreheads together.

“I’m marrying Pansy.”

Harry jolted, held in place by Theo’s strong grip. He opened his mouth but no words formed. His heart climbed into his throat, the rapid thrum of his pulse resounding through his entire body.

Theo swallowed, blinking rapidly, eyes glittering like the sapphires they so emulated.

“Say something.”

Harry's jaw was locked, his mind a barren desert, things like language and speech abstract concepts to his overloaded mind.

Theo sucked in a long, shaky breath, fingertips digging painfully into Harry’s waist.

“Please say something.” Their lips grazed, noses brushing. “ _Harry_.”

Hearing his name on Theo’s lips at long last drove a metal spike through his heart. The blood rained down and pooled along his feet with each successive beat.

He shared his lover’s breath for a moment more before gently extracting himself from his hold.

“I have to go.”

Theo blinked, expression pinching before he glanced away sharply. Harry stepped away in a numb stupor, dripping blood all over the expensive carpets and fine upholstery. When Theo gazed upon his once more his mask was firmly in place, all trace of emotion gone.

“Goodbye, Potter.

Harry swallowed heavily.

“Goodbye, Nott.”

Theo’s eyes hardened, jaw ticking, but anything that came after that was lost to Harry as he turned around and left, desperate to find a dark, damp patch of earth to burrow into as his heart drained itself entirely.

* * *

“She’s going to kill me if she finds out.”

“She’ll understand, you’re doing this for all of us. It is a great burden to bear.”

Hermione sighed, lying back on Luna’s bed and staring at the ceiling. She felt the mattress dip as Hanna sat beside her.

“She’s right, Mione. Someone who’s seen Lavender in person has to go. I don’t think I could stomach it.”

“It’s not that,” Hermione closed her eyes. “Parv will be pissed I’m not telling her I’m going. She’ll think I went behind her back.”

“Well, you are.”

Hermione’s eyes snapped open, head turning. “Thanks, Luna.”

“But you’re doing it for her own good. Parvati would insist on coming along, and that would only risk her welfare as well as the mission itself.”

Hermione swallowed, glancing back to the ceiling. She felt incredibly guilty withholding these new findings from her roommate, but Luna was right. Parvati would insist on going, seeing the potential body of their missing friend for herself, and would only complicate matters further.

However, she knew Parvati would note Hermione’s absence, especially if the errand kept her out past curfew, so she enlisted her other friends’ help.

“I don’t want to put either of you in a position to lie for me. If she asks where I am, you can tell her the truth, just make sure she doesn’t try and take off after me.”

Hannah nodded. “Don’t worry, Mione. We’ll take care of things here. If you’re out late one of us will sleep in your bed again.”

Hermione sighed. “Thank you. Let’s hope I’m back before then, I have a feeling Filch is going to be extra obsessive with his rounds after the fiasco two nights ago.”

She’d filled the girls in about most of the evening’s events, including the pot and lantern mishap. She didn’t tell them why she’d dropped the lantern, only Parvati knew about the eyeless apparition. And no one knew about her encounter with the Doctor.

Some secrets were better kept under lock and key.

“Even if security is tightened there’s only so much he can do. He’s one person, he can’t be everywhere at once, much as he likes to pretend he’s omnipotent.” Hannah rolled her eyes. “Besides, he can’t come into our rooms, even if he suspects something amiss. He’d have to grab Umbridge.”

Hermione set her jaw. “I think I’d prefer Filch coming into my room.”

Hannah laughed. “I’d have to agree with you. So when are you heading out?”

“Soon. I need to figure out a way to get free without the other residents spotting me. The usual routes are being watched by Marietta and her gang.”

Hannah tipped her head, clearly thinking as well.

“I know a way.”

They both glanced to Luna, sitting crossed legged at the head of the bed, pulling twine around a wooden hoop. Hermione had no idea what the girl was making and didn’t bother asking, sometimes Luna was better left to her own devices.

“Really?” To Hermione’s knowledge, Luna had never snuck out before. “Where?”

“Through the clinic.”

Hermione jolted upright.

“What?”

Luna kept her gaze averted to her craft project. “The windows open and are plenty large to step through. Then you merely have to slip through the gate.”

Hermione blinked. “I…” she opened and closed her mouth, thoughts whirling. “How do you know the windows open?”

Luna halted her work, body tensing for the space between heartbeats, and then gazed up with a serene smile.

“I’ve seen them open before, last summer when the heat wave came through. We propped open the double doors to let the air flow circulate.”

Hannah’s brows drew together. “I think I remember that.”

Hermione chewed on the inside of her cheek. “That’s a good idea, Luna. I just have to break into the clinic. The doors are locked after close.”

“Then you should hurry, it’s open for another twenty minutes.”

“She can’t go while the Doctor is still there.”

Luna met Hermione’s eyes. Her blue gaze was normally calming, but for some inexplicable reason, Hermione felt unsettled by it.

“Right. My mistake.” She held her gaze for a moment longer before glancing down, threading more twine over the hoop.

Hermione swallowed, shifting anxiously on the bed. “Well…” she cleared her throat, pushing to her feet. “I should probably go change. If I don’t see you before curfew thank you both again. And if Parvati gets mad, tell her…” she sighed, shaking her head. “Never mind. I’ll tell her.”

“Don’t worry about her, Mione.” Hannah’s face held a deep concern, furthering unsettling her weary nerves. “Worry about you tonight. This is for Lav.”

Hermione nodded, taking a deep breath and slipping quietly from the room.

And then pressing her back against the wall, tipping her head to the ceiling and closing her eyes.

Shite.

Shite shite shite.

She just couldn’t avoid entangling this man in her complicated life.

_I’ll wait until he leaves. Then I’ll find a way to sneak inside the clinic._

She sighed, shaking her head.

_The door will be locked. How am I supposed to get a key?_

She opened her eyes, already knowing what needed to be done but delaying the inevitable.

_You have twenty minutes to find your courage._

He hadn’t been angry that she went to Amortentia.

_“Did you find anything useful?”_

Those had been his exact words. He’d understood her need to go, to find answers.

_“I cannot bring myself to punish that which I admire.”_

She chewed her lip, hands curling at her sides.

_Perhaps he’ll understand this, too._

There was only one way to find out.

_The worst he can do is say no, and I’ll be back where I started. He won't report me to Umbridge._

_We’re past that illusion._

The simple truth sent a thrill through her body, animating her limbs and compelling her to make the jaunt downstairs. She braced herself outside the familiar doors, trying to keep her breath steady.

And then she pushed them open, stepping inside on a deep inhale. This place held a special meaning to her now, especially after yesterday. She would never think of it as just a clinic again.

“You spend nearly as much time here as I do, Ms. Granger.”

She spun around. He was seated behind the desk, gaze averted down on his work. She wet her lips.

“It would seem that way.”

His eyes flickered up. “How are you feeling?”

She blinked, then recalled their last interaction.

“I’m feeling much recovered. Thank you for asking.”

“I am your physician, it is my duty to ask such questions.”

She swallowed nervously, daring to take a step closer. He raised a dark brow, leaning back in his chair and pinning her with the intensity of his gaze.

“You want something.”

She froze in place, heart stuttering.

“I- well, I need to-” amusement danced in his eyes. “I need to leave the grounds.”

He tilted his head. She felt a hot flush consume her.

“Do you now.”

Her hands curled at her sides.

“And I need to sneak out through the clinic windows to do so.”

The silence was deafening.

And then he smirked.

“I’ve come to expect the unexpected from you, Ms. Granger,” he said slowly. “And yet you still manage to surprise me.”

She took another step closer. “I know this is asking a lot, but I wouldn’t dare ask if I had any other option.”

His amused expression turned unreadable. “I take it this has to do with Lavender Brown?”

Hearing her friend’s name from his lips was strangely unsettling. She nodded quickly. “Yes. I need to visit the morgue. A body washed up in the river last night and they haven’t been able to identify it.”

And then his visage changed once more. Shadows moved along the sharp planes of his face, sinking his cheekbones and darkening his brow, hardening his gleaming eyes to diamond points, until suddenly one of Milton’s fabled fallen angels was seated before her.

She knew nothing of this man, nothing of his background or motivations, but in that moment she knew with absolute certainty she was gazing upon a tortured soul. It called to her, a siren song of pain that her own heart danced to quite often.

And she knew that he would let her go.

She swayed on her feet, fighting the magnetic pull of his gaze. The shadows cleared from view, rendering him a mortal man of flesh and bone once again. He pushed away from the desk.

“Very well, Ms. Granger. Let’s go.”

She blinked, snapping out of her daze.

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard me.” He reached for his coat draped over the back of the chair. “I cannot condone you roaming through the city by yourself, no matter how noble the purpose. If something happened to you it would be my fault.”

She took a deep breath. “I won’t be alone, I’m meeting someone there.”

His movements slowed, just a touch, gaze snapping to hers. “I see.”

She swallowed, feeling the need to explain, speaking before her mind could edit the content.

“My friend, Harry. He’s the one who told me about the body. He wanted to pick me up from here but I insisted he meet with me instead. I thought a carriage parked along the street would only draw suspicion.”

He smoothed his high collar. “A wise decision. One that changes nothing.”

She bristled. “I don’t need a chaperone, it’s only-”

“You are a very intelligent young woman, Hermione. Surely you recognize a losing battle when you see it."

She was rendered mute. Not by his statement but by his use of her first name. Hearing him say it always scrambled her thoughts.

Perhaps he knew that, and used the tactic to his advantage…

“Very good.” He smirked, and then held out his arm for her to grab, further upending her mind. “Shall we?”

She stared at the offering dumbly. “I… I can’t go out the front with you. I’m under house arrest.”

“I won’t have you crawling through windows and climbing over gates like a common criminal.”

She drew in a breath. “But, Umbridge…”

His mouth curved into a Cheshire grin, lightning flashing in his eyes. “That’s not for you to worry about. I’ll take care of the Madam.” He held his arm aloft once more. “Let’s go, Hermione.”

Her name was a spell on his lips, rendering her pliable beneath his will. She stepped forward and placed her hands on his arm, feeling the ground beneath her tilt as her fingers pressed into the dark fabric of his sleeve.

After they passed through the doors into the hall he placed a hand over her own, making her entire arm tingle even as her heart leaped into her throat. He gently removed her fingers from his arm as he spun around and pulled a set of keys from his coat.

She watched as he locked the doors, biting her lip once more.

“It’s alright if you leave the Home?”

He raised a dark brow. “I am a man grown, Umbridge holds no sway over me.”

She swallowed. “That's not what-”

“I know what you meant.” He replaced the keys into his breast pocket and grabbed her hand without warning, tucking it back into the crook of his arm and resuming their path down the hall. “The Home went several months without a physician, I think they can manage one evening.”

She nodded. “I just don’t want to,” she wet her lips, searching for the appropriate words. “I don’t want to monopolize your time.”

He shook his head, eyes focused ahead. “What did I tell you about always being so placating?”

She stared at his profile in a half-trance, but was pulled into stunning awareness as they emerged into the entrance hall which was still bustling with residents, conversations silencing as they gazed upon the Doctor and Hermione striding for the door arm in arm.

She felt her face burn and had to fight the urge to hide it behind his shoulder.

And suddenly the silence was shattered by a familiar, grating voice.

“What the bloody ell is happenin in ere?”

She felt the muscles beneath her palms tighten, saw the minute shift in his posture as the broken gait sounded behind them.

“Oh… Doctor… didn’t see ya th-” Hermione went rigid as she felt the telltale signs of eyes upon her, making her skin crawl. “What is she doin’ ere?”

She heard him sigh deeply beside her before he once more touched her hand, this time pressing it firmly into his arm as he rotated them around to meet the speaker head on.

“Mr. Filch.” His voice was colder than ice, causing her to draw back instinctively. His hand tightened on her before falling to his side. “I have an errand to run that requires Ms. Granger’s assistance. We shall be back shortly.”

“Errand ta run? She can’t go on an errand!”

“She can and she will, I assure you.” His smile was death. Hermione was transfixed by it. “Furthermore, I do not require your permission to take residents off the grounds. If you’d like to take the matter up with the Madam you are more than welcome. I am happy to speak with her after we return.”

Filch opened and closed his mouth like a gaping fish, eyes rapidly flickering between them “But- but-”

“Good evening, Mr. Filch.” He glanced at Hermione. “Ms. Granger, this way.” And then they were striding through the large entryway doors and down the front steps like they owned the building and possessed naught a single care in the world.

It was beyond surreal.

As they walked down the drive to the street she felt his eyes upon her.

“Breathe, Ms. Granger.”

She swallowed heavily. “I think I’ve forgotten how.”

He wry smirk further deprived her lungs of oxygen. As they reached a carriage the Doctor offered her his hand for balance as she stepped onto the platform. She gasped as his hands then gripped her waist, helping steady her as she climbed fully inside.

She blinked rapidly as he gave the driver instructions and then entered the narrow space, taking the opposite seat and leaning back, falling into a cloak of shadows from which his eyes gleamed.

“Don’t pay any mind to Mr. Filch. I certainly don’t.”

She bit her lip, lurching slightly as the carriage started to move. “So I’ve noticed.”

His gaze was unwavering. “You shouldn’t let him intimidate you. That’s where he derives his false sense of power.”

She nodded. “I’m well aware. I’ve met many others like him before. Unfortunately, most of the residents don’t take my advice to heart.”

He finally glanced away, directing his gaze to the passing scenery through the window.

“It’s easy to see why he’s so attached to his job. Where else can he lord over so many delicate things.”

Hermione blinked, sitting up straighter. She wasn’t unsettled by his comment per se, but she didn’t like the idea that he considered her or the other residents weak.

“Women are considered fragile, but I’ve never seen anything as easily wounded as a man’s ego.”

His head turned, their eyes locking once more.

A smile slowly unfurled along his face, true and genuine, making her chest swell and ache.

“How very astute you are, Ms. Granger. My apologies if my comment caused offense.”

She shook her head. “It didn’t. Filch causes offense.”

His eyes flickered between hers for a moment longer, and then his smile slowly fell. “Are you prepared for what may come of this excursion?”

She pressed back into the seat, tearing her eyes away. “Of course.”

“If this is Ms. Brown, it may be very traumatizing.”

“You sound like Harry.”

He tilted his head. “Have you ever seen a dead body before, Ms. Granger?”

She wet her lips, slowly glancing up.

_Only in my head._

“No.”

His eyes narrowed briefly, as though reading a different answer in her gaze.

“Even if you had, nothing prepares you for seeing the body of a loved one.”

She blinked, questions brimming within her. The most obvious being _Who have you lost?_

But she wasn’t sure if such a thing was appropriate to ask.

The moment passed, her hesitation cost her the opportunity as he continued.

“Furthermore, I feel I should warn you that what you’re about to see tonight may be deeply unnerving for an entirely different set of reasons. Depending on how long the body was submerged, it may be extremely waterlogged. This will make it more difficult to recognize common facial features. You may have to resort to other means. Did Ms. Brown have any other distinguishable markings?”

She swallowed heavily, his words inspiring deeply disturbing images to flourish within her mind. She shook her head, trying to dispel them.

“I don’t think so. Not that I know of any way…” she sighed. “I should have asked Parvati. She’d know better than I would.”

“I reviewed Ms. Brown’s medical file. She suffered a broken pelvis some years ago. If the external examination is inconclusive the autopsy should help determine whether it is her.”

Hermione’s mouth ran dry.

A broken pelvis?

She’d no idea. Her mind ran rampant with every dark possibility for how her friend had come by such an injury.

The Doctor seemed to notice her dismay.

“My apologies. I would normally never share the details of a patient’s medical file, but in these exceptional circumstances where Ms. Brown’s welfare is at stake I deem it necessary.”

Hermione nodded, staring blankly out the window. “I understand.”

She felt his gaze linger on her for a while longer but couldn’t bring herself to meet it, terrified he’d see through the stoic facade she was barely maintaining.

And then he too was glancing out the window, keen eyes watching the buildings and people pass by in rapid succession.

As they neared the river his eyes darkened.

“This is near where I grew up.”

She glanced quickly at him.

“Really?”

They were passing through a lower middle-class neighborhood, the smell of grease and fish strong in the air.

“Actually, I grew up closer to Christ Church on Watney Street.”

Hermione blinked.

She was no expert on the entire city of London, but thanks to her parents’ careers she’d been privy to the poorest, roughest neighborhoods where the majority of injury and disease came from. The area he spoke of was of the lowest class, plagued by crime and sickness and in a state of chronic disrepair.

That anyone could escape such an upbringing, becoming a Doctor no less, was unheard of.

His eyes stayed directed out the window, giant barges sailing in the distance.

“I started working on the docks when I was nine. Or perhaps I was eight. I don’t recall exactly. Just that I was small enough to fit through the confined spaces on the ships to clean them.”

She wet her lips, desperate to hear more, holding her breath.

“I mainly worked on fishing vessels. No matter how hard I scrubbed, I could never get the smell off of me. It permeated my clothes, my hair, my skin. Probably my bones as well. It followed me everywhere I went. Sometimes I still smell it to this day, when I'm in the office, or walking along the hall. And for an instant, I'm right back on the docks.”

Hermione leaned forward, unable to quell her curiosity any longer. “How did you get out?”

His head snapped around, eyes pinning her in place. “I had a benefactor.”

She blinked, not expecting such a response. “They put you through medical school?”

“They put me through Cambridge. I attended medical school on a full scholarship.”

Her eyes lit up. “I’ve always wanted to attend University. Cambridge would be my first choice, their science department is-” She blinked again, leaning back. “Apologies. Such topics always make me speak out of turn.”

He raised a brow, the corner of his mouth turning up. “I didn’t realize we were taking turns, Ms. Granger.”

Something in his voice made her swallow. It was light, playful, but the edges were sharp.

He was teasing her.

And for just a moment it filled her with such light it dispelled the darkness lurking within her heart.

"Do not stop on my account."

“Be careful what you wish for, Doctor. Once I get started I won’t stop until I’ve exhausted you completely.”

His smirk deepened, embers burning in his eyes. She reared back as she caught the sordid double meaning of her words, flushing hotly.

“I- I didn’t mean- What I meant to say was-”

“I do believe watching you stammer and blush is the highlight of my day.”

She fell back into her seat, still burning beneath his intense gaze. “I’m glad one of us enjoys it so.”

He laughed lightly, shaking his head and peering through the window once more.

His expression sobered.

“We’re almost there.”

She swallowed, nodding and closing her eyes, stealing her courage for the task ahead. When she opened her lids the Doctor was watching her, face unreadable.

“It’s rare to see such dedication to others, Ms. Granger. Especially to someone outside of one’s family.”

She shrugged, thinking of Harry, of Ron, Parvati and Luna and Hannah.

“Family takes many forms.”

His gaze was unwavering.

“I suppose it can.”

She gasped as the carriage came to a sudden halt, the driver shouting that they’d arrived. She leaned forward, peering through the window, swallowing heavily at the large grey building ahead of them.

It looked as dead as the bodies it contained.

She regained her senses as the Doctor leaped down and paid the driver, then stepped back to the open door and offer his hand. She was too overwhelmed with sudden fear to process the warmth of his touch, or how it lingered on her skin even after he released her.

She stood before the ominous entrance with wide eyes and shallow breath. And then she felt his hand wrap around her shoulder from behind. Not pulling or pushing, merely touching. Grounding her in place.

“It will be alright, Hermione.”

She closed her eyes, inhaling sharply and nodding.

And then they were walking inside.

He held the door for her as she entered the cold, barren lobby, gazing around with trepidation, as though the corpses were on display in this very room.

And then she saw the familiar shock of black hair and emerald eyes beneath. Harry stood, cutting a quick path towards her.

“About time, I was getting wor-”

He fell silent as the Doctor entered a few paces behind. She stepped back, glancing between them, Harry’s expression turning guarded while the Doctor’s remained unreadable to her eyes.

“Harry, this is Doctor Riddle. He’s the physician at the Home and was kind enough to escort me here. Doctor, this is my friend Harry Potter.”

The Doctor moved first, his smile revealing gleaming teeth as he held out a hand.

“Hello, Mr. Potter. Hermione has told me about you, it’s good to meet you at last.”

Harry seemed to come out of whatever reverie had possessed him. He swallowed, meeting the offered hand with his own. “Hello, Doctor. I’m afraid Hermione hasn’t mentioned you in turn, but I don’t get to see much of her these days.”

She glanced away, chest tightening.

Their hands fell apart, both stepping back, inclining their bodies towards her.

“Yes, the Matron certainly likes to keep the residents under lock and key the majority of the time.”

Harry’s eyes hardened for a moment but softened as soon as they met Hermione’s. “So I’ve heard.”

The Doctor’s gaze flickered between them and then the door on the opposite wall swung open as a tall, sinewy man stepped forth.

“Oh good, you’ve arrived. Mr. Potter says you’re here to try and identify the body from last night?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes.”

“Excellent. This way, please.”

The Doctor led the procession as Harry walked beside Hermione, hand on her arm.

“You don’t have to do this, Mione,” he whispered as they walked down a long hall.

She narrowed her eyes, staring at the back of the Doctor’s head.

“I don’t want to have this fight again, Harry,” she whispered sharply, painfully aware of the echoing volume of their voices in the otherwise silent corridor.

“Neither do I, I just want-”

“Enough!” She whipped her head around to face him. “I’m done talking about this. I’m going inside and that’s final.”

He sighed, shaking his head and facing forward.

She gazed ahead as well, embarrassed to have such a tiff in front of the Doctor. She had no doubt he heard every word.

The attendant came to a stop outside a door at the end of the hall, turning to face them.

“The body is through here.” His gaze fell on Hermione. “We have a separate room for the lady to wait.”

The Doctor stepped forward. “The lady is the only one who can accurately identify the body. She is the entire reason we are here.”

The man’s brows pinched together. “I can’t in good conscience allow a woman to look upon a dead body, Sir.”

The Doctor tipped his head, and though Hermione couldn’t see his expression from this angle, she had no doubt he was pinning the man with his most severe stare. The attendant shifted anxiously.

“We aren’t leaving here until you allow the lady to view the body. Do you understand?”

The man swallowed. “Yes, Sir. This way, please.”

He shouldered open the door and they followed inside.

Hermione brought a hand to her mouth and nose, the noxious chemicals in the air burning her nostrils and throat. Harry reared back, sputtering into his hand. The Doctor strode forward without any discernible reaction.

“Sorry about the smell,” the attendant offered over his shoulder, walking past several metal tables with sheet-covered corpses atop. “Embalming fluid and-”

“We get the point,” the Doctor clipped, eyes on Hermione as she tentatively stepped into the room, hand still covering the bottom half of her face.

Harry got himself under control, though his eyes watered. She blinked as the Doctor reached inside his coat and withdrew a handkerchief, holding it toward her.

“This will help.”

She nodded her gratitude and pressed the soft fabric to her mouth and nose, letting it filter out the acrid odors.

“Right, well, this is the girl they found in the Thames last night.” The attendant stood beside a table at the end of the row, the white sheet covering everything but the ankles and feet.

And judging by the sight of those, Hermione felt her entire body lock up with trepidation.

Harry stepped forward from behind her, circling the table and standing at the head, fists clenched at his sides as he too gazed upon the swollen, discolored feet.

“Mione…”

She shook her head. “I have to, Harry.”

The attendant placed his hands in his pockets, gazing at the Doctor, no doubt identifying him as the leader of their group.

“Based on the state of the corpse and the temperature and acidity levels of the river we estimate she was only underwater for twenty-four to forty-eight hours, the body is still remarkably intact, there’s just been swelling of the fat tissues as the water-”

“Thank you," the Doctor interrupted, eyes hard. "The girl we’re looking for has been missing for five days. Given the timeline, it’s a possibility.”

Hermione unconsciously saddled closer to him as he spoke, sensing something truly terrible in her midst and seeking the protection he offered.

“Alright, well, when you’re ready.”

Hermione swallowed, swaying on her feet as she nodded to the attendant. “I’m ready.”

Harry drew in a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. The Doctor drew to his full height beside her.

The sheet was pulled back.

The face and shoulders were exposed.

Hermione gasped, backing up and knocking into the Doctor. His hands gripped her shoulders. She spun around, burying her face in his chest, trembling.

“It’s her.”

She closed her eyes, tears tracking down her cheeks in steaming rivers. “It’s Lavender,” she gasped, choking back a sob.

His arms encircled her, holding her steady against him as she shook.

She didn’t see him glance to the attendant, motioning with his head for the man to recover the body.

She didn’t see the way Harry watched them with an alert and narrowed gaze, fists tight at his sides.

She didn’t see the charged look the men shared as their eyes met over her head.

All she saw was the image forever emblazoned in her mind of the pale, waxen face of her friend, blue and purple veins bulging against the bloated flesh, mouth agape in a silent scream with sunken, shriveled lids covering her once warm brown eyes.

“Hermione,” the Doctor whispered. “Are you certain?”

“Yes.” She nodded weakly against him, her weight slumped into his body. “I know it’s h-” she stopped short, the image in her mind revealing a new detail, fuzzy but unmistakable.

She slowly pulled away, eyes wide and wet. She held the Doctor's gaze for a moment before turning around. “Let me see her again.”

“Mione-”

She held up her hand. “This is important, Harry.”

The attendant sighed, glancing over her shoulder at the Doctor, awaiting his permission before stepping forward and pulling the sheet down once more.

Hermione swallowed thickly, braced for the sight this time, but it still sent her reeling.

She maintained her clarity long enough to gaze upon Lavender’s neck.

Bruised and marked.

And cut straight across.

She swayed on her feet. She was hardly aware of the Doctor grabbing her arms, helping steady her shaky knees even as Harry lunged forward to catch her.

“She was murdered.”

Hermione heard her voice from a great distance.

“We need to get her out of here.”

Harry’s voice was also muffled and strange.

“Take her to the lobby, I’ll take care of matters here.”

She felt a strong arms slide around her waist, and then she was leaning into a warm, solid mass that bore a familiar, comforting scent.

“Come, on, Mione. I’ve got you.”

She let Harry lead her out of the room and down the long hall, back into the sterile barren lobby where he lowered her onto a bench.

“Mione, I’m so sorry.” He sat beside her, arm looping around her shoulders as he pulled her in, resting his chin atop her head. She sucked in a breath, rubbing her eyes.

“I didn’t think it would be her. I thought… I thought it was impossible. She was always so full of life.” She turned her face into his neck, saturating his shirt with her tears. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”

He sighed, rubbing small circles into her back. “I’m sorry you lost her, Mione. That you have to go through this again.”

Hermione blinked, pulling back. “It’s going to be the same thing all over again, isn’t it? They aren’t going to look for her killer. She was an orphan. They’re going to brush this under the rug just like they did with the fire.”

Harry tried to pull her close but she shrugged away, sitting straight and brushing loose hairs from her face. “I won’t let them get away with this.”

Harry placed a hand on her knee. “We haven’t even spoken to the police yet. We don’t what they’re going to-”

“I’m not talking about the police. I’m talking about her killer. I’m not going to let them get away.”

The edge in her voice made him sit back, eyes searching her face. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I know it isn’t good.”

She set her jaw, feeling the fire ignite within the empty recesses of her chest, felt her bones resolidify with metal, the urge to crush, to destroy overriding even her grief and despair.

“Someone took her. They abused her and they killed her and then discarded her in the river like a piece of trash.” She swallowed heavily, steam billowing from her mouth, nose and eyes. “And right now they’re sitting somewhere thinking they got away with it. Maybe they’re even planning to do it again. Maybe they’ve done it to other girls.” She clenched her fists, arms shaking. “And I’m going to find them and I’m going to-”

“Stop it, Hermione!” Harry leaned forward, gripping her arms and forcing her to look at him. “Please, stop this. I’m so sorry she’s gone and I promise you I’m going to make sure the police find the bastard that did this. But you have to stop. This isn’t healthy. And you’re only going to-”

“I can’t _stop_ , Harry.” She twisted out of his grip. “I can’t go back to the Home and look my friends in the eyes and tell them that Lavender was murdered and just move on with my life. I can’t trust the police to find justice. I can’t sleep at night knowing that it could happen to someone else I care about!”

He swallowed, shaking his head, but before he could speak again the door swung open and the Doctor emerged.

They both fell silent, chests heaving with emotion, staring at him with wild eyes.

He stood still, glancing between them and raising his brow.

“I’ve provided Ms. Brown's details to the attendant. He will inform the police of her identity.”

His gaze settled on her.

“I am happy to step out and give you both some privacy.”

“No.”

She stood, Harry’s hand dropping away. She drew her shoulders back and stepped closer to the Doctor.

“I want to leave this place. Now.”

He held her gaze for several tense beats before nodding. “Certainly.”

Harry stood as well.

“Hermione-”

“I’m sorry, Harry, but I’m done talking about this. At least for tonight. I can’t think about it anymore.”

His let out a deep sigh, face stricken. “I’ll call on you tomorrow.”

“I’m under house arrest, I can’t see guests.”

“In light of the circumstances I’m sure the Madam will make an exception,” the Doctor said, voice solemn and deep. “I shall speak with her.”

Harry nodded, eyes flickering to the man. “Thank you.” He glanced to Hermione and back again. “And thank you for making sure she made it here safely.”

The Doctor tipped his head, examining Harry from a new angle. “Of course. It is my job to ensure her welfare.”

Harry nodded again, a deep sadness in his eyes. “I’m glad that someone there is looking out for her.”

Their gazes lingering for a moment more before Hermione stepped between them, fidgeting anxiously as the events of the evening started to set in fully.

“Good night, Harry. I’ll speak with you tomorrow I suppose.”

He sighed. “Come here.”

She didn’t resist his touch this time, allowing him to pull her into a hug and resting her face against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry if I upset you,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”

She nodded. “I know. It’s alright.” She pulled back, hands lingering on his chest. “I’ll be okay.”

She wondered if the words were for his benefit or her own.

Ten minutes later she was once more seated in a carriage across from the Doctor. They both remained silent as they were jostled from side to side along the cobblestone streets.

Since they’d been inside the morgue the sun had set, the city wrapped in a cloak of darkness, broken intermittently by bubbles of light from the lamp posts.

She wasn’t sure how much time passed while she sat suspended in a void of melancholy, but suddenly his voice pulled her from the heavy fog.

“Hermione.”

She glanced to where he sat, leaning back and completely submerged in shadow. She could only see his knees and the hands interlaced between them, long slender fingers calm and relaxed while hers twisted together like snakes in a barrel.

The carriage turned a corner and the moonlight streamed in through the window, a pale beam falling across his eyes, making them visible through the darkness.

They watched her carefully.

“I am sorry for your loss.”

She blinked. His statement reminded her of the night in the clinic when they’d discussed her parents’ deaths.

Hollow and meaningless.

“So am I.” She said simply, quite numb in the wake of this evening’s onslaught.

He tilted his head, she couldn’t see the motion, but his eyes suddenly viewed her at an angle.

“I wonder if your commitment to Ms. Brown has lessened in the wake of her death.”

Her gaze narrowed. “What do you mean?”

But a part of her already knew what he meant. That faint whisper in the back of her mind she was always so quick to suppress. The voice that grew louder every time she was in his presence.

“You stopped at nothing to find her. Would you go to the same lengths to find her killer?”

The air around them became charged, alive, making the fine hairs on her arms and neck stand on end. Hermione swallowed, unconsciously leaning forward, drawn by the hypnotic pull of his voice.

“Yes.”

He held her steady in his thrall as he leaned closer, eyes gleaming. The moonlight hit the side of his face, illuminating half his visage, transforming him into a supernatural creature, beautiful and deadly.

And she knew at that moment she was gazing upon the true Thomas Riddle.

The man behind the many masks.

Her body throbbed with the force of her heartbeat.

“Your judgment is clouded at the moment. You must process your grief.”

Her brows pinched, supreme disappointment weighting her limbs as she deflated. She opened her mouth to voice her dissent but fell silent with his next words.

“Take time to mourn.”

The carriage hit a rock, shaking hard. Their knees brushed.

“And if afterward you find that your anger still eclipses your sadness…”

She held her breath, watching his lips form the promise to seal her fate.

“I’ll be waiting.”


	11. Feather & Bone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question for my readers and fellow writers: If you have the same erotic dream two nights in a row, are you obligated to turn it into a story?
> 
> Well, too late. I posted a new AU. Tom is a quasi-priest in black leather and Draco is a tortured soul with a chip on his shoulder. Because I love you guys.

_Into the hole again_  
_We hurried along our way,_  
_Into a once-glorious garden_  
_Now steeped in dark decay._  
.   .   .

When Hermione and Doctor Riddle returned to the Home it was well past curfew, yet the front doors gave way effortlessly beneath his touch.

He guided her inside with one hand on her lower back, a gentle pressure urging her forward in place of her mind. She was too overcome to focus on anything as mundane as walking. She had no concept of direction. As she gazed around the dark gothic architecture she felt as though she were seeing it for the first time.

And for just a moment she lingered in the fantasy. This was her first day at the Home. She had just come from the solicitor’s office, had just signed her life away in exchange for those she cared for most. She was about to be given the tour and shown her dorm. She’d meet her roommates. All the horrors of the last few hours were a dream.

And then she heard the sound of a throat being cleared. High pitched and grating to her ears.

And the fantasy shattered. Reality hit her full force in the chest, knocking the air from her lungs.

“Welcome back, Doctor.” Umbridge stepped forth from the shadows, a vengeful demon materializing from the black pits of hell. “Ms. Granger.”

Hermione swallowed as she was pinned beneath that malevolent stare and tried to take an instinctive step back, but his hand flattened along her spine, keeping her in place.

“Good evening, Madam. I do hope you didn’t stay up simply to await our return.”

The Matron’s eyes flashed as she directed her focus upward, gazing up at the Doctor with a mixture of awe and hatred. It was a fascinating thing to behold if it wasn’t so terrifying.

“When a member of staff takes a resident off grounds for several hours without notifying me of their intent I have little choice but to await their return, _Doctor_.” Her eyes narrowed. “This was highly inappropriate, I can’t begin to-”

“Perhaps this is a conversation best had in private, Madam?”

Umbridge bristled, lips pressing into a thin line as she released a forceful breath through her nose.

“Fine.” She returned her gaze to Hermione, and if looks could kill, Hermione would be eviscerated on the spot. “Go to your dorm, Ms. Granger. You will do well to stay put. I have had enough of your rebellious antics. If I catch you out one more-”

“I believe Ms. Granger understands your instructions.”

Hermione released a slow breath of shock and dismay as Umbridge turned such a deep shade of red she appeared almost purple, a life-sized eggplant set to burst.

“I am the head of this institution!” she shrieked, voice sharp and lashing. “You _both_ will do well to remember that!”

Hermione blinked, glancing up at the Doctor. His pupils were blown so wide they swallowed the grey completely, two fathomless voids that froze the blood in her veins.

“I assure you, Madam, that is a fact I won’t soon be forgetting.”

Umbridge seemed to come to her senses beneath his piercing stare, shifting anxiously on her feet. She glanced away quickly, expression pinched and flush.

“You are dismissed, Ms. Granger. Get out of my sight.”

Hermione didn’t mean to do what she did next, she made no conscious decision to turn her head, had no control over her eyes as they looked to the Doctor for confirmation, for permission.

This night had left her in tatters, shredded her outer layers until only the bare bones of instinct remained. And her basic most instinct knew quite clearly who was in charge.

The Doctor met her gaze. The air swelled. He nodded once.

She released the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding and quickly spun on her heel, walking quickly through the entrance hall until she emerged into the main corridor.

And sprinted for her room.

* * *

Harry drummed his fingers along the tabletop, eyes averted to the rim of his glass as his mind replayed the events of the night again and again beyond his control.

Hermione was so damnably stubborn. If only she had listened to him. The look on her face as she gazed upon the body of her friend would haunt him for the rest of his life.

It was almost enough to override his memory of the stranger holding her in his arms.

Almost.

The entire night was unnerving to the extreme. He hardly trusted his instincts. He needed time to process everything before making any rash decisions.

Unfortunately, he knew he didn’t have that time as Hermione would be eager for answers. And if he didn’t provide them for her, she’d hunt after them herself.

Which is why he was here, waiting to meet with one of the few people he knew would go to any length to help protect her. Even if that meant protecting her from herself.

The door to the pub opened and a familiar form slipped inside, pausing just past the threshold and flashing a look of disdain across the room. Their eyes settled upon Harry, scowl intensifying.

Harry took another long pull of ale, readying himself for the conversation to follow.

“This had better be good, Potter,” Draco said as he arrived at the table in the far corner. “If I’m seen in here my reputation will be in tatters.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You’ve been spotted in every major gambling hall north of the Thames. I hardly think the Hog’s Head will do you any more damage.”

“Such statements make it startling clear you have no place in the aristocracy. Gambling halls are acceptable refuges for members of reputable families to dally. Filthy pubs in the back alleys of the East side are decidedly not.”

“The patrons here keep their mouths shut. That’s why I chose this place.”

Draco sighed, taking a seat across the table, crossing his arms and leaning back.

“I’m only here because your note said you have news about Granger.”

Harry took a deep breath, resting his forearms on the table.

“Her friend was found dead last night. Hermione identified her body at the morgue this evening.”

Draco surged forward. “ _What_? How the bloody hell did that happen?” His eyes narrowed to slits. “Don’t tell me you were daft enough to let her go?”

Harry’s jaw ticked. “I hardly control her actions, Malfoy. If I did she wouldn’t still be living in that place to begin with.”

“How did she even find out about the body?”

Harry glanced away. Draco scoffed.

“You told her. Fucking idiot.”

Harry glared. “For your information, I tried to keep the fact hidden, but that went over like a dead weight. I did everything in my power to prevent her from going but she insisted, I’d like to have seen you stop her.”

“I _would_ have stopped her because I wouldn’t have told her about the body in the first place. If our roles were switched and I was given free leave to do as I like I would have dragged her out of that den of wayward orphans the moment she stepped foot inside!”

Harry’s fists clenched. Draco was prodding him on the sorest of subjects, his inability to protect her.

“Then you really are an idiot, Malfoy. Forcing her hand is the surest way to lose her trust. Maybe that’s why she turned down your proposal.”

Draco blinked, face paling. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, shoulders tense.

“She told you about that?”

“No. Of course not. She’d never risk embarrassing you. But it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why the two of you stopped talking for three months.”

Draco inhaled deeply through his nose, spine straightening. “Our relationship has _nothing_ to do with you-”

“Trust me,” Harry cut in, picking up his glass. “The less I know the better. I have absolutely no desire to hear about anything that happens between you. I just care if you hurt her. In which case-”

“You’ll cut me open from neck to groin and slowly pull out my entrails, yes, I’m well aware.”

Harry took another drink, brow raising. “I was going to say I’ll kick your arse. But I like your idea much better.”

Draco glared, then his expression somber.

“How is she?”

Harry sighed. “She’s out for blood. She wants to find the person responsible and I-”

“Wait, what do you mean the person responsible?”

Harry blinked. “Oh. I forgot to mention, the girl was murdered.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, such a minor detail, of course, you overlooked it.”

“I didn’t overlook it! Christ, I’ve been dealing with a lot today, I’ll have you know.”

“You aren’t the only one.”

“If you’re too busy to give a shite then just leave-”

“Did you hear me say that, Potter? You don’t own the majority share in concern for her.”

Harry leaned back, face tense. “I know that. That’s why I called you here. I’m afraid she’s keeping things from me and I can’t protect her when I don’t know what to protect her from.”

Draco’s jaw ticked. “You said she’s out for blood?”

“She wants to find the killer. She’s convinced the police won't do anything. You know how she feels about the Scotland Yard.”

“As she well should. A bunch of bumbling idiots sitting on their arses.”

Harry gazed into his drink. “There’s a new commissioner. Maybe he’ll be different, help reform the lot of them with the investigational unit.”

Draco didn’t spare the comment a moment’s thought. “I doubt it. Granger is right. They won’t waste time and resources on an orphan’s murder. The girl was obviously already forgotten about, otherwise, she wouldn’t have been living in that place to begin with.”

Harry’s gaze snapped up. “Mione isn’t forgotten about.”

“No, she isn’t.” A beat of silence. “But maybe that’s what she wants.”

Harry drew back. “What?”

“She’s distanced herself from everyone quite purposefully, Potter.”

“I’m not going to lose her.”

Draco’s gaze hardened. “Nor am I.”

Harry nodded, relieved to hear the conviction in the other man’s voice.

“So you’ll help me then?”

“Help you _what_ exactly?”

Harry’s fists tightened anew, emerald eyes flashing. “Find the killer, of course.”

* * *

Hermione hesitated in the hallway outside of her room, lingering behind the door as she tried to get her thoughts and emotions in order.

It was of no use. Sorting it meant facing it, and she was already walking precariously along a narrow tightrope suspended over a pit of hysteria. She couldn’t afford to tip her precious balance now.

Before she could formulate a plan the door swung open.

Parvati stood before her, hands on either side of the door frame, fire in her eyes.

“How _could_ you?”

Hermione blinked, taking a step back.

“Oh no you don’t!” She lunged forward, catching Hermione by the wrist and pulling her inside, slamming the door behind them.

“How could you take off to the morgue without me? I thought we were in this together! I can’t believe you told Hannah and Luna but went behind _my_ back and-” she stopped short, eyes finally taking in Hermione’s somber expression and red-rimmed eyes.

Parvati blinked, deflating before her eyes.

“No…”

Hermione swallowed, taking a step forward. Parvati held her hands up, halting her movements.

“No. I need to hear you say it.”

Hermione blinked, tears welling anew.

“I’m so sorry, Parvati.” Her voice broke on the final syllable. She covered her mouth, trapping in the sob.

Parvati stared at her blankly, shoulders dropped, arms limp at her sides.

“No. I don’t… It wasn’t her, it couldn't have been-”

“It was her.” It took every ounce of strength to keep her voice steady. “I saw her with my own eyes.” She swallowed again, holding her friend’s gaze. “It was her.”

Parvati started to quake. Her body shook at a steady vibration while her eyes sharpened to lethal points.

And then she exploded.

Hermione blinked in shock as the girl stormed to the dresser and swept her arm across the top with a blood-curdling scream, sending everything crashing to the floor. Next, she attacked the side table, snatching up the lantern and throwing it full force at the wall. The glass shattered and flew in every direction, oil running down the wallpaper and pooling along the hardwood.

“Parvati!” Hermione ran forward as she started to tear her bed covering off in violent tugs, screaming like a banshee all the while.

Hermione grabbed her arm but was shrugged off, she tried again but her hands met open air as Parvati leaped over the bare mattress and launched a book at the window, sending it clear through the broken glass.

“Parvati! Please!” Hermione screamed, tears streaming down her face.

Parvati let out a howl like a wounded animal and crumpled to the floor in a heap. Hermione landed hard on her knees at her side, wrapping her arms around her quaking form.

“No! Get off me!” Parvati struggled weakly in her hold but Hermione held tight, sobbing openly, pulling her closer. “Stop! Get off me!” But as she repeated the broken command she turned her face into Hermione's neck and collapsed into her body.

Hermione pressed her cheek into the top of her head and she gently rocked her back and forth, unable to hold back the force of her own grief in the startling wake of Parvati’s breakdown.

Then the door crashed open.

“What the bloody ell is goin on in ere?” Filch bellowed from the doorway, a gathering of girls behind him, perched on tiptoes to peer over his shoulder at the chaos inside. “What did ya little vandals do?”

“Get. Out.” Hermione seethed, her voice so fueled by hate and anger it dripped like acid from her lips, scorching holes into the floor.

Filch blinked, hesitating. He glanced rapidly between the two huddled figures on the ground, then to the broken glass and debris all over the room, then back to them.

“This better be cleaned up by mornin…” he set his jaw, grabbing the handle and slamming the door shut, leaving them alone with their misery and heartache.

Hermione took a deep breath, face hot and swollen, and smoothed a hand over the top of Parvati’s head. The girl seemed hardly aware of Filch’s entrance and abrupt departure, eyes fixed to a blank spot on the wall as she shook uncontrollably.

“Parvati…” her voice was strained, cracked and distorted. “There’s more.”

She felt the girl stiffen in her hold. She didn’t respond, but Hermione knew she was listening.

She wet her lips, closing her eyes.

“Lavender was murdered.”

The silence that followed was oppressive, surreal in the wake of the explosive chaos of moments ago. And then Parvati slowly drew back, face hovering so close to Hermione’s their noses nearly touched.

“How.”

It was more demand than question. Hermione swallowed past the constriction in her throat.

“Her throat was cut.”

Parvati blinked, eyes gleaming in the low light.

“Just like your dream.”

Hermione jolted, rearing back. She opened her mouth to dissent but fell silent as the haunting images of her nightmare superimposed the very real memories of Lavender’s body.

“What are we going to do, Mione?”

Her voice was just as ragged, but it held an edge of hardness that was unmistakably Parvati.

Hermione inhaled through her nose, holding the air in her lungs until they burned, metal encasing her spine.

“We’re going to take time to mourn her properly.”

She held Parvati’s gaze but saw a very distinctive set of storm grey eyes in her mind, illuminated by moonlight, coaxing her into shadow.

“And then we’re going to get justice.”

* * *

Umbridge drew her shoulders back, stretching to her full height.

She still had to crane her neck to look him in the eyes.

Tom could see how much their gaping height differential annoyed her. It brought him immense satisfaction.

“Take a seat, Doctor.”

He fought back a smirk as he casually strode across the room and did as bade. Her jaw ticked with his slow pace, his utter lack of concern for her raging temper. If only she knew the storm that brewed within his heart and mind.

She would soon enough.

Tonight he would only give her a small taste of the venom lacing his fangs. He wouldn’t kill her.

No. Not tonight.

He still needed her, unfortunately. Her disappearance would raise too many flags and only derail all the progress he’d made.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t flex his jaws just a touch. Just enough to validate the instinctual fear that lay just beneath the surface. He’d fill her with just enough toxin to paralyze her limbs and make her pliable to his will.

His eyes gleamed with anticipation, tracking her movements as she rounded the desk and sat across, posture stiff and gaze narrowed. He held himself with an eerie stillness he was hardly aware of, the natural repose of a predator lying in silent wait.

“Well, Doctor,” she placed her palms flat on the desk. “I do believe you owe me an explanation for your callous disregard of the rules I very clearly set forth.”

He wet his lips, tasting the sweet promise of dinner in the air.

“I escorted Ms. Granger to the morgue this evening. She positively identified the slain corpse of her roommate, Lavender Brown. The girl you insisted had run away. The same one you refused to search for.”

Umbridge blinked, leaning back in her chair with wide eyes.

“I… that’s unfortunate to hear.” She swallowed, blinking again. “But not surprising. Runaways are often targeted by malicious offenders on the streets.”

He tipped his head. “So it’s still your belief she left this place of her own free will?”

“Certainly. While the events that befell Ms. Brown are most tragic they are merely a reflection of her reckless behavior. She always sought trouble while living as a resident. It was only a matter of time until she found it.”

His gaze remained unwavering. She squirmed in her chair.

“I suppose given the circumstances I can overlook this infraction,” she continued tentatively. “But as an employee of this institution, you should have sought my permission first.”

“Of course.” He smiled, teeth gleaming. “I do hope the fallout from this tragedy does not impact you too harshly, Madam.”

She blinked, face paling. “Why would it? I played no role in anything that transpired.”

_Interesting turn of phrase._

“Precisely. When word spreads of the girl’s fate it may encourage someone to look into the conditions that encouraged her to run away in the first place.”

Umbridge glared. “I told you, she was a reckless tart that-”

“I’m not the one you need to convince.”

She leaned back. “What are you implying?”

“You rely on funds from the Crown as well as the estates of certain residents with the means to provide for their charge’s welfare. If this transgression comes to light on the next inspection things could get very-” he wet his lips, “messy.”

Her hands clenched atop the desk. “We’ve never had a problem passing inspection before. The Crown representative knows the type of residents we house, their exuberant dispositions-”

“And what about Ms. Granger’s solicitor?”

Umbridge fell silent.

“He was just here the other day, yes? Do you think his opinion of this institution would be altered if he knew a former resident was found murdered not a week after her departure?”

His eyes narrowed just thinking about the man, but he kept his voice level, coaxing. “And not just any girl. His client’s roommate. If he saw the distress this caused Hermione what do you think he’d do?”

Umbridge’s face pinched. “He could decide to have her transferred.”

The mere mention of Hermione seemed to disgust her.

His claws curled over the armrests, eager to tear grooves along the polished wood.

“Imagine all the money you would lose if others followed suit. You have a few other girls you receive monthly cheques for. Ms. Abbott included. Another friend of Ms. Brown, if I’m not mistaken.”

She inhaled slowly through her nose, nostrils flaring. “I see your point, Doctor. But hindsight is 20/20. What am I to do about it now?”

He slowly leaned forward, eyes flashing. “I suggest doing everything in your power to make the girls feel safe and cared for, discouraging future runaways or transfer requests.”

She scowled. “I already see to their safety and care.”

“Then you must be even more accommodating. At least until the storm passes.”

Her lips pursed, disdain clear on her face.

How he relished it.

“And to start, I think you should ensure those closest to Ms. Brown are given the resources they need during their mourning period.” He drew in a slow breath before striking for her throat. “This may also discourage them from seeking relief from the authorities.”

Her eyes widened as his fangs sank into her flesh. “The authorities?”

“Of course.” He savored the taste of blood on his tongue. “Ms. Brown was murdered after all.”

She swallowed, eyes flickering across the desk, as though searching for a solution hidden among the ghastly figurines. “Such an investigation would be nothing but a waste of valuable resources.”

He smirked. “I doubt Ms. Granger would agree.”

Contempt dripped from her lips even as his venom rushed through her veins, making her more pliable to his will with each successive heartbeat.

“ _That_ girl-”

“Is less likely to raise an army if she’s properly distracted.”

Her eyes snapped to his. “I already gave her leave to work at the Shoppe.”

“Yes. But the rest of the time she’s under house arrest.”

Fire burned within her beady eyes. “I won’t lift it! She broke the rules and she must be punished!”

“I wasn’t suggesting otherwise, Madam.” His voice was soft, placating, a silk cord around her neck. “There are other means in which to keep her busy while keeping her within these walls.”

Her expression softened. “More chores?”

“She’ll only view such tasks as punishment, becoming more rebellious.”

Umbridge sighed her agreement, shoulders dropping.

He held her gaze, circling her slowly. “Allow her to assist in the clinic. She will view it as a reward and be less likely to act against you and the institution.”

“I- I don’t... “ she swallowed convulsively. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

The urge to leap across the desk and end this dance once and for all was strong. But he clenched the armrests and reminded himself of all the reasons it was too soon.

“I merely state a suggestion, Madam.” He could smell the jealousy coming off her in waves, more putrid than the odor of the morgue. He treaded carefully, leading her along the garden path to the cage awaiting her on the other side. “I am only looking out for your well being. If we distract the girl, we ensure her silence.”

He knew he’d baited her sufficiently when her eyes softened at his choice of pronoun. She leaned forward.

“ _We_ … yes… yes of course.” She wet her lips. “I see that now. It’s not a bad idea, I suppose…”

He drew in a slow breath, holding it.

“Perhaps allowing her to assist in the clinic _temporarily_ is fine… just until this blows over.”

His lips formed a slow smile, eyes heavy with satisfaction. She flushed and drew back nervously, unsure how to interpret the predatory look but hopeful all the same.

But his mind had already discarded the prey seated before him, having sufficiently drained her of her usefulness for this evening.

No, his look of supreme pleasure was derived from his budding sense of anticipation… knowing that soon, soon she would come to him.

And his board would be complete.

He licked his lips, the air thick with victory. A honeyed wine to clear his pallet. The Matron gulped, eyes transfixed.

“I think that is a very wise decision, Madam.” Shadows danced across his face. “Absolutely brilliant.”

* * *

Hermione spent the remainder of her morning in a fog, her surroundings obscured by a transparent darkness that enveloped everything and everyone, herself included.

She’d lingered for several minutes on the floor with Parvati. Or perhaps it had been several hours. By the time she managed to convince the girl to retire to Hermione’s bed, Parvati’s remaining in tatters, the sun was just breaking the horizon.

Hermione left her friend staring blankly at the ceiling while she began to slowly clean the mess all over the floor, picking up items tentatively, using the chaos of the room to distract from the chaos of her mind.

After remaking the mattress and restocking the top of the dresser she was left with mounds of broken glass and an oil spill to contend with. She bit her lip, hesitant to leave Parvati alone for even a moment, but when she informed the girl she’d be right back she received not even a blink of reaction.

Halfway to the supply closet Hermione paused and started to shake anew.

She quickly suppressed the dwelling of emotion and spun on her heal, taking off for the stairs, keeping an ear out for Filch. After their brief encounter earlier she doubted he would actively seek her out, but she wanted to avoid him all the same.

She emerged into the hall of the lower dorms and quietly slipped inside Luna and Hannah’s room, shoulders tense with resignation.

After Parvati’s charged reaction she thought nothing else could impact her so. But seeing Hannah burst into tears had been a second lance through the heart.

Luna remained the most composed of them all, not bursting into hysterics but calmly crossing the room and wrapping her arms around Hermione.

“I’m so sorry you had to be the one to see her. I know how difficult it is.” She had whispered into her hair while Hannah curled up on the bed and buried her face in the pillow, muffling her sobs.

Hermione swallowed heavily, recalling that Luna had been the one to discover her father’s slain corpse. She returned the girl’s embrace.

“Thank you, Luna.” She inhaled shakily, Hannah’s broken sounds affecting her deeply. “I feel terrible bringing you this news and leaving, but I need to get back to Parv. I don’t want to leave her alone upstairs. I just wanted you to hear it from me first.”

Luna nodded, arms falling away as she took a step back. “It’s alright, Hermione. Parvati needs you. I’ll take care of Hannah.”

Hermione searched her gaze for any signs of turmoil. “Are _you_ going to be okay, Luna?”

The blonde tipped her head. “I will shed my tears for Lavender after I’ve burned her a candle and spoken a prayer.”

Hermione nodded, unsure how to respond.

“Alright. That sounds…” she searched her mind for the right word, _lovely_ and _beautiful_ feeling grotesquely out of place given the gruesome circumstances. She sighed, heading for the door instead. “I’ll see you both later today.”

She returned to her room, sweeping broken glass and scrubbing oil from the wall while glancing over her shoulder at Parvati’s huddled form every few minutes.

Seeing the strong girl reduced to this only broke her heart further. When her parents had perished Hermione had been the primary person affected, the main one to mourn their loss. This was the first time her grief was spread out among others she cared for, and while there was a perverse comfort in sharing such tragedy, it also deepened the wound two-fold.

It made her…

Angry.

She blinked, halting her ministrations and staring blankly at the stain on the wall.

_“And if afterward, you find that your anger still eclipses your sadness… I’ll be waiting.”_

She closed her eyes.

_What did he mean by that?_

She’d been in such a daze on the ride back she hardly knew what was real and what was a figment of her dark, twisted imagination.

_Did he really say it?_

She opened her eyes.

_Yes. Yes, he said it._

Hermione dropped her scrubbing brush into the pale and slowly sank to the floor, leaning against the dresser.

His words were yet another layer to the enigma that was Doctor Thomas Riddle.

But what disturbed her the most was the thrill his words had caused versus the fear they should have inspired.

She didn’t want to sit around and watch the justice system turn its back on her plight once again. Especially since this time, it wasn’t only her plight to suffer. She was fiercely protective of those she loved and if this tragic experience taught her anything, it was that she loved the girls she called her friends in this desolate place.

She wanted answers for their sake. She wanted justice for Lavender.

And she wanted revenge for herself.

* * *

“Have another helping, dear, you look much too thin. I can’t even imagine what you’re forced to eat on that ship, and don’t get me started on the natives of those islands, eating leaves and twigs like-”

“For Christ’s sake, mum, his plate is already overflowing, let him be.”

“Ginevra Weasley! Do not use such crass language in this house! Honestly, I don’t know where you get it from-”

“Oi!” Shouted a male voice from upstairs. “Whoever stole money from my room is going to get my boot so far up their arse they’re going to be tasting my toes until Christmas!”

Ginny raised a brow, holding her mother’s mortified gaze.

“I am terribly sorry you have to hear such things, Harry, I would like to say Ron and Ginny aren’t mine, but I’m afraid the Weasley hair can’t be denied.”

Harry finally swallowed the bite he’d been chewing throughout the exchange.

“No need to worry, Mrs. Weasley, I assure you I hear far worse on the ship.”

Molly shook her head, face solemn. “You poor dear.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, perching on the edge of the breakfast table and grabbing a strip of bacon from Harry’s plate with her fingers.

“Ginevra!”

Harry hid his laugh behind his napkin.

“What? He doesn't mind, do you Harry?”

“I don’t care if he minds! It’s called etiquette, you do _not_ eat with your hands and you do _not_ sit on the table!” Molly threw her head back with a dramatic sigh. “Honestly, I don’t know how we’re going to get you through the next Season.”

Ginny took a large bite of bacon. “Then let’s skip it.”

Molly blinked, mouth hanging open. Harry cringed, braced for the onslaught sure to follow.

“ _What_ did you say, young lady?”

The blessed sound of boots trodding down steps filled the kitchen, prompting Harry to spring from his seat so fast he nearly toppled his chair.

“Sorry, mate,” Ron said as he rounded the corner into the sunny room. “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting so long.” He pinned his sister with a narrowed gaze. “But _someone_ raided my nightstand and stole half my shillings.”

Ginny scoffed, still perched on the table. “In your dreams. The most you had in there was threepence, you broke basta-”

“Ginevra!”

“Why am I the only one getting yelled at?”

“Because it is more unbecoming for a young woman to use such vulgar language. Although…” She walked up behind her son and smacked him upside the head.

“Ah! Jesus, mum!” He clutched his head, ducking away. “What was that for?”

Harry bit his tongue to hold in the bark of laughter desperately climbing his throat.

“ _That_ was for your comment earlier, young man. Just because you are given free reign to speak like a heathen while at sea doesn’t mean you may bring such language home with you.”

Ron rubbed the back of his head, eyes downcast and shoulders drawing in as he stepped around the formidable Molly Weasley.

“Sorry mum,” he muttered, making Harry shake with the effort to conceal his amusement.

“I will forgive you this time, Ronald. Now go speak with Harry quickly, I won't have you starting your day without a full breakfast in your stomach.”

Ron beckoned Harry to follow him into the hallway with a tip of his head. Harry eagerly complied, turning to bid Molly a farewell but falling silent as she perched her hands on her plump hips and glared at her daughter.

“ _What_ did I say about sitting on the table?”

Harry spun back around, seeking refuge in the hall, their squabbling growing muffled as he emerged into the living room.

“So, what’s up?” Ron asked as he flopped into a threadbare armchair, long limbs hanging off the sides, broad grin firmly affixed beneath bright blue eyes.

Harry raised his brow, crossing his arms. “You seem disturbingly chipper for a man who just realized he’s been robbed.”

Ron shrugged. “Probably Fred and George. They’re scraping together every pence they can get their hands on to move out. I’ll get it back. With interest.”

Harry tipped his head, examining him at an angle. “Doesn’t explain the sunshine on your shoulder. Something's happened.”

Ron’s smile widened, dimples appearing on either end.

“I think I’ve found the one, mate.”

Harry blinked, arms dropping to his side.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve never felt this way before!” He leaned forward, face imploring. “Susan’s absolutely incredible, I mean, I think about her all day and night, and-”

“Ron.” Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “You met this girl two days ago.”

“So? Mum and dad fell in love at first sight. Not everyone needs years. Sometimes you just know.”

“You don’t know anything about her,” Harry snapped, eyes narrowed. “You’re just infatuated because she shows you attention. You can’t go making any major commitments.”

Ron’s expression pinched. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Harry. You’ve never been in love. You’re right, I don’t know every detail about her, but that doesn’t matter, I can find all that out later. Right now all that matters is how we feel about each other.”

“Bloody hell.” Harry shook his head, glancing away in annoyance. “I get that you like her, but you can’t possibly be in love. And if she’s telling you otherwise she’s lying right to your face-”

“Hey!” Ron stood, shoulders back. “For your information, I haven’t told her how I feel. I didn’t want to scare her off-”

“I’d say so! Christ, how many times have you seen her in person?”

Ron glared. “Three times and each was better than the last.”

Harry ran his hands over his face, groaning into his palms. “I can’t even process this. There’s been too much insanity over the last twenty-four hours.”

Ron sighed, stepping forward. “I know I just sprung this on you. But I’m taking her to the Royal Navy party this weekend. Once you meet her you’ll see-”

“I’ve already met her, Ron.”

Harry swallowed heavily, holding his friend’s gaze.

“Yeah, you met her at the Scotland Yard event, but that hardly counts. You have to really speak with her, get to know her. She’s so bloody witty it’s-”

“Ron.” Harry took a deep breath. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Ron drew back. “What is it?”

Harry thought of the opium den, of Susan’s sprawled form beside McLaggen.

But he couldn't seem to find the words when Ron was looking at him with such hope in his eyes.

He really liked this girl.

Fuck.

Harry swallowed, changing course. He was about to detail his late-night excursion to the morgue when another realization struck him.

Susan.

She could provide a useful resource into the CID unit, help him push Lavender’s case into the right hands.

Which meant speaking to her about the newest developments. If Ron discovered their connection to the investigation it was only a matter of time until the circumstances surrounding their first meeting came to light.

Double fuck.

It was such a mess. He needed to tell Ron. But he couldn’t bear to crush him, not right now, not after the night Harry just had. He needed more time to think this through.

“Harry, what is it, mate?”

Harry sighed.

“I just… I just wanted to tell you I planned on asking Mione to the party.”

Ron blinked. “Oh, shite. You had me worried there for a moment, I thought you were gonna tell me someone died.” He laughed, Harry forced a smile on his face.

“No. Nothing like that.” Bloody hell he was exhausted.

“Well I’m glad you’re asking her. I hope she comes. I’d love for her to meet Susan, too.”

Harry was spared from having to respond by the sound of the front door opening and a familiar face appearing from the other side.

“Oh, Harry! Good to see you, my boy!”

He released a breath of relief, eager to end the previous exchange and begin a more pleasant one.

“Mr. Weasley, it’s great to see you.”

“You’re a grown man and sailor now, Harry, you can start calling me Arthur.”

Harry smiled. “That would feel too weird, Mr. Weasley.”

Arthur chuckled, shrugging out of his coat. “What brings you by the Burrow this morning?”

“Just wanted to check in with Ron.”

“Well, I’m happy I ran into you. I heard an interesting proposition brought forth at last night’s session and I’d love to get the perspective of a military man.”

“Hey,” Ron folded his arms. “What about asking your _son_?”

Arthur cocked a brow. “Whenever I mention sanctions and laws you make up some flimsy excuse to flee the room.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Most that stuff’s boring as shite.”

“I’m touched you hold my career with such high regard.”

Harry nodded. “I’m happy to speak with you, Mr. Weasley. Are you just getting back from the office?”

“Oh goodness no, I managed to make it home last night. I just had to deliver some paperwork first thing this morning.”

Ron shook his head. “Fucking Lestrange, forcing you to do his grunt work-”

“Ronald, mind your language, what if your mother heard you?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “She’s already clomped me over the head once today.”

Harry blinked. “You’re still working for Rabastan?”

“Unfortunately,” Mr. Weasley sighed, stepping further into the room. “Now enough about me, how have you been? I hear congratulations are in order.”

Harry went rigid. “Um, I…”

“Congratulations for what?” Ron asked.

Mr. Weasley glanced between the two young men. “Oh, I’m sorry. I spoke with Remus last night and…” he wet his lips. “Perhaps I’ll leave you two with some privacy.” He stepped past Harry, patting him on the shoulder. “It was good to see you, Harry.”

He nodded, steeling himself for the conversation to come. “You, too, Mr. Weasley.”

As soon as his father entered the hallway Ron rounded on his friend. “What is he talking about?”

Harry took a deep breath. “I’m being made Lieutenant.”

Ron stepped back. “What?”

“It’s not a big deal-”

“Not a big deal? Are you bloody mental?” Ron’s brows drew together. Harry swallowed, shoulders tight.

“Listen, I meant to tell you-”

“It’s bloody brilliant, mate!” Ron leaped forward, nearly knocking Harry off his feet with his embrace. “Congratulations, Harry! It’s about time they promoted you!”

Harry blinked, mouth opening and closing before he finally bent his arms and patted Ron on the back.

“Uh, thanks, mate.”

Ron had always been jealous of the attention his older brothers received growing up, followed by the success of their careers as adults. Feelings of inadequacy had taken root within the man and followed him through his own career, as well as his relationships with his friends. At least according to Hermione, who seemed to have a much firmer grasp on such concepts than Harry.

He wasn’t sure how Ron would respond to the news of his promotion, and he felt a pang of guilt for expecting his longtime friend to be anything but supportive.

Ron released him and leaned back.

“That’s what you came to tell me, isn’t it?”

Harry swallowed, images of the morgue, of the dead girl on the slab, flashing before his eyes.

“Caught me, mate.” His voice sounded hoarse to his ears. “That’s what I came to tell you.”

* * *

Hermione didn’t know what was more surreal, seeing Harry within the walls of the Home or the fact that Umbridge had obviously sanctioned his visit.

She stood in shock, taking in his appearance, the rest of their surroundings coming into slow focus around him.

“Mione, are you alright?”

She blinked, coming out of her trance.

“Yeah. I just... can’t believe you’re here.”

His brows drew together. “I told you I’d be paying you a visit.”

“I didn’t mean that. I mean it’s strange seeing you _in here_.”

He sighed, glancing up the arched ceiling, the shadows hovering along the rafters.

“It’s a bit…” he tilted his head. “Dark.”

“That’s one word for it.”

“And creepy.”

“That’s better.”

His gaze fell upon her once more. “How are you doing?”

She blinked, starting to respond, then closed her mouth and looked over her shoulder at the girls lingering along the wall, sneaking glances at them.

“Let’s go somewhere a bit more private.”

“The Caretaker… Filch? He said I’m not to leave this room. Something about corrupting-”

“The bodies and minds of the innocent. He stole that line from Umbridge.” She rolled her eyes. “Come on, I know a secret route that will take us near the garden exit. I need some fresh air.”

“Secret route?” He asked, falling in stride beside her. “That sounds exciting. Do you use it to transport contraband through the building?”

She smiled lightly, chest loosening. “Guilty. I’m the head of a smuggling ring. Very illicit stuff.”

He smirked. “Ron would be proud.”

Hermione slowed her steps through the narrow corridor, glancing up at him.

“Did you tell Ron?”

“No.”

His answer was a bit too abrupt.

She narrowed her eyes. “Harry…”

“I didn’t. He’s a bit distracted at the moment, I haven’t seen much of him. But he deserves to know. He cares about you, Mione. He’d be devastated if he knew you were going through this and didn’t tell him.”

“I will tell him.” She glanced ahead, fists clenching at her sides. “But right now I just want to… I just don’t want everyone knowing right now. I can’t bear their sympathy. Not again. I just need to-” she trailed off, the look on his face unnerving.

“Harry?”

He glanced away. Her spine straightened.

“Harry. What did you do.”

He quickened his step. “I didn’t-”

“Harry!” She reached forward and grabbed his arm, halting his steps.

He sighed, slowly turning to face her. “I might have told Draco.”

She reared back, heart stuttering.

“ _What_? Why did you tell him?”

“Because he cares about you, Mione.”

Her jaw tensed, eyes narrowing. “Is that really the reason?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are the two of you joining forces to stop me from following through with the investigation?”

He pulled free of her hold. “What? Of course not!”

“I don’t believe you. Why else would you have gone to Draco instead of Ron?”

His gaze hardened. “Ron’s busy courting the daughter of the new police commissioner. However, at least at the present moment, you remain Draco’s main obsession. _And_ he came with me to Amortentia, he deserved to know what happened.”

Hermione shook her head and spun away.

“I don’t see what the big deal is, Mione.”

“The big deal is Draco’s going to be kicking the door into this place!”

“Maybe he should. Isolating yourself isn’t healthy, especially after a tragedy.”

She sighed deeply through her nose. “I just need time to process things on my own before I can process them with other people.”

“Last night you were talking about seeking out the killer on your own. I think you’re processing things just fine.”

Her eyes narrowed but she remained silent. Instead, she spun on her heel and continued to lead him through the passage.

“I only told him about Lavender. I didn’t tell him about-” Harry stopped short, prompting her to glance over her shoulder in confusion.

“Didn’t tell him about what?”

Harry wet his lips, eyes bright in the dim lighting. “I didn’t tell him about the Doctor.”

Hermione stumbled, catching herself against the wall even as Harry reached out to steady her.

“I-” she swallowed, blinking rapidly. “I don’t understand, why would you keep that a secret?”

Harry held her gaze steady. She felt a slow flush inch up her neck.

“I thought it would upset him.”

Hermione glanced away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.”

Her hands clenched at her sides. “I-”

“I don’t want to have another fight. And I don’t want you to lie to me. So I’m willing to drop the subject. For now. But we _will_ be coming back it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “There’s nothing to come back to-”

“As I said, we’ll discuss it later.”

She pressed her lips into a thin line, something wild breaking open in her chest, the need to fight, to defend was strong.

But she resisted.

Harry wouldn’t understand. And if he knew the Doctor’s parting words after the carriage ride home he’d drag her from this place kicking and screaming. No, Harry couldn’t possibly know what it felt like to fester and rot with a darkness growing inside you, each day another piece of you consumed, forever lost.

Only the Doctor understood. Somehow, she knew he understood...

So she quelled her tongue and nodded.

“If you insist. Follow me, the garden is just ahead.”

They merged into the sun-drenched oasis, the sound of the street beyond the privacy fence breaking the unnerving silence that surrounded them in the corridor.

“This is nice,” Harry said as they walked past several of Luna’s rose bushes, hands in his pockets. “I wasn’t expecting something so vibrant after seeing the inside of this place.”

Hermione nodded, running her fingers along a stem, tracing the thorns. “Poisonous creatures always bear the most colorful skin.”

“Hm?”

She wet her lips, glancing up at him. “Nevermind.”

He held her gaze for a moment before rubbing the back of his neck. “Listen, there’s something I wanted to ask you, well, I planned on asking you before last night happened, and now I feel strange asking even though I think it’s a good idea…”

She tipped her head. “Christ, Harry, it sounds like your gearing up to propose.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Sirius is being made Admiral.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s wonderful!”

“And I’m being made Lieutenant.”

She blinked, brow raising. “That’s … also wonderful?”

He smirked. “Am I that obvious?”

“You look like you’ve just told me you have two weeks to live.”

He swallowed lightly, averting his gaze to the roses. “Feels that way. I wasn’t really vying for a promotion. I haven’t had a chance to process it yet.”

“I know the feeling.”

He sighed, gazing upon her once more, eyes softening. “I know you do.”

She stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm. “I’m happy for you, Harry. What did you want to ask me?”

“Oh, right.” He turned to face her. “They’re having a party this weekend announcing both promotions. I wanted you to come as my guest.”

She tipped her head. “You mean as your date?”

“That’s how the majority of people will view it, yes.”

She couldn’t contain her smile. “Didn’t want to risk stringing another lovestruck damsel along?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ve learned my lesson the hard way.” Then his expression turned somber. “But I want you to come regardless. Your friends want to see you, and I think you _need_ to see them, especially now.”

She let her arm drop, stepping away. Before she could speak he stepped forward and caught her hand. “We’ll leave after an hour. It’ll give me an excuse, you know how I hate those types of things.” His emerald gaze pleaded. “I’m overwhelmed by this, Mione. And I’m going to have to walk the stage and face everyone. Please,” he squeezed her fingers. “Come. For me.”

She swallowed thickly, breath caught in her chest.

Dammit.

“Fine…” she relented, rolling her eyes as Harry tugged her closer and picked her up off the ground in a hug.

“Harry, you’re causing a scene,” she hissed, glimpsing the other residents pause their work to stare upon the strange sight of a man on the grounds.

“Am I? Well, I suppose I shouldn’t twirl you then.”

“Don’t you dare- Harry!” She shrieked with laughter as he did just that.

Finally, he set her on her feet, a boyish grin alighting his face that made her heart stutter, it had been so long since she’d seen him truly happy…

But soon the moment faded and reality came crashing back down, oppressive and sweltering. She pushed through, reaching for his hand once more and leading him through the foxglove and bluebells.

“Filch hasn’t discovered us yet, let’s make the most of it.”

He smiled. “I like this version of you. Wild and dangerous.”

She bit her lip.

_Be careful what you wish for, Harry._

Instead, she affected a light tone, leaning against his arm as they walked.

“So, _who_ is Ron courting?”

Harry groaned, tipping his head back.

“Funny you should ask…”

* * *

Dolores had been called many things throughout her life.

Many, to put it delicately, _harsh_ names.

She wore each one like a badge of honor. Harsh names were often given to women with drive and ambition. Dolores had earned every scrap of every meal she’d ever eaten, every item she’d ever come to possess. She poured her blood, sweat and tears into each task she ever undertook and she wouldn’t apologize for her success.

There were no rewards, no handouts in her household. After her great misfortune of being born female to an already destitute family, she was raised to serve only one purpose in her life, to engage in an advantageous marriage.

But Dolores had been born with the double misfortune of not possessing classical good looks. Yet another failure in her family’s eyes. Yet another travesty to set her apart from the little trollops running around the street outside her window, barely dressed and eager to spread their legs for any man willing to pay them a compliment.

Dolores wasn’t jealous of them. Dolores didn’t _get_ jealous. She had been born with intelligence and a keen sense of survival that was far more valuable than a narrow waist and big doe eyes.

She was better than those harlots, she’d made something of herself without relying on a man to lead her along with his name and fortune.

She was a bloody role model for the masses. The residents should be lined up outside her office each morning, eager to earn her favor, desperate for just a moment of her time.

She should be inundated with praise and admiration.

So the fact that she’d spent her morning pacing her office in worry over some slut that went and got herself killed absolutely enraged her.

The fact that she’d spent the previous night pacing the entrance hall awaiting the Doctor’s return made her murderous.

And all because of _that_ girl.

The meddlesome little bitch. The ever growing thorn in her side.

Sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. Thinking she was above them all because her father had been an educated man.

But she was _nothing_. Just another castaway with illusions of grandeur.

And she would not, _would not_ , jeopardize everything Dolores had built by bringing the police to their door.

Dolores wished she could discard of her like the others, regardless of the monthly stipend. No amount of money was worth the headache the girl induced on a daily basis.

But alas, such decisions were not up to Dolores and never had been.

_Maybe if I make a special request they’ll make an exception for her, just this once-_

She sighed deeply, leaning back in her chair.

_No._

The Doctor was right. She had to be strategic about how she dealt with the aftermath of the body’s discovery. Granger was a useless swot, but she posed a threat all the same.

She would have to tread carefully with the girl for the next few days to ensure her silence.

She flattened her palms to the table, hands spread out, examining her ring finger.

The Doctor had said ‘we’.

She wet her lips.

He’d said he was looking out for Dolores’s well being.

And then he’d said ‘we’... twice.

She felt a thrill seize her.

She felt foolish for thinking he was under that little tart’s spell. Of course, he was too brilliant to be wooed by such juvenile antics. The girl was rebellious, a child acting out. Weaker men would be led astray by such trickery but the Doctor was _different_ … he was so unlike any man she’d known before.

_And his eyes._

They had a way of skewering her right through the middle, pinning her in place, yet at the same moment causing her to levitate… it was... exhilarating.

She felt foolhardy succumbing to the wiles of any man. She promised herself it would never happen. Her own success came first. Only stupid bints fell for the illusion of romance.

But he’d been so _adamant_ about protecting her from the fallout, he wanted to work _with_ her…

_Maybe I can introduce him to the others…_

She pursed her lips, eyes narrowing in thought.

The last person she brought into the fold had been a complete disaster, one she was still trying to recover from. They didn’t trust her judgment anymore. But how was she to know the man was a complete pervert? He was a licensed physician for goodness sake! She’d assumed he possessed at least a modicum of self-restraint.

But Doctor Riddle couldn’t be more different than that fool. Perhaps if they met him they’d see what she saw.

She leaned back, the early workings of a plan taking root in her mind when a soft rapt sounded at her door.

She scowled.

“Come in.”

It opened and in stepped the vile creature herself.

Dolores released a long breath through her nose. “Ms. Granger. Right on time. _Do_ come in.”

The girl shuffled into the room, graceless thing that she was. Dolores curled her hands atop her thighs, drawing every ounce of self-control within her to maintain the ruse.

“Please allow me to express my deepest condolences for your loss. Ms. Brown was an exuberant girl and she will be greatly missed.”

The girl raised a brow, lips pressed into a thin line.

No manners whatsoever.

Dolores cleared her throat lightly, pressing on. “I apologize if I startled you last night. I was just very worried about your well being. No one notified me you were leaving the grounds.”

She remained silent, staring out through vacant eyes. Dolores felt the temperature rise within her.

“Well,” she clipped. “I do hope you enjoyed your little visit with your male companion. You should know men are not allowed within these walls under any circumstance. I made an exception to show you how very committed I am to seeing you through this difficult time.”

If the girl remained silent much longer Dolores was going to throw a figurine at her head, just to see if she was really there or merely a figment of her imagination.

“How very kind of you, Madam.”

Dolores was tempted to throw the figurine even more. The girl’s voice was clearly embittered.

How dare her! After all the exceptions that had been made simply to make the little bint happy! How hard was it to show a little appreciation?

“Furthermore,” Dolores leaned forward, raising her arms and interlacing her fingers on the desk. “I wanted to inform you that you have been given leave to assist in the clinic when you feel up to it.” The words tasted like black bile on her tongue, the mere thought of the trollop working so closely to the Doctor beyond unbearable.

Alas, sacrifices had to be made. And he had made it clear he was on Dolores’s side. The girl was merely a tool to be used and discarded.

“How does that sound?”

The girls showed her first true hint of life, eyes brightening, spine straightening.

“I... “ she trailed off, the lingering silence too much for Dolores’s wrought nerves.

_Such a miscreant. Can’t even say thank you._

Dolores inhaled sharply. “We want you to feel-”

“We?”

Dolores blinked.

“I’m sorry?”

“You said ‘we’.”

_Of all the things to get her talking…_

“Habit. I meant myself of course.”

Something flashed in the girl’s eyes, there one moment and gone the next. It was highly unnerving.

It almost reminded her of-

“That is very kind indeed.”

Her voice sounded different. Like it harbored something… sinister. Dolores leaned back.

“I am happy to provide you with all the resources I can.” Her face like it was cracking into pieces with the effort it took to smile at the ungrateful bint. “Please, do not hesitate to come to me with any requests or concerns. Consider my door open at all times.”

The girl raked her eyes over Dolores’s face, something unreadable in her expression. Dolores’s knuckles turned white with the force in which she clenched them.

“Good evening, Madam.”

Dolores ground her teeth. “And to you as well, Ms. Granger.”

She watched the girl cross the room with narrowed eyes, sagging in relief as soon as she disappeared through the door.

The little strumpet was _truly_ insufferable.

No matter.

Soon enough, Dolores would ensure Hermione Granger never posed a threat again.

* * *

“Master Theo, a guest is here to see you.”

Theo launched off the sofa with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm. He tried to mask his reaction by casually closing his book, setting it calmly on the side table.

“Thank you, Winslow. See them in.”

The butler bowed, spinning gracefully on his heal and returning to the hall.

Theo swallowed heavily, running his hands through his hair, gazing down at his shirt, smoothing a palm over the front.

The steady tread of boots sounded just outside the room, his heart leaped into his throat-

Then fell into his stomach as a tall blonde entered the room.

His shoulders dropped, breath leaving him in a woosh.

“Way to make a bloke feel special, Nott. You look like you just had your cock lopped off.”

Theo rolled his eyes, collapsing back into the couch.

“What do you want, Draco?”

“Can’t a friend stop round for a visit?”

“Certainly. So I’ll ask again, what are you doing here?”

Draco raised a pale brow, sitting on the opposite couch. “We aren’t friends?”

“We are when it’s convenient to you.”

Draco blinked. “That’s not true.”

“No? So you _aren’t_ here because you need something?”

Draco scowled. “For your information, I came to check in on you. I spoke with Pansy yesterday.”

Theo’s expression fell, eyes averting down as he picked his book back up, tracing the spine. “Is that so.”

“Yes, it’s so.” Draco leaned his forearms against his knees. “And if her father told _her_ then I’m certain you already know as well.”

Theo’s jaw ticked. “Father told me two night ago. After I returned from the Club.”

The silence was sweltering. Draco sighed. “And… are you... alright?”

Theo raised a dark brow. “Are you high?”

Draco rolled his eyes, leaning back.

“Seriously,” Theo pressed. “This is freaking me out. Since when do you drop in to check if someone’s _alright_?”

“Fucking hell.” Draco carded his fingers through his hair. “Am I really that bad?”

“Yes.”

The blonde sighed, shaking his head. “Why do any of you still talk to me if I’m such a self-absorbed arse?”

Theo shrugged. “Because we’re all self-absorbed arses.”

“At least tell me I’m not as bad as Blaise.”

Theo narrowed his eyes in thought. “Depends on the day really.”

Draco groaned.

“I’m just fucking with you, mate. No one is as bad as Blaise. Although you certainly have your moments.”

Theo crossed his arms and legs at the ankles.

“Honestly, what’s inspired this bout of Sainthood?”

Draco rubbed the back of his neck. “I royally pissed off the Greengrass sisters. Pansy told me I need to be a better listener.”

“What did you do?”

The blonde sighed, painfully familiar with the reaction it would elicit.

“I suggested Tori become a nun.”

Theo snorted loudly, quaking with pent-up laughter.

“Fucking hilarious, I know.”

“Please tell me you meant it as a joke.”

“I meant it as a means of escape. I was trying to help her.”

Theo tipped his head, gazing up at the ceiling. “I’m imagining Pansy’s reaction if I made the same suggestion to her.”

Draco’s sour expression melted away to a wry smirk. “She’d take a carving blade to your bollocks.”

“Hm. Sounds about right.”

Draco examined his friend across the small space. “So, have you come to terms with it?”

Theo blinked. “What’s to come to terms with? I knew I’d be saddled with someone of my father’s choosing since I was old enough to understand the concepts of Peerage and marriage.”

Draco glanced away. “Am I a fucking idiot for trying to find a way out of this?”

“Yes. But love makes people into fucking idiots.” His jaw ticked. “Or so I’ve heard.”

Draco didn’t pretend to be confused by the statement. There was no point.

“What makes me even more pathetic is the fact she already turned down my proposal.” He laughed without humor. “I’m doing all this to chase after a woman that consistently evades me at every turn.”

Theo shrugged. “Some things are worth the pursuit.”

“Perhaps.” Draco ran a hand over his face, leaning his head against the cushions. “Depends on why the person being pursued is running though, doesn’t it?”

Theo’s eyes flashed. “Maybe she’s just being realistic.”

Draco blinked. “What do you mean?”

Theo swallowed. “It’s not like the two of you can actually be together. Society would never allow it. Your family would never allow it. Imagine the look on your father’s face if he knew the truth about you. If he knew what really dwelled within your heart.”

Draco raised a pale brow, mouth opening to respond, only to promptly close when he noticed the vacancy in the other man’s eyes, lost in some dark thought.

“Wanting someone isn’t the same as love, is it? And even it it was, what does love matter in the long run? Love fades. People change. Why throw everything away for a fleeting feeling that will end up poisoning you from the inside out in a few years time?”

Theo’s breathing hitched, chest rising faster, eyes fixed on a random spot on the wall.

“Family, duty, loyalty, those are unchanging. That’s what truly matters. Not some whirlwind dalliance from your youth. It’ll be nothing but a distant memory a decade from now. A wild phase. A passing thrill. If it was actually worth something then it would be worth fighting for. But if they don’t want to fight then why the hell should you?”

Draco raised his other brow, watching Theo with unmasked intrigue. He slowly wet his lips.

“Theo.” The other man blinked, seeming to remember Draco was in the room. “Is there something you’d like to discuss?”

The brunette swallowed lightly, adjusting on the cushion. “I just think it’s foolish for you to throw away your future on someone that doesn’t want to spend it with you.”

Draco’s expression darkened. “You don’t know the first thing about Granger and me.”

“I know what you’ve told me, which is that she turned down your proposal and avoided you for three solid months, and continues to avoid you even now.” He pinned him with a sardonic look. “I may not be an expert in women, but I can certainly read the signs when they’re hanging in front of my face.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed to slits as he leaned forward. “At least I’m fighting for control of my life! Not rolling over like some dog eager to lick his master’s boots clean.”

Theo scowled. “So much for your foray into sensitivity.”

Draco rose to his feet. “My first urge was to hit you in the face. I dare say I’m making wonderful progress.”

“ _You_ came _here_. If you were looking for blind encouragement try another house. You’ll only find realism and practicality within these walls.”

“Funny, the room positively reeks of depression and despair. I’m sorry you’ve decided to give up on any chance at happiness, but don’t condemn me for still giving a shite about mine.”

Theo shook his head. “Fuck off.”

“Gladly.”

Draco straightened his coat and headed swiftly for the door. He paused at the threshold, glaring over his shoulder.

“How could I have forgotten?” Venom dripped from his lips. “Congratulations on your engagement.”

Theo launched the book at his head, but by the time it completed its journey across the room the door was already closed, and Theo was once more alone with his blackened heart and withering soul.

* * *

Hermione exited the Matron’s office in a state of shock.

_What the hell just happened?_

She didn’t know what disturbed her more, Umbridge’s saccharine sweet disposition edged in poison or the fact she was giving Hermione leave to work in the clinic.

_What is she up to?_

Hermione didn’t trust the woman for an instant. Her sudden change in mood couldn’t bode well.

_She must have some motivation. I need to think about it, it has to be somehow related to Lavender…_

She started heading towards the dorms on instinct. It had been hours since she’d checked on Parvati. She wanted to afford her friend some privacy, she had taken the news the hardest of them all.

She sighed in relief when she opened their door to find her roommate asleep, breath rhythmic beneath the quilt. Hermione lingered at the threshold a moment longer before quietly closing the door and slipping back into the hall.

She felt off-kilter. There was still so much to sort through…

She wanted to see the Doctor. To tell him about her strange encounter with Umbridge and gauge his reaction.

Did he have a hand in getting the Matron to sign off on the clinic? What about Harry’s visit? How the hell did he manage to sway such a frozen heart?

She unconsciously started walking towards the steps leading to the outside of the clinic. She froze, placing a hand against the wall to steady herself.

No.

She wasn’t ready to see him yet.

His words replayed on an endless loop inside her head.

_“... if afterward you find that your anger still eclipses your sadness… I’ll be waiting.”_

She couldn’t decipher the full meaning behind his words, but she knew enough about the man to know he didn’t make flippant remarks.

She sensed something monumental on the horizon, large enough to block out the sun and cast the world into darkness. She just didn’t know if she was ready to look upon it.

She changed course, heading in the opposite direction and descending the stairs leading to her friends’ room. She knocked softly on the door, not wanting to barge in as she had this morning.

“Come in, Hermione.”

Hermione blinked, entering tentatively.

“How did you know it was me?”

Luna smiled, eyes averted to the item in her hands. “You have a distinctive knock.”

Hermione closed the door behind her, glancing about the room. “Where is Hannah?”

“She said she needed fresh air.”

“How is she?”

Luna tilted her head, examining her project at a different angle. “She seems better. All things considered.”

Hermione nodded, walking towards the bed. “What are you making?”

Luna glanced up finally, eyes a mesmerizing blue. “A dream catcher.”

“Is that what you were working on yesterday?” Hermione examined the hoop, now completely covered in twine, intersecting patterns webbed inside.

“Yes. I meant to have it completed last night, but I ended up sleeping in your room to dissuade Filch.”

Hermione sat gingerly on the edge of the mattress. “Are those feathers?”

Luna nodded, holding the item between them. “I collected them from Lauma. They help trap negative energy.” She traced a brown feather with her fingers. Hermione narrowed her eyes.

“What are those?” She pointed to an ivory decoration, already fearing she knew the answer.

“Bones.”

Hermione glanced up sharply. “From what?”

The blonde shrugged lightly. “I’m not sure. A rabbit I think. Perhaps a raccoon.”

“Luna, please tell me you didn’t handle an animal carcass.”

“Of course not.” Hermione sighed in relief. “Dennis extracted them for me.”

Hermione groaned, palming her face.

“I would have happily done so myself, but I didn’t want to risk irritating my wound.” Luna glanced to the thick bandage still wrapping her hand.

“The bones could carry just as much disease as the rest of the body, Luna. They could be crawling with bacteria.”

“The Doctor allowed me to soak them in a solution to kill any germs.”

Hermione blinked. “He did?”

Luna nodded, gaze averting back to her creation.

Hermione tilted her head, examining the girl. “Do you speak to the Doctor often, Luna?”

“How do you define often?” she responded without a hint of mirth.

Hermione shook her head. “Nevermind.” She ran her finger along the edge of the hoop.

“This is quite lovely. I wish I had your creativity.”

Luna smiled. “Now you do.” She held the dreamcatcher aloft. “I made it for you.”

Hermione raised a brow. “For me? Really?”

“Mm-hm.” Luna tipped her head. “I know how the dreams frighten you.”

Hermione’s face tensed.

“Yes. They do.”

“This should help dispel them. At least to an extent.”

Hermione wet her lips, glancing down, focusing upon the feathers and bones woven into the design.

“What if they aren’t dreams?”

Her question was barely above a whisper, but Luna seemed to hear her just fine.

“This is meant to capture negative energy, dream or not.” Luna placed a hand over Hermione’s. “And if you continue to have visions, perhaps they aren’t malevolent.”

Hermione swallowed thickly, nodding. “Thank you, Luna.”

“You’re very welcome.”

As Hermione made to set the dreamcatcher beside her on the bed she knocked over the ball of twine situated between them. It hit the floor and rolled beneath the bed.

“Oh, shite.” Hermione hissed, getting to her feet. “Sorry about-”

“It's okay,” Luna said quickly, scrambling to her feet. “I’ve got it.”

Hermione shook her head. “Don’t be silly, I’ll get it.”

She lowered to her haunches, reaching beneath the frame.

“Really, Hermione, just leave it, I don’t need it anymore.”

Hermione blinked as she slid her fingers along the floor, papers sliding beneath her touch.

“Oh, I think I…” she blinked again as she knocked over a stack. “What…”

She lowered her head to peak under the bed.

“Hermione, don’t-”

“What are all these?”

Luna knelt down beside her, shaking her head. “It’s just-”

“Are these resident files?” Hermione asked, pulling a paper out to examine it more closely.

“Why do you have these, Luna?”

“I…” the blonde wet her lips. “I’m not supposed to tell.”

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat.

She didn’t stop to ponder how she knew.

She just knew.

“Did Doctor Riddle ask you to steal these for him?”

Luna glanced away.

Hermione shook with the force of her reaction.

“Luna…” she reached a handout, gently squeezing the girl’s arm. “I’m not going to say anything to Umbridge, I promise. But you need to tell me why you have these.”

Luna took a deep breath, eyes still averted down. “He said he needed them.”

Hermione’s hands clenched, the paper bending in her grasp.

“Did he tell you why?”

The girl bit her lip. Hermione set the paper aside, gently grasping her chin and turning her face until their eyes met.

“What did he say he needed the records for?”

Luna blinked rapidly, tears forming in her eyes.

“He said he knew the last Doctor was a bad man.” Her voice was hoarse, broken. “He said he knew what he did to us. He said he wanted to help.”

Hermione swallowed thickly, body vibrating. “Help how?”

“He said he wanted to find out who the bad man hurt. He said the records would tell him who needed to be examined. Who needed to be tested for…” she trailed off, eyes closing.

Hermione released her, tears forming in her own eyes.

“He wanted to check for possible pregnancies?”

Luna nodded, tears dripping down her cheeks. Hermione drew in a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves.

“Luna…” she placed a hand on the girl’s knee, prompting her to open her wet eyes. “Did the last doctor hurt you?”

Luna bent her head, blonde hair curtaining her face. It reminded Hermione so much of the eyeless apparition from the hall that she reached forward and moved the pale tressed away on instinct.

“It’s alright,” she said gently. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want, I understand.” She drew closer, wrapping an arm around the trembling girl.

“We don’t have to ever talk about it, I won’t pressure you. But I want you to know that if something _did_ happen, it wasn’t your fault, and you have absolutely no reason to feel ashamed.” She was hardly aware of the tears streaming down her own face. “You’re one of the strongest and most caring people I’ve ever met. Nothing and _no one_ will ever change that about you.”

Luna leaned in to Hermione’s side, nodding lightly. “I’m sorry.”

Hermione wiped the tears from both their faces. “Sorry for what?”

“For keeping the files a secret. He told me it was okay because you would find out eventually.”

Hermione blinked. A thousand questions burned within her but she knew they were better directed at someone else.

She felt fit to burst.

The man played on Luna’s tragic experience to get what he wanted. He put her in an untenable position that could have very easily resulted in her expulsion.

It was deplorable.

Suddenly the door started to open. Hermione shoved the stray paper under the bed before she fully processed her actions. Hannah entered, glancing around the room and then staring in confusion at the pair on the floor.

“Hi.”

Hermione forced a small smile. “Hi.”

“What are you doing down there?”

Hermione swallowed, mind reeling for an excuse when Luna slowly pulled from her grasp and rose to her feet. “Hermione was helping me look for sprites.”

Hannah tipped her head. “Sprites?”

“Elemental fae spirits. They’re normally invisible to humans unless they’re feeling playful.”

Hannah smirked. “Gotcha. Did you find any?”

“Not yet. Maybe next time.”

Hermione stared at Luna in silent wonder, seeing the girl in a whole new light. She wondered how often she used her outlandish reputation to her advantage, steering people away from the truth.

“Right, well…” Hermione stood as well, brushing her hands across her skirt to remove the wrinkles. “I suppose I should be heading back to Parvati then.”

Hannah nodded, opening her wardrobe. “Give her our love.”

“I will.”

She glanced to Luna. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

The blonde smiled. “Don’t forget your dream catcher.”

Hermione leaned down to retrieve the item from the bed. The setting sun illuminated the ivory bones in pale orange and violet.

“I have a feeling I’ll be needing this very soon.”

* * *

Hermione stormed down the corridor.

She paid no mind to hiding in the shadows or walking on tiptoes.

No.

She was livid and wanted, _needed_ , that rage to be felt.

The Doctor had lied to her. Misled her. Used her.

Even worse, he had done the same to Luna.

Sweet, tender, nurturing Luna.

Hermione needed answers and she would get them _now_.

But she didn’t march to the clinic. A face to face confrontation would only lead to more lies.

She needed to see the evidence for herself and connect the dots free from his coaxing voice.

So she stormed to the room he had taken her to after discovering her racing along the hallway after curfew.

The room across from his chambers.

The makeshift office piled high with paperwork. She hadn’t paid close enough attention the night she was brought here, too overwhelmed by the haunting apparition and his sudden appearance.

But it was all starting to come together now. Keeping a private office so far away from the clinic.

He was obviously hiding something.

She was relieved to find the door unlocked. But she wasn’t surprised. In order to lock it, he’d have to request the key from either Umbridge or Filch, which would mean tipping them off to his… extracurricular activities.

She inhaled sharply at the mess that awaited her inside, the same explosion of papers covering every surface, stacked high along each of the four walls.

She wondered how many Luna had stolen for him. The thought enraged her more.

Because something didn’t add up. If he was truly concerned about the last physician impregnating a resident why did he request files for past girls that no longer lived in the Home?

No… he was up to something alright, but he had lied to Luna about whatever it was, playing her past against her.

Hermione tore through the office, grabbing papers at random, reading the headers, her stomach twisting into knots as she started to discover a common theme…

All of these girls were listed as runaways. None of them seemed to have any family or emergency contact listed outside the Home.

And then she found the most damning document of all.

Lavender’s.

Tears filled her eyes as she read over the details in her friend’s medical file, her behavioral write-ups, all of her past transgressions listed in black and white.

And on the last page, circled many times over in red ink, was one word, bold and ominous, pulsating before her eyes.

**Suitable.**

Hermione blinked, setting the papers carefully aside, as though they retained some piece of the girl they detailed and reached out to grab another file.

She flipped to the last page, heart jolting as she saw the same word circled in red ink.

**Suitable.**

Hermione swallowed, picking up the next stack, and the next, and the next…

**Suitable.**

**Suitable.**

**Suitable.**

She blinked rapidly, hands shaking.

The door opened behind her.

A tall shadow appeared across the opposite wall, stretching endlessly in either direction. She gasped, spinning on her heal, papers dancing in an invisible current.

“Ms. Granger.” His eyes contained a raging storm. Lighting illuminated the room, thunder shook the floor.

It paired beautifully with the chaos brewing inside her chest. Her heart was a war drum, each deafening beat a call to battle.

He stepped into the small space, so close she could feel the heat radiating off his body.

She refused to retreat.

He pressed the door closed behind him, eyes never straying from hers.

“I’ve been expecting you.”

His voice was a silk net cast over her head. She withdrew her blade and cut through the bindings.

“You told me to come when my anger eclipsed my sadness.”

She tipped her chin up, defiant. His pupils expanded rapidly. She didn’t flinch.

Instead, she raised the papers clenched tightly in her hand, pressing them against his chest.

“I find that I’m _exceedingly_ angry.”


	12. Fang & Claw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may be at war over the boys, but you all came to a stunning consensus about one thing…
> 
> Umbridge must die. Violently.
> 
> Oh my pretties, we’re just getting started.

_If ignorance is bliss, I must be ecstatic._  
.   .   .

“You told me to come when my anger eclipsed my sadness.”

She lifted the papers clutched tightly in her grasp, pressing them into his chest on instinct, needing the words printed across each page to burrow as deeply into him as they had her. She felt the steady thud of his heart beneath her palm as her fingernails dug into the soft fabric of his shirt.

She wanted to claw through the thin barrier, tear into his flesh, mark him for all eternity, a constant reminder of the chaos he had unleashed inside her.

“I find that I’m _exceedingly_ angry.”

She wasn’t fully aware of just how close they were standing until his hand shot up too fast for her eyes to process, long fingers manacling her wrist, and pressed her hand more firmly into his body.

She blinked, the sensation of his skin awaking her from the dark trance. She tried to pull away but he held her firmly in place.

“Why Ms. Granger…” the corner of his mouth lifted, a haunting accompaniment to his feral gaze. “It seems you have something you’d like to discuss.”

Her eyes narrowed to slits, stomach clenching at the mere hint of amusement in his expression.

“You’ve been using Luna to do your dirty work. You put her in danger of being thrown out on the streets. You should be _ashamed_.”

Each syllable was a slash of her knife, but he remained unblemished and unmoved.

“Is that really what you came to say?”

She swallowed, trying once more to pull her wrist free. His fingers tightened, bordering on painful. He covered the bruise Filch had left on her skin. She wondered if she would bear a new mark before the night was through.

The thought infuriated her.

“I came to tell you to leave her alone. Whatever you’re up to, she isn’t going to be a part of it.”

He tilted his head. “And how do you intend to stop me?”

She seethed. “I’ll expose you. Expose this office. You’ll be fired for stealing patient files, if not arrested on the spot.”

His smirk gave way to a full fledged grin, teeth sharpened to points.

“I enjoy seeing this side of you.” He leaned down, she tried to rear back but his fingers squeezed in warning, the pad of his thumb pressing in on her pulse point. “But you’re too smart for that, Hermione. I’m the Doctor. I have every right to commandeer these documents. And even more importantly, you know the authorities couldn’t care less about what happens in a place like this, as long it stays behind closed doors.”

She blinked rapidly, tears burning behind her eyes.

“Who are you?” Her voice was reduced to a meager whisper, face mere inches from his.

His eyes flickered to her mouth and back, expression transforming into something beautiful and terrifying, for it held a wild anticipation that set every nerve ending within her aflame.

“I’m the only one who can help you. The only one who can lead you to the answers you so desperately seek.” His eyes gleamed in the flickering light. “The only one who can lead you to vengeance.”

She inhaled sharply, the floor tilting beneath her feet. He didn’t release her wrist, but his other arm snaked around her waist as she tipped to the side. She fell into him, his heartbeat centered in her palm, racing up her arm and echoing through her chest.

“I think this is a conversation best had in less claustrophobic quarters.”

She was rendered mute, held captive by his hands and gaze. And then the arm around her middle fell away, the one at her wrist remaining firm as he pulled open the door and led her into the hall.

To the room directly across.

She swallowed thickly as he withdrew a familiar set of keys and unlocked the door, pushing it open and gazing at her with the same dark amusement from moments ago.

“Don’t be shy, Ms. Granger. This isn’t your first time inside my chambers.”

* * *

Harry traced his fingertip over the rim of the glass, gazing absently into the amber liquid contained within.

“Pince for your thoughts, kid.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “They’re not worth even that these days.”

Sirius tipped back another swig from his own glass. “That bad, eh?”

Harry leaned back in his seat, eyes still averted away.

“Just a lot happening lately it seems.”

“So tell me about it.”

Harry wanted to. So badly. Sirius was the closest thing Harry had to a father, their bond tried and true. He knew he could trust the man with anything. Sirius would never turn his back on his godson, no matter the situation.

But he would also try to help, his need to protect overriding his need to understand.

And it seemed the more people that got added to the mix the closer they headed towards disaster.

“Just overwhelmed about this promotion.”

It wasn’t a total lie. Harry _was_ overwhelmed by it. He was just slightly more overwhelmed by his crippling fear of losing his best friend and his utter heartbreak and despair over losing his lover. If he’d had any time leftover to reflect on his actual career, he was certain he’d be in need of Sirius’s council.

“I was your age when I got promoted to Lieutenant, you know.”

Harry swallowed heavily, well aware of the fact.

“They needed me to take the post immediately. Less than a week after your parents-” he stopped short, never able to speak the word aloud, even over a decade later. He cleared his throat, rotating his glass, watching the ice spin across the bottom.

“I had to take over when I was still half out of my mind with grief. Not to mention trying to get the paperwork sorted to get custody of you.” He paused yet again, seemingly lost to the past. “The last thing I cared about was work. The last thing I wanted was to take over James’s position… I felt like a bloody fraud.”

Harry blinked slowly, watching his godfather’s face carefully.

“Some days I still do.”

The silence that followed was thick, invasive. Harry breathed it in, choked on it.

“Sirius… you’ve made Admiral based on ten years of hard work that is yours alone.”

His godfather smirked, finally meeting his eye. “The same goes for you, kid. That promotion belongs to you. You bust your ass out there, every single day, every single time. You’re going to make a great leader one day, the boss has his eye on you.”

Harry wet his lips. “He has his eye on me because I’m James Potter’s son.”

“That’s what sparked his interest, true. But it’s not what impressed him. Your hard work did that. He wouldn’t be giving you this if it wasn’t earned through blood, sweat and tears.”

Harry laughed without humor. “Listen to us, trying to comfort one another without taking our own words to heart.”

Sirius raised a dark brow. “When did you get so philosophical?”

“As I said, it’s been a crazy week.”

“I’m starting to see that.”

The intensity of the man’s expression didn’t bode well for Harry. His godfather liked to play the role of carefree rake but in reality, he was remarkably astute, which is what made him such a skilled leader on the sea.

And right now, he was analyzing Harry with a keen eye.

“So… how’s Susan?”

Harry blinked.

Bloody hell.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“You _know_ what.”

Sirius chuckled into his glass. “Come on, half the fun of being a parent is making you uncomfortable when it comes to birds.” He inspected Harry from the corner of his eye. “For the record, I know there’s nothing going on between you. Well, nothing romantic.”

Harry’s heart sped up. “How do you know that?”

“Body language. You seemed uncomfortable when she showed up at the house, but not in a bashful way. More in a pissed off sort of way. Which I must admit, is even more intriguing.”

Harry shook his head. “Ron’s courting her. Or at least he wants to.”

Sirius choked on his swallow. “ _What_?” he sputtered, then started barking out a laugh. “You’re telling me the chit Weasley is chasing ran to your doorstep in the middle of the night? Oh, this just keeps getting better and better.”

“She didn’t come in the middle of the night. The sun was still out, thank you very much. And like I said, he isn’t officially courting her yet. They met three days ago for Christ’s sake.”

Sirius tipped his head. “You don’t sound jealous… but you don’t sound happy for them either.”

“Did you hear the part where I said they met three bloody days ago?”

“Yes, I did.”

Harry pinned him with a sardonic look. “And don’t you think Ron is being a little hasty?”

Sirius chuckled. “That is one area I cannot speak to, mate. I know next to nothing when it comes to matters of the heart.”

“Neither does Ron. He’s barely had a conversation with a girl, now he says he’s in love. It’s madness.”

“Some say love is nothing but a form of prolonged madness.”

“I don’t want to see him get taken for a fool.”

“And what makes you think this girl would do that?”

Harry seethed, chewing the inside of his cheek to keep from revealing too much.

Sirius nodded with a smirk. “Ah… the plot thickens.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Omission is the most telling detail of all.”

Harry jolted in his seat, deja vu hitting him square in the chest, squeezing his heart painfully.

He was instantly transported to a similar looking bar, discussing a very similar topic with a very different man… who said the exact same thing.

Sapphire eyes appeared in his mind, clear as day. Harry swallowed thickly, pushing on, hoping to mask his visceral reaction.

“I just don’t want Ron to get his heart broken.”

_I would never wish this on anyone._

A warm hand pressed his shoulder. “You alright, kid?”

Damn his godfather’s observational skills.

“Actually, I gotta piss.”

He was in desperate need of some privacy. The whiskey was burning a steady path through him, loosening his tongue with each successive sip. He needed to step away, clear his head before he revealed something he couldn’t take back.

“Classy.”

“I’ll be sure to keep my pinky up.”

Sirius tipped his head back and laughed while Harry sidled past and cut across the pub to the water closet in the back. He tried to open the door but found it locked. He groaned, perching up against the wall and gazing about the venue without interest.

The toilet flushed, the sound of running water quick to follow. And then the door was opening.

And a familiar face appeared.

Their eyes met.

Harry blinked.

Then blinked again.

“Ah fuck.” McLaggen looked supremely put out.

Harry pushed away from the wall, smirk forming. “Just when I thought this night was going downhill.”

“Come on, Potter,” McLaggen backed away rapidly, hands raising. “You got your shots in the last time we met.”

Harry trailed after him step for step as they neared the back exit. “That I did. It was quite enjoyable. But I’m afraid your luck has run out, I’ve been searching for you.”

The man swallowed. “I know. I heard you’ve been asking around. But I don’t know anything else about the chit, I told you everything-”

“She’s dead.”

McLaggen stumbled, catching himself against the edge of the bar, blinking dumbly.

“What?”

Harry watched him closely, studying every nuance of his expression. “I said, Lavender’s dead.”

The color drained from McLaggen’s face. He stopped his retreat, eyes flickering rapidly between Harry’s.

“I don’t… she… I just saw her a week ago…”

Harry held his gaze for several moments, finally sighing as he detected no duplicity in the man’s reaction.

“Take a breath.” He pulled a stool out from the bar. “And a seat, before you pass out.”

McLaggen sat gracelessly, slumping forward into the counter, eyes wide and perplexed.

Harry slid into the stool beside him, the liquor in his system making him much more amenable to the man’s distress.

“I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that. I just had to see if you were involved.”

McLaggen blinked. “Involved?” His Adam's apple bobbed. “Lav was… murdered?”

Harry raised a brow. “I’m afraid so.” He tipped his head, watching him carefully. “I didn’t think you were all that fond of her.”

“I…” he shook his head. “I saw her a week ago…”

Harry nodded. “Already said that, mate.”

McLaggen’s eyes narrowed. “I thought we weren’t mates.”

“We aren’t. Doesn’t mean I can’t buy you a drink.” Harry pivoted, flagging the bartender. “Two whiskeys.”

McLaggen ran a hand over his face. “This is… I can’t…” he glanced sharply to Harry. “Are you sure it was her?”

Harry pushed one of the glasses closer to the man as soon as the bartender departed. “I’m positive. And I’m searching for the person responsible. Any idea who would want to hurt her?”

McLaggen shook his head rapidly, taking the glass and tossing it back in a convulsive swallow. Harry glanced at him from the corner of his eye as he finished his own shot.

“The last time we spoke you didn’t seem too concerned about her disappearance.”

McLaggen brought the back of his hand to his mouth, dragging it across his lips. “I didn’t think it was anything serious. Lav dances to the beat of her own drum, runs around all the ti-” he stopped short, eyes shuttering. “She _danced_. She _ran_ around… fuck.”

Harry set his empty glass down. “Where did she go when she ran around? Who did she meet with?”

McLaggen blinked. “How was she killed?”

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose. McLaggen was lost to his own twisted form of grief, questioning him would be a feat.

“Her throat was cut.”

The man almost tipped off his stool. “ _What_?”

“It wasn’t some random street mugging or alley rough up. Someone very meticulously killed this girl and I need to find out who. Can you help me, McLaggen?”

The other man faced him slowly. “Why are you doing this? Were you involved with her or something?”

“I never met her when she was alive. But she was very important to someone who’s very important to me. And I promised them I’d find the killer and bring them to justice.”

McLaggen leaned further into the countertop. “What about the police? If she was murdered shouldn’t they be involved?”

“I know you knocked a few back before our paths crossed tonight, but surely you're not that drunk.”

The man sighed deeply, shaking his head. “So you’re the only one trying to find out who killed her?”

“I have help. But I’m leading the charge, yes. Now,” his expression hardened, “I need you to tell me everything you knew about her, where she went, who she talked to. Even the things you think are inconsequential.”

“I… right now?”

“No time like the present.”

“I didn’t know much, honestly. I mean I took her places, but she never talked about herself. Not her past anyway. The most I knew was she lived up on Bromley. But I didn’t know why.”

“That’s alright. What types of places did you take her?”

“The types of places you found me in the last time we spoke.”

“What about Amortentia?”

McLaggen glanced around sharply. “Shite, Potter! Not so bloody loud!”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Fucking hell. It’s not the holy grail.”

“It might as well be for how difficult it is to come by an invitation.”

“For the record, when you have to pay sixty bloody pounds it’s not considered an invitation, it’s a cover charge.”

McLaggen glanced away. “I thought for sure you’d find her there.”

“Why is that?”

“Rod offered her a job.”

Harry blinked, heart racing. “She took a job there?”

“No.” The man shook his head. “She turned him down. Didn’t want to work doing that sort of thing, she told me. But she was friends with one of the girls and liked to speak with her everytime we went. They knew each other from before. I think. I usually gave them privacy.”

Harry’s jaw tensed. “Do you know anything about this girl? A name, physical description?”

“They all wear masks, I never saw her face. Not anything above the mouth.”

“What about hair color?”

McLaggen scratched the back of his head. “Erm… blonde, I think? Yeah. Dirty blonde. Shoulder length.”

Harry’s eyes flashed. The girl he spoke with briefly in the hallway at Amortentia had been blonde. Could she be the friend?

He sighed, pushing on. “Was Rodolphus upset she turned him down?”

McLaggen blinked. “You mean enough to kill her?”

“I’m just trying to piece together the entire picture.”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t there when they made the offer.”

Harry tipped his head. “They?”

“She said he and his wife approached her in a private room.”

Harry’s blood ran cold. Any mention of Bellatrix inspired an instinctual reaction of dread.

“Was there anything else-” he stopped short at the sight of Sirius standing from his chair across the bar, glancing over his shoulder, eyes searching.

Fuck.

He sighed, facing the other man once more. “I have to end our conversation here, but I’d like to be able to contact you with more questions.”

McLaggen’s expression turned guarded. “You aren’t going to hit me in the face?”

“Only if you make me hunt you across the city again.”

He released a long breath through his nose, face resigned. “I’m staying at my father’s estate in Gordon Square.”

Harry nodded. “Good. I’ll pay a visit if I need you.”

He stood to leave, hesitating in light of the awkward exchange. He was just buzzed enough to feel underlying sympathy for the man seated before him, still appearing dumbfounded.

“If you really cared about her, you’ll tell me anything you can think of that may help me find out what happened.”

McLaggen’s jaw tensed. “We weren’t… it was just casual.” He swallowed. “She wasn’t someone you take home. But I hate being home anyway. We had fun together.” He met Harry’s eye. “She didn’t deserve what happened.”

Harry started to back away in the direction of Sirius. “No one deserves for that to happen to them.” His gaze hardened. “Except for the bastard that did it.”

* * *

Hermione spun around as the bell chimed behind her. She forced a smile, ready to greet the new customer when her eyes fell on the entrant.

It was the man she encountered on her first day of work, the one who took off running when she bid him hello.

She swallowed lightly as his nervous gaze settled on her. She remained frozen in place, glancing over her shoulder to where Snape stood behind the counter. He was focused on the ledger, eyes downcast. She wet her lips.

“Er… Sir?”

Snape blinked, eyes snapping up in annoyance. Then they flickered past her to the man hovering in the doorway. He sighed.

“Do come inside, Quirrell. I assure you the girl doesn’t bite. But she will talk incessantly if provoked.”

The man shifted awkwardly, slowly stepping forward and allowing the door to close behind him. Hermione bit her lip, glancing away, afraid to send him running in the opposite direction by staring upon him for too long.

_And I thought I had problems._

She pretended to study the items on a nearby shelf while he darted across the floor to Snap, who started pulling something out from beneath the counter. It was wrapped in burlap. Hermione raised a brow, curiosity brimming.

Snape met her eye past the man’s shoulder, some amalgamate of amusement and annoyance in his gaze, prompting her to scurry behind the shelf completely.

The mens’ hushed voices shed no additional light on the mystery, and Hermione was once again left without distraction from her raging thoughts.

She had been offered a reprieve from work, but she’d insisted on coming in. She needed to get out of the Home. To her knowledge, Snape had no idea about the events that transpired, at least he made no indication he knew, and for that she was grateful.

The shop became her sole refuge away from the harsh realities of life. She was relieved to be in the company of someone who didn’t treat her differently in light of the tragedy.

However, her thoughts offered no such reprieve. Trapped in the quietness of her corner she was forced to once more relive the events of last night, each replay offering more details that her subconscious mind had captured as the chaos raged within her.

She started her trip down memory lane with the moment he opened the door to his chambers.

Hermione stared into the room beyond with her heart in her throat, body frozen in the hallway as a thrill of terror seized her.

“This is highly inappropriate.”

He raised a dark brow.

“I dare say we’re well past that, Ms. Granger.” And then he released her wrist and stepped inside, crossing the room without glancing in her direction.

“Stay or leave, the choice is yours. But I don’t think you raided my office like a woman possessed simply to leave empty handed now.”

Her fists tightened at her sides as she watched him open the wardrobe and remove his outer coat, images of their first encounter racing through her mind. She slowly stepped over the threshold.

“I know you harbor no fondness for closed doors, but I suggest making the sacrifice to avoid detection. I have considerable pull with the Matron, but this will be a stretch to explain even for me.”

She set her jaw, reluctantly doing as bade.

And then she blinked, staring at the knob.

“How do you know I dislike closed doors?”

“I’m an observant person, Ms. Granger.”

She slowly turned to face him. His back was still to her as he shut the wardrobe.

Her spine turned rigid.

“Is that how you manipulated, Luna? You _observed_ an easy target and then struck?”

He leaned against the dresser, arms folding across his chest, expression lit with amusement.

“I assure you, if I wanted an easy target, the enigmatic Ms. Lovegood would not be my first choice.”

She seethed. “And yet you still managed to trick her into stealing official documents for you.”

“I didn’t _trick_ her into doing anything. I requested her assistance in exchange for my services, she had every opportunity to deny my offer without a threat of recourse. She chose to obtain the files of her own free will.”

Hermione took a step forward, propelled by the force of her convictions.

“You lied to her. You said you needed those records for the welfare of the other residents. If that were the case you wouldn’t be sifting through charts of girls who no longer live here.”

He tilted his head, gaze flickering across her face, studying her.

“I didn’t lie to Ms. Lovegood. What I told her was true. I have every intention of following up with the previous physician’s victims and ensuring they receive necessary medical care.” His eyes flashed. “However the records serve a dual purpose, one that Ms. Lovegood was no doubt aware of but chose not to question.”

Hermione swallowed thickly, standing at the foot of his bed.

“What are you doing here? Why did you take this job?”

All traces of humor faded from his visage. His eyes hardened to diamond points.

“I should think that quite obvious by now, Ms. Granger. You’ve seen enough to put the pieces together, especially after your foray into my office.”

She blinked slowly, heart rate increasing as her mind spun the threads together, the tapestry slowly taking shape.

“Lavender was kidnapped.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a malevolent truth that had been festering within her heart for several days.

His chin lowered, the lantern seemed to dim, shadows springing to life around them.

“Go on.”

She trembled at the sinister voice that emanated from his lips.

“Her resident file…” she wet her lips, unconsciously stepping closer, drawn by a magnetism that pulled at her bones. “There was a term on the last page. Suitable. It was on the other files as well.”

His chest rose slowly, eyes tracking her movements. “You’re getting warmer.”

“She wasn’t just taken. She was targeted.”

Her heart was in her throat now.

“She was targeted from within these very walls.” Another step, and another. “So were the other girls. The other runaways.”

His eyes glowed from the darkness, the corner of his mouth tipping up, not in humor, but in supreme satisfaction.

“You’re red hot.”

Every nerve ending came to life with the thrill of discovery. This was no classroom, no medical lab, but it did nothing to deter from the excitement of solving a complex problem, watching the pieces fall into place by her steady hand.

“There’s a conspiracy going on. The residents are being taken and written off as runaways. Lavender was another victim to some underground ring trafficking girls.”

She came to a stop, eyes bright and flickering rapidly between his, desperate for confirmation, for approval.

And then his mouth curved into a breathtaking smile, teeth gleaming.

“I knew you would solve the mystery, Hermione, but I admit I am impressed by how little assistance you needed.”

Hearing her name on his lips made her startling aware of how close they were standing, how far she had traveled. She took a step back, cold washing over her.

This wasn’t a classroom, wasn’t some news story she was discussing as an impartial party. This was all very real, and the ramifications of what it meant set in like a crushing weight on her chest, expelling her breath.

“This- this is... “ she blinked rapidly, spinning around in a flurry of nerves and panic. “We have to go to the police!”

She barely made it a step towards the door when she was firmly yanked back by an iron grip on her arm. How he crossed the space between them in one fell swoop was beyond her, but as she spun around with wide eyes he was flush against her, eyes black and face lethal.

“And I was so impressed…”

She blinked, his casual statement rattling around her brain like a tin can through the streets, loud and meaningless. She tried to jerk away but an arm looped around her waist like a steel band and held her immobile. She felt the heat of his body along her own, felt his heart beat within her own chest, felt his breath across her face and neck.

“I will allow you a moment to collect yourself, in light of your recent revelation. Then I will give you the opportunity to reconsider your actions.”

She swallowed, his words finally taking root in her mind. He spoke without inflection, as though discussing the weather, but his eyes were endlessly deep, the chaos within mesmerizing.

She was too overwhelmed by her fear for the other girls to spare a thought for the threat facing her down at this very moment. She knew a predator was in her midst, baring fang and claw, but she couldn’t find it in herself to flee.

“None of this explains why you’re here.”

The arm around her waist pressed her tighter.

“Now your senses are returning.”

She narrowed her eyes, hands flat against his chest.

“My senses never evaded me. Reporting a string of kidnappings to the police is a _normal_ response.”

“That it is, Hermione. And tell me, what do you think would be the Scotland Yard’s _normal_ response to such a claim?”

She blinked, knees quaking as the walls started to close in around them. Lightning flashed in his gaze as he saw the realization spark within hers.

“You know from personal experience how much care and consideration is given when there’s no influential family to back a victim’s claim. When there’s no one to grease the hands of the corrupted officials in charge.”

She couldn't breathe, vision hazing at the edges. She listed into him more fully, his face the only thing in perfect clarity.

“You know, Hermione...” His voice was everywhere, echoing off the walls and ceiling, filling the empty spaces within her chest. “You know the authorities will do nothing to stop it. You saw the dates on some of those files. There’s no way they could remain ignorant for this long. They’ve chosen to look the other way and they won’t be swayed by the words of an orphan girl.”

A spark ignited within her broken chest, flames springing to life.

“If we can’t go to the police…” she held his gaze, the only thing left in the darkness of her surroundings. “What can we do?”

His slow smile returned, terrifying and thrilling.

“We stop them ourselves.”

Her gaze searched his, thoughts and emotions trapped in a whirlwind.

“This is why you came here? You knew all this time?”

He blinked, arm slowly dropping away from her middle, the warmth of his body evading her as he took a step back.

“I wasn’t positive. I am now.”

“Who are you?” She crossed her arms protectively. “Why are you involving yourself in this?”

“ _That_ is not up for discussion.” The finality of his words jolted her. “I was prepared to execute this mission alone. I am still prepared to do so.” He paced across the room, shoulders back and spine straight. “You can walk away now, Ms. Granger. I will give you the same option I gave Ms. Lovegood. Turn around, walk out the door, and we can pretend this conversation never occurred.”

She reared back. Was he joking?

Walk away from this?

After everything that happened, everything she’d learned?

Not bloody likely.

“I don’t think so.” Her previous fear and uncertainty burned away in the fire coursing through her veins, setting her blood to boil. “Someone I care about was murdered, I won’t stand idly by and let it happen again.”

Her fists clenched at her sides, the flames licking up her throat and through her mind, radiating through her eyes.

“I’m going to help. Nothing can stop me. Not even you.”

He tucked his hands into his trouser pockets, eyes roaming her from bottom to top.

“I do not envy the man who attempts stopping you from anything.”

She wet her lips. “Tell me what to do.”

There was victory in his gaze, but she wasn’t unnerved by it, for she was a creature born of fire, and nothing could hurt her now.

Hermione was jolted from the perturbing memory as the bell above the shop door rang one more. She emerged from her hiding spot behind the shelf to greet the newcomer but saw no one.

She blinked, glancing to Snape in question, his eyes met hers briefly and he gestured with his head towards the aisle on the opposite side.

Hermione nodded, slowly approaching the back of the store and forcing a smile on her face. She rounded the endcap and opened her mouth to greet the customer-

Her smile promptly fell when she saw who it was.

“Parvati?” She hissed, stepping closer. “What are you doing here?”

“Do you get an employee discount on laudanum?” Her friend asked casually, examining a tin of cough suppressants with a bored expression. “I’d normally knick a bottle but I don’t want it taken from your wages if your boss is an arsehole.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, stepping closer and grabbing the girl’s arm, forcing her to turn and face her.

“Seriously, _what_ are you doing here? You’re still under house arrest!”

Parvati sighed, pulling free of Hermione’s grasp and leaning against the shelf.

“Damndest thing happened this morning. The Toad Bitch called me to her office and said I could go on a market run.”

Hermione blinked. “Why would she do that?”

“Beats me. She went on about how she wants to support me through this difficult time, yadda yadda, bunch of pig shite. But alas, she offered a reprieve and I took it. I’ve been going stir crazy cooped up inside every day.”

Hermione crossed her arms, glancing through the gaps in the shelf to ensure Snape was still preoccupied. She kept her voice low.

“Well what are you doing here then? You’ll get put back under lockdown if she knows you snuck off.”

Parvati shrugged. “I’m impervious to her wrath at the moment. Pretty sure someone could pull a gun on me and I wouldn’t flinch.”

Hermione tipped her head, examining her friend more closely. She’d been deep beneath the covers when Hermione had returned to her room last night, as well as this morning when Hermione left for work.

She suspected her friend had some chemical help to keep her under all day but didn’t feel right prying into her drawers in search of evidence. Hermione was content to look the other way while Parvati dealt with the aftermath of her grief. As long as she didn’t put her life at risk, Hermione didn’t feel it was her place to judge.

But now she was worried her friend may be taking something in excess to avoid facing an onslaught of emotions. Hermione narrowed her eyes, searching Parvati’s gaze for signs of a tonic.

“What?” Parvati’s voice held an edge that was music to Hermione’s ears. Her attitude was subdued but not entirely absent. Her pupils appeared normal.

“Nothing.” Hermione drew back. “I’m glad you got out for a bit, but I don’t want you getting in trouble. You need to head back before Filch notices.”

Parvati sighed. “I know. I just needed to get away for a bit. Away from everyone.”

Hermione knew the feeling well.

“I was being serious about the laudanum.”

Hermione raised a brow, then saw the humor in the other girl’s gaze and smirked.

“I won’t help you get hooked on that shite. But I will bring you some soothing syrup if you promise to leave now and head straight back to the market.”

Parvati groaned. “You’re no fun.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining when we snuck into a pleasure house dressed in our skivvies.”

Parvati smiled. “We still have the outfits you know, we could pay another visit.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, fighting back a laugh. “Time to go, Parv.”

She was relieved to see traces of her friend’s lascivious humor bobbing to the surface. She started to shoo her down the aisle.

“Now get out of here before my boss gets a good look at you.”

“Embarrassed of me, luv?”

“Humiliated.”

Parvati tossed a wink over her shoulder as she rounded the aisle.

And collided fully into the nervous customer who was no longer occupied with Snape.

“Bloody hell!” Parvati hissed, nearly toppling over.

Hermione cringed, darting forward to help steady the girl. Snape came out from behind the counter as well, but before anyone else could get a word in the odd man straightened to his limited height and peered at the girls, first to Hermione, then to Parvati.

And had a full blown panic attack.

He opened and closed his mouth several times, a gaping fish, and then started to walk back towards the door, knocking into displays as he went.

Snape stopped in his tracks, watching the man with obvious irritation radiating from every pore. Hermione stared after him dumbly, too shocked by his bizarre behavior to do much else. He finally ran into the door, reaching blindly for the knob, eyes still fastened to Parvati in terror.

The girl in question raised a dark brow, finding her voice.

“What’s your problem, huh?”

He released a terrified squeak and threw the door open, spinning on his heal and darting outside in the space of a heartbeat.

The three remaining people in the shop all stood silently in his wake for several beats before Snape strode forward and slammed the door closed.

“Bloody moron,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Hermione to make out. Then his black gaze darted to them.

“Are you a customer?” His severe expression told them he already knew the answer.

Parvati blinked, glancing at Hermione and then back to him, looking properly cowered.

“Um… not exactly, I-”

“Then get out.”

She leaped out of Hermione’s grasp. “Gladly!”

She darted around Snape and slipped through the door without a backward glance. Hermione stood in the middle of the floor glancing around, wondering if she hallucinated the last few minutes.

Finally, she brought her eyes to Snape, who was watching her in turn, something unreadable in his gaze. She fidgeted anxiously, unsure what to say.

“I…” she wet her lips, hands fidgeting. “I’m sorry about that man-”

“Quirrell.”

Hermione blinked. “Quirrell,” she repeated. “I seem to keep scaring him off.”

She meant it in jest, hoping to elicit a softer reaction from the brooding figure before her. Instead, he cocked his head like the bird of prey he so resembled, examining her more closely.

“Yes. It would seem you are quite skilled at doing so.” A pause. “At long last, we’ve found something you’re good at.”

She sighed, turning on her heel and heading back to the shelves, not ready to face the formidable snark of her boss just yet.

She quickly brushed the strange incident aside, her mind already drifting to her plans for the evening, and the task she had been assigned.

* * *

“What did she say _exactly_?”

Potter rolled his eyes. “I’ve already told you everything she said-”

“You obviously paraphrased.”

“How would you know-”

“Because I know how Granger talks! Now stop being a vacuous arse and tell me everything she said!”

Potter closed his eyes, tipping his head back.

“As fond as I am of your chronically sunny disposition, I’m afraid I have better things to do with my day.”

“Don’t you dare walk away! We agreed you could be the one to visit her if you reported back every detail of your interaction.”

Potter pinned him with the full force of his annoyance. “I don’t recall making any such agreement, Malfoy. Furthermore, it was _always_ going to be me who went to her because _I’m_ her best friend.”

Draco scoffed, turning away. “You’re completely useless, Potter. I’m going to see her myself.”

“I highly advise you refrain from fulfilling that urge, Malfoy.”

Draco seethed. “I _need_ to see her.”

“Why don’t you stop and think about what Mione needs instead.”

Draco ground his teeth together, the urge to throttle the idiot standing before him strong.

He’d stayed up all night awaiting word from Potter, expecting the man to report back on his visit with Granger. When nothing came he’d assumed the worst, paying a visit to Grimmauld only to find the house empty. And of course Black was the only aristocrat to dismiss his maid and butler staff, leaving behind no one to take down a message.

Draco had been left with no recourse beyond pinning a note to the door, demanding Potter meet him at the park first thing in the morning or else face his ground splitting wrath.

They currently stood in the vibrant heart of Kensington Park just north of the Albert Memorial, the Basin pond to their backs. Children ran around the water’s edge, laughing and splashing, mothers and nannies watching with fond amusement.

The serene setting did nothing to calm the storm raging inside of him.

“I’m tired of this run around bullshite. I barely see her as it is and now I have to rely on you as a messenger. It’s bollocks.”

“She just lost her friend, Malfoy, she needs time.”

“Are those her words or yours?”

“Both.”

“So she’s fine with you paying her a visit but she draws the line at me?”

“Our relationships with her are very different.”

Draco narrowed his eyes, kicking at the grass like a petulant child.

“I need to see her.” He met the man’s stare, jaw tense. “Even for just a few minutes. I need to see her with my own eyes.”

Potter groaned, shaking his head. “You’re as stubborn as she is.”

“She doesn’t have to sneak out, I’ll find a way in-”

“I’m taking her to the party tomorrow night.”

Draco blinked, rearing back. “What?”

“I’m taking her to the party-”

“I heard you, idiot.”

Potter scowled. “You’re a piece of work.”

“She agreed to come?”

“Yes.”

Draco raised a blonde brow. Potter rolled his eyes. “I had to guilt her into it but she finally relented.”

Draco’s nose twitched. He’d been planning on skipping the party, knowing he’d be wrangled into escorting Astoria if he attended.

Now it seemed his plans had changed.

“I’ll need a few minutes alone with her.”

“Don’t look at me.”

“You can help cover for her while we slip out-”

“I don’t want anything to do with the two of you slipping out together.”

“Fucking hell, Potter, would you prefer I cause a bloody scene and abscond with her entirely?”

The other man pinched the bridge of his nose. “I only get migraines when I’m around you, did you know that?”

“The party is at Wilton Place in Belgrave Square, we can sneak out to the gardens when the old bastard is delivering his speech.”

Potter took a deep breath. “It’s like a steady building pressure behind my eyes. Feels like my skull is caving in.”

“Everyone will be distracted. I can pay off the doorman to keep guard for us.”

“I also hear a slight ringing in my ears.”

“Yes, that should work.”

Potter rolled his eyes once more. “Can I go now?”

Draco blinked, remembering the man at his side. “You’re still here?”

“Always a pleasure, Malfoy. The next time you pin a death threat to my door, leave out the swear words, it warps Sirius’s innocent mind.”

“Tell the heathen to hire a butler like a normal person.”

Potter saluted him with a smirk and took off through the hedges, whistling brightly as he went. Draco glared at his retreating figure. Bloody ponce.

As he made his way in the opposite direction he noticed a familiar carriage pull out along the cobblestone path ahead.

He swallowed thickly, dodging behind a tree.

Too late.

“Very subtle, Draco!” Came the feminine voice, laced with amusement.

Draco cringed, still hidden behind the thick trunk of the hornbeam.

“I was afraid of projectiles flying at my head!” he called back, hearing the horses come to a slow stop.

“I’m sure that’s a common occurrence for you.”

He laughed lightly, the tension melting away. He stepped out from his hiding spot, gazing up at the woman seated within the gleaming teal carriage.

“Fancy a ride?”

He took a deep breath, gazing about the park. “Such a beautiful day, thought I’d take it by foot.” He met her pale eyes once more. “Fancy a stroll?”

She smirked, then looked to her driver. “Martin, Lord Malfoy is going to escort me for a few minutes. Please wait here.”

The driver wet his lips nervously. “Miss Astoria, your father gave me strict instructions to-”

“Very good, Martin, I won’t be but a moment, enjoy the sunshine.”

She took Draco’s offered hand and gathered her copious skirts with the other, carefully stepping onto the platform and then down to the pavement.

The driver opened and closed his mouth before finally sighing, directing the horses to trot further along the road.

“I tend to cause your staff nothing but coronaries.”

Astoria smiled. “Yes, our butler is still recovering from your last visit.”

Draco swallowed. “About that…” he stuffed his hands in his pockets, eyes averted to the grass. “I’m sorry about what I said.” He forced his gaze upward, chest tight. “Truly.”

Her smile faded to a wry smirk. “Consider yourself forgiven. I know you didn’t mean it maliciously. You’re just an idiot.”

He blinked. “Your sister is rubbing off on you.”

“Don’t tell her that, she’ll get a big head.”

He studied her profile. “Confidence looks good on you. You should try wearing it more often.”

The amusement faded from her expression entirely. “Easy for a man of wealth and power to say.”

“Good point.”

He turned his focus ahead. “I’ve been wanting to speak to you again-” he stopped short, recalling Pansy’s words. “I mean, I wanted to speak _with_ you.”

Astoria raised a dark brow. “About our pending engagement?”

He released a slow breath. “Precisely.”

“I overheard my parents talking last night.”

His head snapped around. “About us?”

“About my dowry.”

His jaw ticked. “Fuck.”

She released a nervous laugh.

“Shite. Sorry.” He cringed. “I was just speaking to someone else, still haven’t switched over my vocabulary.”

“Who were you speaking with?”

Draco blinked, his mind still reeling from her previous revelation, unable to think up a cover story.

_Why the bloody hell do you need a cover story? She won’t have the first clue what we were talking about…_

“Potter.”

Astoria lost her footing, collapsing into him.

“Oh! Sorry!” she shrieked as Draco gently grasped her arm, helping steady her.

“Are you alright?

She blushed profusely, nodding quickly. “Yes, there must have been a rock or something.”

Draco blinked, gazing at the smooth pavement.

“Right.”

She swallowed lightly. “So, what did you and Harry discuss?”

Draco felt a strange sensation grip him. He studied her face, flushed hot and carefully void of emotion.

_No bloody way…_

He shook his head. It just couldn’t be. He placed her hand in the crook of his elbow to prevent her from taking another tumble as he led them onward.

“We were just discussing the Naval party tomorrow night.”

She glanced at him with wide eyes. “You’re going to that?”

“Seems so.”

She blinked. Then her expression transformed once more, to something far too knowing.

“ _She’s_ going to be there, I take it?”

Draco stumbled over the same invisible rock.

“What?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s alright, Draco. I don’t mind that you’re in love with someone else.”

His heart leaped into his throat. “I don’t- what do you- how-”

“I do hope you’re more poetic when in her company. If memory serves correct she’s quite intelligent. I imagine you’ve got to be much quicker on your feet to hold her interest.”

Draco straightened, gaze narrowing.

“Did Daphne tell you?”

“No, she didn’t. I’m not as addle-brained as everyone likes to think.”

His eyes softened. “I never thought you were.”

She smiled sadly. “I know. You’re one of the few who doesn’t treat me like a china doll. Which is why I find your company somewhat enjoyable, in small doses anyway.”

He smirked. “Stop. You’re making me blush.”

She mirrored his expression. “So, is that the reason for your sudden interest in the Naval party?”

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, reluctant to reveal too much. But at the same time, he was enticed by the prospect of speaking about it to someone outside of his immediate group of friends. And Potter. Perhaps Astoria would bring a different perspective to the fold.

“Yes, she’s the reason I’m going.”

Astoria nodded, averting her gaze to the flowering shrubs lining the walkway. “How lucky she is to have such devotion.”

Draco sighed, glancing at her with a heavy heart, but before he could speak she shook her head.

“I didn’t mean it that way. I just envy her ability to possess the love of the person she loves in turn.”

He looked away, pain seizing his chest. He forced his free hand into his pocket to prevent from pressing it against the open wound. Astoria didn’t seem to notice.

“You know if you accept the invitation our parents are going to force us to arrive together.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“She won’t mind you attending with your prospective fiancé?”

He laughed bitterly. “She’s going as Potter’s date so I don’t think she gets much say in the matter.”

_She’s also banned me from visiting her. Stubborn wench._

His fingers curled into a fist in his pocket.

He almost missed the way Astoria’s hand clenched around his arm.

“But they’re like… brother and sister, aren’t they?”

Draco nodded casually, watching her from the corner of his eye.

“They’re strictly platonic.”

She wet her lips. “So are we, and look at the situation we’re in.”

“Our families are different. Black is a proclaimed bachelor with no social ambitions. He could care less if Potter married. In fact, the man’s such an outlier he’d probably _insist_ Potter marry for love if at all.”

She cleared her throat. “And what about Granger? Doesn’t she have to wed to regain rights to her family estate?”

Draco took a deep breath, the ache spreading out to his limbs, a festering rot.

“Yes. But she’s as unconventional as Black, if not more so. She won’t rush down the aisle for anything but love.”

Draco blinked.

_I didn’t tell her I loved her when I proposed._

His jaw ticked.

_Idiot._

“So… is your plan to marry her then?”

He swallowed thickly.

“Right now my plan is to see her at the party. I take it day by day.”

She bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Draco.”

His brows drew together as he glanced at her, seeing true despair in her features. “For what?”

“I thought you had it easier because you’re a man... but you’re just as trapped as I am, aren’t you?”

He held her gaze, gloom blossoming between them, radiating from their every pore.

“It would seem so.”

They basked in their shared misery for another few heartbeats before she finally glanced away, leaving him to study her delicate profile.

Pansy’s voice once more filled his head.

_“... try listening… you have heard of listening, yes?”_

Even in his mind, the harpy gave him grief.

“Tori.” She glanced up, eyes bright and doe-like. “What do you want?”

She blinked. “I’m sorry?”

He stopped walking, gently grasping her arm to draw her to a standstill at his side.

“If you could have any future you wanted, no matter how unrealistic, what would it be?”

She laughed. “I used to play this game with Daph when we were little-”

“It’s not a game.”

Her expression slowly fell, then hardened. “Then it’s a cruel jest.” She tried to pull away but he held fast.

“I’m serious, Tori-” he fell silent as a couple strolling in the opposite direction passed them by. Once they were out of earshot he continued, eyes narrowed. “I want to know what you want most.”

“Why, so you can buy it for me out of guilt?”

He drew back. “Guilt?”

“You plan on denying my father’s offer and leaving me in shambles-”

“Of course not!” His chest heaved, she glanced around quickly, shushing him.

“Keep your voice down!”

“I would never do that to you,” he hissed, leaning in close. “I’m trying to help you-”

“I thought I made it clear last time, I don’t _want_ your help-”

“Dammit, Tori, work with me here! I’m fucking trying to make this right for the both of us but you won’t meet me halfway-”

“I want to be a writer, dammit!”

Draco blinked, mouth clamping shut. She swallowed, glancing around once more, a blush staining her cheeks.

He continued to stare at her. She rolled her eyes, tugging free of his grasp at last.

“Nevermind!” She hissed, marching away.

Draco snapped out of his daze, leaping forward and seizing her arm once more.

“Wait! I’m sorry, I just- I wasn’t expecting-”

“You expected me to say I want to marry a prince or design pretty dresses.”

He blinked again. “What? No… I mean, maybe…” She scoffed and tried to storm off.

“Shite, just give me a minute to process this.”

“There’s nothing to process! You asked me a question and I gave you an answer. The game is over.”

“I told you this isn’t a game.”

“Well, it might as well be!”

“Why? There are plenty of female authors.”

She scowled. “Yes, and what an easy road they’ve had getting published.”

He stood back, examining her in a new light. “I had no idea you even wrote.”

“No one does, except for Daphne.” She crossed her arms, glancing away. “Father would never approve. He’d never let me submit my work little less allow it to be published.”

Draco’s posture eased now that it seemed she wasn’t going to run off again. “What if you used a pseudonym?”

“It’s not my name that’s the problem. He doesn’t want either of his daughters to have a career. He wants us married and popping out heirs.”

His jaw ticked, wheels turning.

“Are you a novelist or journalist?”

She shifted on her feet, apprehension coloring her face.

“The former.”

“That’s impressive, Tori.”

Her blush deepened, she glanced down. “Not really. I’m locked inside most of the time, it’s not like I have much else to do.”

Her words inspired a sudden memory. “Why were you crying that day?”

She glanced up. “What day?”

“When I paid you a visit last. You were crying in the sitting room.”

She took a tentative step back. “Oh. That was…”

He raised a staying hand. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want.”

She shook her head. “It’s not that, I just… it’s not entirely my story to tell.”

His brows drew together.

_Interesting._

He pushed on.

“Do you have a completed manuscript?”

She rubbed her arm absently. “Yes… why?”

“Bring it with you to the party tomorrow.”

She tipped her head. “Draco, what are you up to?”

His face split into a Cheshire grin, eyes alight.

“I have an idea.”

Her expression was caught between trepidation and humor. “God help us all.”

* * *

Harry glanced over his shoulder to make sure the coast was clear before facing the red door. He rapped his knuckles against the wood.

The privacy slot slid open, dark eyes peering out.

“Egbert.”

The eyes drew away, the sound of turning locks quick to follow.

The door opened to reveal a smoke cloud, white and bitter. Harry took a deep breath of putrid alley air before stepping inside.

He passed by the doorman with a nod and quickly descended the hall. He walked to the end, emerging through the beaded curtain and then stopping dead.

The main room was overflowing with people, the floor carpeted by sprawling bodies.

He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the hazy fog from his vision, every hose of the hookah in use.

A group of girls in the corner caught his eye, clad in only their shifts, seated upon pillows and plaiting each other’s hair.

He crossed the room carefully, mindful of stepping on hands and bare feet. A man was passed out with his shirt open, limbs askew. Harry shook his head, not envying him the muscle cramps he’d inevitably have upon waking.

The girls stopped their ministrations, gazing up through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Hello, luvs.” Harry lowered to his haunches. “You wouldn’t happen to know a pretty brunette by the name of Susan, would you?”

They shook their heads. He sighed deeply, taking in more smoke than intended, his eyes tearing. He stood and resumed his slow search of the room.

He was on the verge of giving up, ready to invade the private rooms in the hall, when he saw a familiar river of brown hair in the corner.

A girl lay on her side, facing the wall, clearly asleep.

Or dead. It was hard to tell from this distance.

Harry leaped over a few bodies to inspect more closely, walking through a cloud so thick he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, and then quickly knelt down, placing a hand on her bare arm.

She didn’t flinch. He gently rolled her to her back, brushing the long strands away from her face.

It was Susan alright.

He groaned, hovering his hand over her face to feel her breath. It was so shallow it took several moments for him to confirm she was still alive.

“Fucking hell.”

When his attempts at rousing her came to naught he leaned forward to scoop her into his arms, teetering slightly as he rose to his feet with her added weight.

He made his way to the beaded curtain once more, no one bothering to glance in their direction as he left the room with the prone girl in his arms.

He made his way down the hall and readied his excuse for the doorman. To his surprise, and great unease, the man didn’t bat an eye at the sight of the woman in his grasp, he merely stood from his stool and held open the door.

“Good day, Sir.”

Harry blinked, adjusting the dead weight in his arms. “Yeah. Same to you.”

He was relieved he had the forethought to tell the carriage driver to wait for him at the end of the alley, blocking the view of the entrance from pedestrians and traffic. He’d wanted to prepare for the worst.

Sadly he found it.

Susan didn’t stir as he carefully maneuvered her inside, laying her across one of the seats and removing his coat to stuff it beneath her head as a makeshift pillow. He slipped the driver extra money to keep his mouth shut about what he saw and instructed him on where to go next.

They pulled into the driveway of Grimmauld half an hour later, Harry was relieved to see his godfather was still out. But he could be returning at any time, and Harry wasn’t keen on explaining the situation when the man found an unconscious woman in his parlor.

So Harry carried her upstairs to his chambers, laying her upon the mattress with a sigh of exhaustion. She was a slight thing but carrying her all the way from the entrance had been an exercise.

Her expression remained completely lax, utterly lost to the coma-like sleep of the poppy.

He sat on the floor beside her, leaning against his nightstand.

 _Well_ , he thought ruefully, running a hand through his wild mane, _finally got a woman in my bed_.

He laughed at his own silent musings.

_Ron wants to marry this one._

He tipped his head back, staring at the crown molding with narrowed his eyes, chest tightening.

_Fuck love._

* * *

As the carriage pulled off Uxbridge Road into the private community of Holland Park Tom felt a pang in his jaw from grinding his teeth.

He released a long breath through his nose, watching the lavish townhomes pass by the window with narrowed eyes.

He’d wasted no time in accepting Dolohov’s invitation to attend the private gathering of so-called ‘like-minded’ individuals, as the solicitor was fond of putting it. He was surprised to receive the invitation so soon after their brief and somewhat tense encounter.

He suspected the man was after something, something he thought Tom could deliver.

Tom was only too happy to enter the snake pit to hear the man out. He was equipped with fangs as well, and was always fascinated by the company of other predators.

He descended the carriage in a leap and bid the driver farewell after handing over an extra hearty tip, his spirits already lifting at the thought of the evening to come.

While being in the presence of such opulence normally set his hackles to rise, he smoothed his sleek fur back and reminded himself that this was exactly what he wanted. The plan was going accordingly, ahead of schedule perhaps, but he would make it work. He always did.

He climbed the marble steps to the front door and raised his hand to grab the brass knocker. Before he could make contact the door swung open to reveal a thin graying butler, face pinched with perpetual distaste.

“May I help you, Sir?”

His sour tone suggested he would be happy to shut the door in Tom’s face.

Tom drew in a slow breath, instantly reminded of all the times he’d been snubbed at Cambridge and medical school for his less than spotless background, for his lack of blue blood.

Being snubbed by a member of the wait staff was always worse somehow, that the people paid to scrub chamber pots still placed themselves above him, as though they could see into his very soul and knew exactly what he was. A misfit, a miscreant, forever a filthy dock hand cursed to scrub the belly of ships until his fingers bled for all eternity.

Tom blinked, pulling himself out of his reverie. His eyes narrowed dangerously, irritated with himself for allowing his mind to drift at a time like this. He took his ire out on the man standing before him.

“My name is Doctor Thomas Riddle. I received an invitation from Mr. Antonin Dolohov.”

His tone suggested the butler was an idiot for not already knowing this.

The butler gave him a thorough once over. Tom bristled. He was in his most expensive bespoke suit, purchased at the same store all the elite shopped at. Yet he felt like a child playing dress-up beneath the old man’s shrewd gaze.

An imposter.

Tom’s jaw ticked, fists tightening reflexively. Finally, the butler stepped away, beckoning Tom inside.

“Welcome, Doctor. The others have been expecting you.”

Tom strode past the man without acknowledgment, shoulders back.

Conversation could be heard in the parlor off the main entrance, and as Tom turned to face the room a familiar voice called his name.

“Ah! Riddle! I’m so glad you were able to join us!” Dolohov crossed the gleaming wood floors with a drink in one hand and a cigar in the other. “Welcome!”

Tom slid into his elitist persona with ease. He’d crafted the disguise while at University and it now fit him like a second skin.

“Of course. It was kind of you to think of me, Dolohov.”

The man smiled, eyes slightly glazed and mannerisms stilted. This certainly wasn’t his first drink.

“Come, come, I want to introduce you to the others.”

Tom fell into step beside the man, tucking his hands into his pockets as he glanced casually about the home, eyes drifting past priceless artworks and antiques as though they were nothing more than window decoration.

Once upon a time, he’d been gobsmacked by such blatant wealth, perturbed by it, even as much as he coveted it. He’d since learned to treat it with as much disregard as those born into such lifestyle if he stood any chance of assimilating.

As they entered the parlor the conversation ceased, heads turning to stare at the newest arrival.

Two men were seated in leather armchairs facing the roaring fireplace, two others stood by the drink cart, puffing away on cigars and nursing lowball glasses in their hands. Inside Tom was shaking his head at the tragically cliché image they all made, outwardly his expression remained neutral, pleasantly indifferent.

He knew the type of men these were. Business tycoons and political leaders. They were bombarded by eager arse kissing day in and day out. They’d only spare Tom a passing glance if he proved interesting, an intriguing anomaly in their otherwise normal and boring routine of running the world.

Tom wasn’t intimidated. He harbored no doubt he was the most fascinating individual in this room, mostly for reasons he couldn’t disclose without killing them all, but that was just a minor detail. He merely needed to set the stage, line them up to knock them down.

This was going to be fun.

“Men, gather round! I have someone you absolutely _must_ meet.”

Tom raised a dark brow, intrigued by Dolohov’s grand build up. True, the man was well plied with drink, but he also was clearly trying to endear himself to Tom.

_Or he’s setting me up for something with the others…_

Tom’s senses came to life, instincts roaring within him as the two men standing at the drink cart closed in. His fists clenched in his pockets, he forced his fingers to relax and drew them free, resting casually at his sides.

“This is Doctor Thomas Riddle, just got back to London. He attended Cambridge and medical school in England before traveling the world. He’s a right genius and clever sort, if you know what I mean.”

Tom smirked, looking smug and appreciative of Dolohov’s concise summary. Inwardly he was sharpening his claws against the whetstone, ready for the questions he knew were sure to follow.

“Doctor, good to meet you. Jonathan Avery,” one of the men said, pulling the cigar free of his mouth and extending a hand.

Tom met it with his own, grip steady and sure. “Pleasure. And there’s no need for formalities. Call me Riddle.”

Avery nodded once, expression pleased and curious. Tom imagined they were used to most men of their caliber demanding everyone address them by their full title. The man standing beside Avery rubbed at his sandy colored mustache, eyes roaming Tom’s figure, assessing.

“The name’s Yaxley. Corban Yaxley.” He finally lowered his hand, extending it as though in challenge.

Tom fought the urge to roll his eyes. The man was obviously easily run over by his counterparts, which explained this ghastly attempt at dominance. Tom shook his hand with a smirk, already dismissing him as useless in his mind.

His focus instead went to the two men still seated on the chairs, watching the scene unfold with guarded expressions.

This was where the power lied.

Dolohov clamped Tom on the back, making him cringe internally even as his gaze remained fixed across the room.

The longer he gazed upon the seated men the more he noticed a familial resemblance.

His heart leaped into his chest.

Could it be?

He’d been expecting a foot in the door. Not to strike gold...

“Riddle,” Dolohov began, gesturing with his drink. “May I introduce you to the infamous Lestrange brothers.”

Tom unconsciously wet his lips, pupils dilating.

One of the men tipped his head, eyes roaming Tom from bottom to top.

“Riddle…” he raised a dark brow, finally meeting his eyes. “Welcome.” He smiled, teeth gleaming in the firelight. “I’m Rabastan, this here is Rodolphus.”

The elder Lestrange released a long breath of smoke, lowering his cigar. “I’m more than capable of speaking for myself, Rab. You’re worse than Bella.”

Rabastan shrugged lighting, taking a sip from his glass, watching Tom over the rim.

“So,” he continued, licking the liquor from his top lip. “How did you meet our Dolly?”

Dolohov groaned, stepping away from Tom and making his way towards the drink cart. “Must you embarrass me in front of guests, Rabastan?”

“He usually does a good enough job of that on his own,” Avery said with a smirk, winking at Tom as though it were some inside joke between them.

“Bloody hilarious, the lot of you.” Dolohov grabbed a crystal decanter, removing the lid. “Riddle, what are you drinking?”

Tom glanced over. “Bourbon, neat. Thank you.”

Dolohov waved a hand. “None of that, now. You’re among friends, Riddle. No need to be so proper.”

“Perhaps he was instilled with a bit more manners than you,” Rodolphus said, once more facing the fire.

“You’ll have to excuse Antonin,” Yaxley sidled closer. Too close. Tom’s muscles tensed but he forced himself to remain poised and relaxed. “His mother was a gypsy who convinced his father to raise him in Westminster.”

Tom’s jaw ticked.

Westminster was an upper-class neighborhood where many of the peerage kept smaller London homes.

He forced a smirk, stomach clenching in disgust.

“What a travesty. I suppose he must be forgiven.”

Yaley laughed, clapping him on the back. Tom’s eyes twitched. Avery looked pleased as well, but Rabastan gazed upon him with an unnerving shrewdness.

“We’ve gotten off subject, as usual. How did the two of you meet?”

Dolohov crossed the floor, extending a glass of amber liquid to Tom.

“We met at the Orphanage on Bromley. Riddle’s the physician there.”

Rabastan’s eyes flashed, expression transforming into something lethal. Rodolphus reacted similarly, head snapping round, eyes narrowed dangerously. It thrilled Tom to no end.

“What the bloody hell were you doing at the orphanage?” Avery asked with clear distaste.

“I was conducting an inspection for a client.”

Tom held Rabatstan’s gaze, slowly sipping at his drink, relishing the uncertainty in the other man’s eyes as Tom refused to be shaken.

“Who the hell is your client?”

“You know I can’t tell you that, Jon.”

“Well Riddle obviously knows, he can tell me.”

“He’s a doctor, idiot, he’s bound to more secrecy than I am.”

“Secrecy must be a large part of your work,” Rodolphus cut in, causing the three men surrounding Tom to fall silent, deferring to their leader.

Tom grinned slowly, gaze calm and steady. “Naturally.”

The brothers shared a charged look, Tom could practically see the wheel’s turning behind their eyes, but his attention was pulled away as new footsteps came into the room, the gait clipped and light.

A woman.

And certainly no maid.

She wore a blood red gown, the plunging neckline revealing ample cleavage and a glittering diamond necklace, her black hair drawn up with loose stands grazing her pale neck and shoulders. Her walk was positively feline, confidence radiating from every pore, and her kohl-lined eyes were fixed upon Tom, bright and hungry.

His heart jolted. She made quite the sight.

And instantly he knew... the greatest threat yet had just entered the room.

She licked her rouge stained lips, sidling up next to one of the chairs and sitting on the arm, running her hands along the elder brother’s arm.

“Roddy, darling, you didn’t tell me we were having someone new to the house. I would have dressed up for the occasion.” She had yet to take her eyes off Tom. He watched her in turn, sensing something truly wild in his midst. A feral beast, more dangerous for its unpredictability.

“You look breathtaking as always, my treasure.” Rodolphus took her hand in his, kissing her fingertips. “May I introduce Doctor Thomas Riddle.” A beat. “He works at the girl's home on Bromley.”

The woman’s gaze narrowed, red lips parting in a wide grin that revealed dripping fangs. Tom’s spine straightened.

“How marvelous.” Her eyes gleamed as she stood, sauntering across the room with swaying hips, yet he could tell the stride came naturally to her. She put on no show for him. She was the show.

“Bellatrix Lestrange, luv.” She presented herself, voice deep, chin high and hand raising expectantly. Tom didn’t miss a beat, capturing it in his strong grip and pressing his lips to her knuckles.

Her pupils dilated rapidly, as did his own.

“Utterly charmed.” He retained his grip on her fingers. “I am honored to be in your home, Madam Lestrange.”

She tipped her head back and released a throaty laugh, causing her husband to smile indulgently even as Yaxley and Avery shifted uncomfortably, as though the noise brought them great distress.

“This little shack?” She shook her head, cleavage jostling with the movement. “This property belongs to Ethan Parkinson, dear. Roddy and I would never be caught dead buying a house in this neighborhood. Not even to hide bodies in.”

Tom released her hand with a grin. His skin burned from the acid of her touch.

He knew exactly who he was dealing with now. All the characters were introduced. The play could finally begin.

“Will Parkinson be joining us?” Dolohov asked.

“He had other business to attend to this evening. As did Travers. This is everyone,” Rabastan replied, finally standing with his empty glass held aloft.

“Where is that damned butler? If I have to refill my own drink one more bloody time-”

“I’ve instructed Perry to give us some privacy,” Rodolphus stubbed his cigar out in a crystal ashtray at his side. “You are more than capable of supplying yourself with liquor, brother, of that, I am most certain.”

Rabastan rolled his eyes but made no other comment, making his way to the drink cart.

“So, are we going to stand around chatting like a bunch of hens or are we going to get down to business?”

Tom’s heart beat faster.

“Very well, might as well get to it.” Rodolphus stood as well, cracking his neck. “Riddle, you play cards?”

Tom blinked, quickly switching gears. “I’ve been known to engage in a few games over the years.”

Bella slid to his side, grasping his arm. “Fantastic. I have a sneaking suspicion you’re an expert at most things, darling.” She winked. “Escort me to the billiards room?”

“It would be an honor.”

Tom didn’t spare a glance for her husband as they passed, but he already garnered the impression the man couldn’t care less about his wife’s blatant flirtations. She did so with such ease it was obviously a regular occurrence. Tom doubted it ever came to anything of note.

Or perhaps they had an understanding. One that he would happily exploit if needed.

The billiards room was already set up with a felt lined table in the center, another roaring fireplace in the corner.

“Will you be joining us, Madam?”

She tipped her head up, dark eyes searching his face. “Most men wouldn’t bother asking such a question, Doctor.”

“Riddle,” he corrected on instinct.

She smirked. “I think I prefer calling you Doctor. You don’t mind, do you, luv?”

He shook his head. “Not at all.”

She nodded, looking quite pleased about something he couldn’t quite place. “Alas, I will leave the gambling to the boys. I merely traipse about the room and create a rather frustrating distraction for everyone.”

He held her gaze. “I have a feeling you cause a distraction most everywhere you go.”

She laughed once more, eyes bright. “Oh, I _like_ you.”

She squeezed his arm before releasing him and stepping away.

“I’ll let you boys play.” She walked to her husband’s side, placing a hand against his chest and perching on her tiptoes to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. Her lip rouge left behind a mark. She wiped it away with her thumb.

“Have fun, my luv.”

He smirked down at her, hand gripping her waist. “I always do.”

Tom glanced away, pulling out a chair and seating himself across from Dolohov, the chairs on either side of him empty. Rabastan took one and soon enough Rodolphus filled the other.

Sandwiched between the two most powerful men in the room.

Perhaps they meant to intimidate him.

Tom couldn’t be more pleased.

“Are you familiar with poker, Riddle?” Rabastan asked, withdrawing a pack of cards from a compartment beneath the table.

“The American game?”

Yaxley laughed, twirling the ice in his glass. “Those bloody yanks may be heathens but they’ve certainly got their vices down to an art form.”

“Actually, the game derives from an ancient card game played by a tenth-century Chinese emperor.”

Everyone looked to Tom. He smirked. “Apologies. I am simply brimming with useless information.”

The men all laughed. His chest swelled.

“I find anything relating to the fine art of gambling hardly useless,” Rabastan opened the deck, shaking free the cards and beginning a skilled shuffle.

“So, tell us more about your job, Riddle. I find it remarkably fascinating,” Avery spoke around his cigar.

Tom drew back in his chair, posture impeccable, naturally mirroring those around him.

“I am sure you encounter far more interesting things in your day than tending the sick.”

“Avery owns a chain of steel mills. I assure you, he doesn’t.”

“It’s a hell of a lot more fascinating that owning a paper mill,” the man shot back defensively. Yaxley rolled his eyes, seemingly unaffected by the slight.

“Gentlemen. Behave.” Rodolphus took a drink. “Tell us, Riddle, what is it like working and living around so many young women?”

Tom took a steady breath.

This was it.

The moment that would set the tone for the remainder of the conversation.

And finalize his position on the board.

He opened his mouth, but before he could utter a word a loud knock sounded at the front door, echoing through the marble entryway and into the room.

Everyone turned their heads.

“I thought you said we weren’t expecting anyone else?”

“We aren’t.” Rodolphus pushed back in his chair, standing. “Just a moment, lads, I’ll return shortly.”

Tom’s jaw clenched.

The bloody interruption cost him the crucial moment. He’d have to carefully reconstruct the opportunity once more.

He was pulled from his seething thoughts by the sound of Rodolphus’s boisterous laughter.

“Come on, come say hello to the others.”

“I would rather not.”

“They haven't seen you in ages. Just drop in for a quick-”

“I’d rather you sign the papers so we can both get back to our evening.”

“Nonsense. I’ll sign as soon as you come inside.”

“Fucking hell.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Tom raised a brow.

The sound of footsteps followed, two sets. Rodolphus entered the room, followed by a very reluctant and irate looking young man that had the chiseled features and perpetual disdain of a true blue blood.

Tom had already dismissed the pretty creature as another useless aristocrat when Rabastan sprang to his feet beside him, quickly crossing the room with his arms outstretched.

“There’s my nephew! Where the hell have you been hiding?”

The blonde cringed but accepted the staggering embrace, glaring at the ceiling. “Under a rock.”

“Ha!” Rodolphus clapped the man on the back. “Say hi to the boys.”

The stranger shrugged out of Rabastan’s grip. “Hi to the boys.”

“Smart arse.”

“Stay for a round of cards, Drake. We’re playing poker, your favorite.”

“I really must be going. I just need Rod’s signature on these papers and I’m free from my father’s wrath for the evening.”

“I’ll sign them once you play a round.”

The blonde rolled his eyes. “You said you’d sign them if I said hello to everyone!”

Rodolphus laughed, eyes shifting to Tom.

“Riddle, I’d like for you to meet my nephew, Draco Malfoy.”

Tom nodded politely. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Malfoy looked supremely uninterested. “Mutual, I’m sure.” Then his pale gaze shifted to the man towering at his side. He shoved papers into the center of his uncle’s chest, the gesture reminiscent of what Hermione had done to Tom the previous night.

The sudden memory made his temperature rise. He shifted in his seat, pushing the thought aside, needing to maintain focus, control.

Rodolphus took the papers with a heavy sigh. “Bloody waste of youth, you are.”

Malfoy smirked without humor. “I’ll fetch you a pen.”

“No need.” Tom withdrew a pen from his inner coat lining, holding it aloft. “Use mine.”

Malfoy blinked, looking hesitant for the space of a heartbeat before crossing the room.

“Cheers, mate.”

Tom nodded, covertly examining the young man up close. He was handsome, dressed in the finest of clothing, and carried himself with the casual grace of a man raised with private tutors and etiquette coaches.

Tom detested him.

But he didn’t hate him. The difference may have been a fine one, but it was the line between life and death all the same.

The blonde accepted the pen and turned back around.

“Well if you’re not going to offer us any entertainment, we’ll have to rely on Riddle’s stories,” Rabastan said offhandedly, making his way back to the table. “He’s the doctor at the girl's home on Bromley.”

And then the most curious thing happened.

The young man froze in his tracks, shoulders going rigid.

Tom raised a brow, surely he wasn’t the only one who noticed the man’s strange reaction…

But no one seemed to pay the blonde any mind. Rabastan retook his chair, grabbing the deck of cards. Rodolphus scribbled his name at the bottom of whatever legal document he held, and Tom was left to study the boy alone.

Malfoy slowly turned around, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. His pale gaze fixed upon Tom.

“You work _where_?”

Tom’s body thrummed.

_Fascinating._

_Perhaps he isn’t an innocent child after all._

“I’m the physician at the Umbridge Home for Girls.”

The blonde blinked, drawing to his full height. His eyes darkened, expression turning dangerous, so very much like his aunt’s Tom instantly knew where his blood relation lied.

“On second thought,” Malfoy took a step forward. “I’ve got time for a quick round.”

“That’s the spirit!” Dolohov shouted, raising his glass in the air and spilling some over the side. Rodolphus shouted his enthusiasm as well, but the object of their celebration hardly seemed aware of their presence.

Instead, his eyes remained fastened on Tom, even as he slid into the chair directly opposite his. The intensity of the young man’s expression was almost enough to put him on edge.

Almost.

Instead, Tom felt his curiosity reach a new peak. This last-minute addition to the group was proving far more fascinating than all the other players combined.

Tom barely registered the cards being dealt across the table.

“Alright, gentlemen.” Rabastan clapped his hands together, eyes bright. “Let’s play.”

* * *

Harry awoke to the sound of a scream.

He jolted, banging his head on something hard.

“Oh! Fuck!”

He blinked rapidly, gazing around in confusion, senses slowly returning. He spun to face the woman on the bed as she scrambled backward with terror-filled eyes.

“Susan! Calm down! It’s me!”

He pulled himself to his feet, holding his hands up non threateningly. She finally fell silent though her mouth remained open, shock palpable.

“H-Harry?” her voice was thick, raspy. She wet her lips, blinking.

Harry reached for the glass of water beside the bed, holding it out. “Here, drink this.”

Her eyes flickered rapidly between the glass and his emerald gaze. “Harry?”

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Bloody hell, drink the water, Susan.”

She reluctantly took the offering, downing half the contents in one go. She gasped for air afterward, eyes more focused.

“Where am I?”

He sat on the edge of the bed, one foot still on the floor. “Grimmauld.”

Her eyes widened, but before she could respond there was a knock on the door. Harry’s heart leaped into his throat as he quickly sprinted across the room. Susan scrambled off the bed, getting tangled in the coverlet and toppling to the floor.

“Ow shite!”

“Shut up!” he hissed over his shoulder, turning back to face the door.

“Yeah?” he called out.

“I heard a woman scream. Thought I’d do my parental due diligence and check in.”

Harry closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“It was me. I saw a spider.”

He could hear the smirk in his godfather’s voice. “That I can almost believe. But I also heard you talking to someone.”

Harry rubbed his throbbing temples. “I was giving myself a pep talk before killing it.”

“I see. Well, that all sounds very reasonable.”

He glanced back. Susan covered her mouth with her hands, eyes wide and pleading.

“So…” Sirius continued from the other side. “Any chance the spider survived and will go on to press charges for kidnapping and battery?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I already dismembered the body, I’ll bury each of the legs in a separate location, make it harder for the cops to piece together.”

“Good lad.” A pregnant pause. “Carry on then. Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Finally, the sound of footsteps retreated down the hall and to the stairs.

Harry thwacked his forehead into the door.

“Fuck. This. Day.”

“More like fuck this week, I’d say,” Susan whispered, slowly rising from the floor. “Will Lord Black say anything?”

Harry shook his head, turning to face her. “No, he may not know how to act discreet but he’s the best secret keeper you’ll ever meet.”

She nodded slowly, crawling back onto the bed after tipping sideways. He narrowed his eyes.

“How are you feeling?”

She moaned low in her throat. “Like a maggot living on an animal carcass left in the sun to rot and decay.”

He raised a brow. “Very poetic.”

“I have my moments.”

He slowly drew near, hands in his pockets. “Is it normal for you to wake up in a stranger's bed?”

She scowled. “You aren’t a stranger.”

“You know what I mean. You seem remarkably at ease.”

“I assume you brought me here from the den, arsehole.” She attempted to roll her eyes but seemed to get dizzy midway through. “Ow, goddammit…” she clutched her stomach. “Shite. I think I’m going to be sick.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Fuck. Hang on!”

He ran to the corner and grabbed a waste tin, leaping over an ottoman and skidding to the bed just in time to shove the basket under her face.

She opened her mouth and spilled the meager contents of her stomach. Harry cringed, turning around to afford her some privacy, feeling his own stomach clench at the sound of her dry heaving.

“Bloody hell…” she whispered, panting lightly. “I’m sorry. Doesn’t usually get this bad.”

Harry swallowed thickly, glancing over his shoulder.

“How often are you smoking?”

She closed her eyes, setting the basket on the floor beside her.

“Why am I here, Harry?”

His jaw ticked, but he let her navigate around the question. For now.

“I needed to speak with you. I visited your house but you weren’t-”

“You went to my house!” She lurched forward. “Did my father see you?”

Harry shook his head. “Relax. No one was home but the maid. She told me you were out. I hazarded a guess as to where you might be.”

She scowled. “If my father finds out I had a gentleman caller-”

“I didn’t give my name. If the maid tells him and he asks just say I’m a salesman. Or better yet, a Jehovah’s witness.”

She fell back into the mattress, head plopping on the pillows. “Christ.”

“Funny, those were my thoughts exactly as I was carrying your unconscious body from the smoke-filled back alley club.”

“Don’t lecture me, Potter.”

“So I’m Potter now, huh?” He walked to the other side of the bed, flopping down beside her, leaning against the headboard.

“I can call you a meddling bastard if you’d prefer?”

He smirked. “I get enough of that from my friends, think I’ll stick with Harry if it’s all the same to you.”

She covered her eyes with her palms. “It’s so bloody _bright_ in here.”

“Deal with it.”

“I can’t stand you right now.”

“Well you’ll have to put up with me a bit longer I’m afraid, I have some questions for you.”

“Bloody Christ.” She buried her head in the covers. “You always have questions for me.”

“What can I say, you’re a regular fountain of information.”

“I don’t know anything else, Po-

“Lavender is dead.”

She went rigid at his side, slowly peering up from the blankets. She blinked, then drew herself upright.

“I’m sorry.” She bit her lip. “That was her they found in the river, then?”

Harry nodded, shoulders heavy. “Yes. She was murdered.”

Susan closed her eyes, sighing deeply. “Shite.”

Harry studied her closely. “How did you know they found her body in the first place?”

She glanced at him in confusion. “I already told you, I overheard one of the officers telling my father.”

“At the station?”

She nodded. Harry tipped his head. “You were visiting him at work?”

She blinked. “No. I work there also.”

His heart skipped a beat. “At the Scotland Yard?”

“I’m a part-time receptionist for the CID.”

He wet his lips, leaning in.

“That’s brilliant.”

She drew back, brows drawn. “Why?”

“Because I need your help getting the investigation opened.”

She swallowed heavily. “Look, Harry, I want to help but-”

“Susan, you know as well as I do Lavender’s case is going to be swept under the rug if we don’t do something.”

She ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t know what you expect of me. I’m just a secretary-”

“Your father leads the department.”

“For large-scale crime rings, not one-off murders.”

He took a deep breath. “What if we could prove her murder is linked to something bigger, something more sinister?”

She eyed him wearily. “Is it?”

He glanced away, staring at a random spot on the wall as his mind raced.

“I’m starting to think this goes deeper than any of us can imagine.”

Susan drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around her legs and leaned into the headboard beside him.

“Are there other murders linked to hers?”

He blinked.

_Bloody hell…_

“Bloody hell.” He looked at her sharply, eyes bright. “You have access to records?”

She shook her head. “Oh no, don’t even _think_ of asking me to do that, Harry.”

“The evidence is sitting right under your nose, Susan. If you can find even one case that is remotely related to Lavender’s then I can follow up on the leads and-”

“Get yourself killed.” She shook her head. “No way, I’m not getting involved in this shite. It could ruin both our lives _and_ my father’s career if we’re caught.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, suspecting the pleading route wouldn’t sway her as it would Hermione. This girl had no emotional connection to him.

But they did share  _one_ vital connection…

“You owe me, Susan.”

Her eyes widened to saucers. “ _Excuse_ me?”

“I kept my mouth shut with Ron.”

She scoffed indelicately, rearing back. “Are you bloody mad? I brought you information about Lavender in exchange for your silence!”

“Yeah, and that was well and fine when you were just flirting casually with him, but now you’ve gone and made the idiot fall in love with you.”

She blinked, mouth clamping shut. Harry groaned, instantly regretting his underhanded tactics.

“Fuck, forget I said-”

“He loves me?’

He rubbed at his forehead, the pressure headache hitting an all-time peak.

_Maybe it’s not just Malfoy that causes them…_

_Still, better to blame the pompous arse._

She gazed forward, face tense.

“He loves me…”

Harry dropped his head back, skull cracking against the headboard.

“Yeah.”

She sighed. “We only just met.”

“Ron’s a hopeless romantic.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “I take it you aren’t head over heels?”

She wet her lips nervously. “I like him. A lot. He’s sweet and always tries so hard to impress me. I’m not used to blokes being so... “ she shook her head. “I’m not used to nice guys I guess.”

Harry nodded. “I know the feeling.”

She glanced at him. “Pardon?”

“Nevermind.”

She gazed forward once more. “But we’ve only known each other for-”

“Four days.”

She blinked. “Shite. Is that all it’s been?”

“Susan.” She stiffened. “If you’re just looking for something casual, please be honest with him. He wears his heart on his sleeve and it’ll be easier to let him down easy now than drawing this out any longer.”

She rubbed at her chest. “I… I don’t want to let him down easy. I like spending time with him.”

Harry watched her carefully. “If you stay with him, I’ll have to tell him.”

She turned to face him, eyes pleading.

“Harry, please don’t. I can’t bear for him to look at me like I’m some sort of… some sort of…” She closed her eyes. “I just couldn’t take it.”

“He’s my best mate. I can’t keep this secret from him.”

Her eyes snapped open, bright with intent.

“What if I help find the files for you?”

Harry’s stomach knotted. “I don’t want-”

“I know, you’re not the type to blackmail someone.” She paused. “On second thought, you probably are, but you’re too much of a gentleman to blackmail a woman.”

Harry raised a brow. “Fair enough.”

“If I search for cases relating to Lavender's will you promise not to say anything to Ron?”

Harry sighed deeply, pulse thrumming.

“As tempting an offer as it is, I can’t take any deal that results in me lying to my friend.”

She swallowed thickly, glancing away in defeat. Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“But…” She glanced up with hopeful eyes. “I suppose I can keep my mouth shut if you promise to tell him yourself when you feel the time is right.”

She bit her lip. He pinned her with an intense glare. “And I don’t mean ten years from now after you’re married with five kids.”

She blinked. “Bloody hell, that’s a bit excessive, no?”

“Ron’s got five brothers and a sister.”

She paled, glancing away. “Jesus.”

“Do we have a deal?”

She was silent for a few tense beats before nodding slowly. “Yes, I suppose that’s better than nothing.”

Harry watched her several moments longer before speaking again, muscles tense.

“I have another request for you, relating to the case.”

That part wasn’t necessarily true, but it would save him from questions he wasn’t prepared to answer.

She looked at him wearily. “What is it?”

He inhaled slowly through his nose. “I want you to see what you can find out about Doctor Thomas Riddle.”

She tipped her head. “Is he involved?”

“I just need you to tell me if there’s anything in the records about him.”

She nodded, resigned to her fate.

“You were right.” She collapsed once more against the headboard. “Fuck this day.”

* * *

Hermione rubbed at her tired eyes, vision blurry as she combed through the messy scrawl of yet another resident file.

She leaned back in the chair, shoulders tight with tension after hours of sitting in the same position. She gazed at the meager stack of completed papers to her left, then to the ominous stacks lining the four walls.

She closed her eyes, tipping her head back.

This was going to take weeks, months even.

_I need to work faster…_

She rubbed absently at a sore muscle in her neck.

_You can’t rush this. If you miss the finer details what’s the point to any of it?_

She opened her eyes, staring blankly at the ceiling while another image took shape in her mind.

The Doctor’s face looked like the cat that caught the canary as she agreed to help him in his mysterious crusade.

“Tell me what to do,” she had said, so full of righteous anger.

She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but his reply certainly wasn’t it.

“I need you to go through the records, determine which ones have been altered, which ones are classified as Suitable.”

She blinked, shoulder dropping.

“You seem disappointed, Ms. Granger.”

“I…” she wet her lips, shaking her head. “No, I just…”

“You were expecting something more radical?”

The candlelight danced in his eyes. She took a steadying breath, the fire cooling in her veins.

“It just seems you already have a handle on examining the records.”

He tipped his chin up. “It’s time-consuming. And I still have a job to do during the day. Being the sole physical of all the residents takes up every free moment. I try to devote the majority of my evenings to research but it’s been slow going.”

She nodded. That made sense, she supposed. Still…

“What exactly are you looking for?”

“Commonalities between the girls who went missing. We need to find out why they were deemed Suitable.”

Her hands clenched at her sides. “I take it the previous physician is the one who deemed them as such?”

“Yes.”

She waited for him to continue, the silence unnerving. She pushed forward, finally asking the question that was eating away inside her, echoing through her head like a bat in a cave.

“What do you plan on doing once you find the information you’re looking for?”

He wet his lips, smiling slowly. The predatory look didn’t frighten her as it once would have.

And yet her lack of fear was what caused her to take a step back.

_What’s happening to me?_

His answer was frustratingly vague, and yet everything she had been expecting.

“We shall cross the bridge when we come to it, Hermione.”

And here she sat, in his cramped, overfilled, makeshift office, going through file after file, eyes burning and head throbbing. The Doctor had told her he was running an errand that evening.

When she shot him an accusing glare he had simply said it was relating to the investigation and then strode into his chambers, closing the door behind him with finality. She reluctantly entered the office, taking a seat and starting her slow and diligent work.

He’d emerged from the room several minutes later, dressed to the nines. Her heart had leaped into her throat, and an inane, ridiculous thought entered her mind, louder than all the others.

_Is he meeting a woman?_

She blinked, mortified and angry with herself.

She justified her reaction by thinking of how irresponsible it would be for him to head out on a date while he left her the insurmountable task of painstakingly combing through each file.

She certainly wasn’t jealous. Merely curious. What part of the investigation required him to look like a member of the peerage?

She had bit her tongue as he swept past without a glance or parting word, eyes fixed ahead as he casually buttoned his expensive coat. It fit him perfectly, contouring the angles of his broad shoulders and tapering down to his narrow waist.

Hermione pulled her gaze away, blushing, and buried herself in her work.

Time went by quickly as she got the hang of things, learning what to look for, then it crept by torturously slow as it all bled together. She caught herself having to reread information twice, sometimes even three times.

She rubbed her eyes. Curfew was soon. He had given her strict instructions not to break it. Being caught in the halls after hours would risk exposing their room of stolen documents.

Hermione faced the desk once more, slowly gathering papers into a neat stack when a shadow passed by the room, causing the candle to flicker. Hermione glanced up sharply, heart stuttering.

She didn’t hear any footsteps approach and had done her utmost to remain silent throughout her work. The office was located deep in an abandoned wing, he had assured her no one ventured down this far, most of the rooms sealed for storage.

_Umbridge knows about this wing. So does Filch._

She scrambled out of her chair.

_Unless the Doctor is back?_

She quickly dismissed the notion. He had only left a few hours ago and had assured her he would be back late, not to wait up.

_But why didn’t I hear the sound of her heels or Filch’s dragging gait?_

She took a tentative step forward, hoping it was merely a resident, a girl looking for a place to hide out, maybe engage in drink or smoke. Hermione could talk her way out of discovery if that were the case. Maybe bribe them if reasoning didn’t work.

She hovered at the door. It was open ajar, she couldn’t bear closing it all the way, but now she cursed her stupid phobia, no doubt the candlelight cast across the opposite wall had attracted whoever was in the hall.

_I can’t hide in here forever. Curfew will be soon. Better to face whoever it is and figure out the severity of the situation._

It was strangely comforting to rationalize her way through something, the majority of her day had shaped out to be a study in insanity.

She held her breath and opened the door.

The bit of hallway directly in front of her was empty. She stepped over the threshold, glancing in either direction.

She saw no one.

But a cold breeze stole past, blowing her loose curls back and rustling her skirts.

She blinked, peering down the dark expanse of corridor to the windows at the far end.

One of them appeared to be open.

She remembered Cormac climbing out of a similar window, falling into the shrubs below.

The memory felt far away, faded, from another lifetime.

When Lavender had been alive. Vibrant. Tangible.

She pressed a hand to her chest, the familiar ache returning, and quickly made her way down the hall. She darted to the window, shutting it before the cool draft attracted Filch’s attention.

The moon was bright, a waxing crescent, the stars dimly visible through the murky pollution filling the London air. She missed her family trips to the countryside. They often went with the Potters, the two families sharing an estate near the seaside for a few weeks each summer.

At night she and Harry would lay in the grass and stare up at the cosmos, bright and clear as the midday sun. They’d trace the constellations, Hermione detailing the legends behind each one while Harry inserted clever remarks that served to frustrate and humor her in equal measure.

Their days were filled with exploring the caves and local wildlife. Harry would pick up just about any creature that didn’t outright try to kill him. Hermione would gather plants and fossils in her skirts, eager to share her bounty with her father when they returned home.

When the water was calm enough, Harry would dive backward off the cliff’s edge and she would shriek in terror until his head of soaked, messy hair would emerge, emerald gaze sparkling with mirth as he teased her mercilessly about being too afraid to jump in after him.

But she never mustered the courage to jump from the cliff, even the lower ones. Hermione was perfectly content with sitting on the dock and letting her bare feet and calves take the plunge while she read a book, hair loose around her shoulders, lightened by the bright sun.

The memory was so vivid, so real, she actually heard the sea around her, the gentle lapping of the waves, the chorus of gulls overhead, and if she held her breath she could even hear her mother’s laughter in the distance…

A floorboard creaked behind her, shattering the illusion.

Hermione spun, eyes wide.

The shadows at either end of the intersecting hall were opaque, an inky black mass that breathed and undulated. She took an instinctive step back as the darkness seemed to grow, to spread along the walls, swallowing picture frames and molding, flowing tentacles reaching out for her.

She stumbled back down the hall she came from, desperate to return to the candlelight, the familiar stacks of paper.

She froze.

The hairs on her arms and neck stood on end as she felt the unmistakable presence of someone at her back.

And then she felt the gust of breath ghost across her neck and down the fabric of her loose collar.

She closed her eyes, the rational part of her mind shutting down, giving way for the impossible to take root.

Hermione knew what awaited her on the other side, but she was too far gone with terror to even think of running.

She slowly turned around.

And swallowed thickly at the sight before her.

She had been braced for the worst. A mangled corpse. A flayed body. Another eyeless visage.

But the girl staring back at her appeared peaceful. Unmarred. Normal.

Aside from the fact she was levitating a foot off the ground.

Hermione gazed down at the girl’s bare feet, suspended over the hallway runner by some unseen force.

She was so overwhelmed with shock that she came out the other end, gazing back up at the girl’s face, level with her own, and speaking without thought.

“You’ve lost your shoes.”

Hermione blinked, her own words registering a moment after she said them, but before she had the opportunity to smack herself in the forehead, or scream bloody murder, the ghostly apparition tipped her head and smiled.

For some inexplicable reason, Hermione found the gesture comforting. Her chest loosened. The girl’s serene expression revealed just how young she was. Perhaps not even a teenager. Her long hair floated around her as though underwater, gently swaying in an invisible current.

Her skin was deathly pale, nearly translucent. The dark circles beneath her sunken eyes revealed all Hermione needed to know about her living status, in case the levitation was merely a fancy parlor trick.

Hermione wet her lips, shock and adrenaline separating her mouth from her mind.

“Are you a ghost or hallucination?”

The girl tipped her head the other way, smile still in place.

“Can you speak?”

Suddenly the girl was floating backward, further along down the hall, closer to the ominous darkness.

And for some insane reason Hermione didn’t stop to ponder but would later berate herself for, she took a step after the girl, reaching out.

“Wait! Don’t go!”

The girl stopped her retreat, still facing Hermione.

And then she lifted a frail, pale arm.

And beckoned her to follow.

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. She felt dizzy.

The girl rotated mid-air, facing away and continue her path down the corridor.

She disappeared into the darkness.

Hermione sucked in a breath, tears in her eyes.

And ran after her.

_What am I doing?_

It was the last rational thought she remembered having that night.

As she entered the oppressive darkness she felt the air around her drop in temperature, gooseflesh breaking out along her arms.

She stepped forward and soon emerged into a beam of moonlight from the next set of windows.

The girl was ahead, face averted away, but she kept pace with Hermione, the distance between them remaining constant as Hermione trotted down the long hallway, plunging herself into pools of shadow and moonlight as she went.

And then the girl stopped at the wall, finally turning to face Hermione once more.

Hermione blinked in confusion, adrenaline lacing her system.

The hallway was empty, seemingly ordinary. Had she misunderstood the instructions?

“What do you want?”

The girl merely tipped her head again, eyes guileless and expression serene. She reminded her a bit of Luna. The comparison unnerved her deeply.

Hermione took a tentative step forward, opening her mouth to speak again-

And the girl floated into the wall, disappearing from sight.

Hermione reared back, gasping.

Her senses returned to her all at once, whatever strange force that propelled her to blindly follow the apparition wearing off.

She covered her mouth with her hands, horrified. She started to back away rapidly, needing to get away, go anywhere, see anyone, just as long as she wasn’t _here_ -

She stopped mid-step, stumbling.

Then blinked rapidly before narrowing her eyes.

The wall paneling.

There was a gap.

She swallowed.

_Who cares! Get. Out. Of. Here._

And yet she was stepping forward on shaky knees, breath trapped in her throat.

She ran a hand over the wood veneer. It felt cool the touch, but otherwise normal. No skeletal hand emerged to drag her through. She traced the seem in the wall, the gap was definitely there, but it was too narrow for her to get her fingers under.

She bit her lip, trying to pry it open with her nails, but it wouldn’t budge.

She stepped back, gazing at the wall, mind racing.

_It’s a hidden door._

She released a slow breath as she spoke the realization in her mind.

And suddenly, a puzzle stood before her.

One she was determined to solve.


	13. Delicate Pretty Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life stuff happening. There may be a delay in future updates. Maybe not. But just in case, thank you for being patient with me. I promise I will never abandon any of my fics. They are my children, warped and disturbed, and each one precious to my black heart.

_Why is a raven like a writing desk?_

.   .   .

Draco ran the tip of his index finger over the sharp edge of the Jack of Spades, head tipped down and eyes pinned to the man seated across the felt lined table.

The Doctor.

He took a deep breath, trying to maintain an air of calm despite his racing heart and mind.

_He works at the Home._

Draco still couldn't get his head around it. What were the bloody chances?

_Why is he here?_

He leaned back with easy grace, his mannerisms born from generations of finely tuned idiosyncrasy.

"Place your bets, men."

Rabastan took on the role of dealer, the most adept at shuffling and maneuvering with a slight of hand that bordered on pure magic itself. Draco knew the man had a serious gambling addiction stemming from his youth, no doubt giving way to decades of harnessed skill.

Of course, the gentry would never label it such. The aristocracy refused to acknowledge such vices until they impeded on financial assets, in which case they referred to a man's hardship as the result of a poor investment or some other economic downturn.

Seeing as the Lestrange family was third in wealth only behind the Crown and Draco's own family, destitution posed no great threat. Therefore, as was publically known, Rabastan didn't have a gambling problem. He had a fervent pastime.

The fact that he was choosing to deal cards rather than engage in the actual game was quite remarkable, at least to Draco. No one else seemed surprised by the turn of events, which only perturbed the young blonde more.

_Something about this entire evening is off._

Why did his father insist Draco hand deliver the legal documents to his Uncle on a Friday evening? The magistrate's office was closed over the weekend. When Draco tried to argue the point his father had sent him a bone-chilling look of finality, reminding him who was in charge of the family coin purse, and if Draco hoped to see another pence to his name he would deliver the documents without further protest.

He resented his father more each day. Always dangling a bit of silver over his head, just out of reach, taunting.

And yet Draco caved each time.

Ever the obedient son.

The loyal lap dog.

His left eye twitched at the mere thought of his father, perched in his study with a pipe dangling from the corner of his mouth, naught a care in the world.

Draco blinked as he realized the room had fallen silent. All eyes were on him.

"You with us, Drake?"

Draco's gaze narrowed. "Call."

He tossed his chips into the pot with little care. He'd picked up an unhealthy obsession with cards as well. He'd like to blame it on some hereditary dysfunction but he wasn't related to Lestrange by blood. Still, Hermione had once argued with him on the topic, scolding him for his rampant patronage to the gambling dens of the east side. She'd claimed environmental factors played just as much, if not more of a contributing factor to vices developed later in life.

She'd been so passionate on the subject, so filled with self-righteous fury. She was utterly breathtaking. He'd argued the point simply to see her cheeks flush, her hazel eyes glow from within, the moonlight reflecting off the Thames at her back as they stood beside the embankment, hidden from view of the party they'd escaped.

He'd silenced her with a kiss. He'd never admit it aloud, but he loved to hear her lecture him on one triviality or another, simply for the excuse to press his hungry mouth against hers, descending rapidly into clawing hands and snapping teeth, animals breaking free from the constraints of their human skin.

He swallowed thickly.

_Bloody hell. How do I always bring it back to her?_

_It's like a sickness of the mind..._

He adjusted in his chair, the room stifling, desperately trying to push the image of her stern set lips from his mind, flexing his hand beneath the table to erase the sensation of her soft curls gliding between his fingers.

He glanced up.

And his blood ran cold.

The Doctor was watching him with an eerie intensity, that when paired with his absolute stillness made him a disconcerting sight indeed.

And once more, Hermione's face took root in his mind.

_This man lives under the same roof as her._

His spine straightened, muscles tense.

"Doctor." He tipped his head, casually examining the man from mid-torso to eye. "How long have you worked at the Umbridge Home?"

The man raised a dark brow, the corner of his mouth lifting up as though the question amused him. Draco clenched his teeth.

"Only a couple weeks now."

"And before that?"

"I was practicing medicine in France before returning to London."

"France, eh?" Avery spoke around his cigar. "I hear French women are practically begging for it in the streets there."

"Bloody hell, Jon," Rodolphus narrowed his eyes. "You're like a dog in heat."

"Just making conversation-"

"So," Draco interrupted, eyes never straying from the man seated directly across from him. "How did you make my uncle's acquaintance in such a short time?"

"He made _my_ acquaintance," Dolohov said, eyes on his cards. "I was fortunate enough to meet the good Doctor while visiting a client."

Draco's eyes snapped to Antonin, a handsome, slimy sort that always unnerved Draco.

"I didn't realize you did pro bono work."

Dolohov threw his head back and laughed, as did Yaxley and Avery. Draco raised a pale brow.

"Come now, Drake, you know me better than that. I'm merely handling the estate of a young woman who resides there. It's my duty to check in from time to time, make sure she's being looked after properly."

"I'm sure it is," Rabastan said with a roll of his eyes. "Alright, gents, let's-"

"Who's your client?" Draco leaned forward, the game forgotten.

Dolohov knew the Grangers. Draco never discussed such matters with Hermione, but it would make sense they'd use the man as their solicitor. Draco assumed after their deaths Hermione's case was turned over to a public magistrate since she was unable to access her funds until marriage.

But if Dolohov had maintained controlling rights…

The idea of the man keeping Hermione under thumb made Draco's chest quake.

"You know I can't disclose such information, Drake."

He felt his temperature rise, blood boiling in his veins.

"Can we at least pretend we're playing poker? Everyone place your bets." Rabastan snapped.

Draco swallowed back the steam rising in his throat. He'd find out tomorrow, at the party. He'd get time alone with her, whether he had to drag her kicking and screaming-

"Fucking hell, Draco, get your head on straight, won't you? It's your bet."

His left eye twitched as he gazed upon the community cards, fighting back the base urge to flip the table over in frustration.

"Raise."

"Now we're playing!" Yaxley clapped his hands together, face ruddy with drink.

"What are you doing here anyway, Drake?" Antonin cut in, picking up his glass. "What urgent matters did Lucius need attending to on a Friday evening?"

Draco picked at the corner of his card with his thumbnail.

"Hell if I know. I'm just the future heir, not to be trusted with matters of business."

Rodolphus chuckled, blowing smoke. "Don't pretend Lucius doesn't try and groom you at every turn. You just resist him at all costs."

"Then why did he seal the envelope?"

"Because he likes stamping that gaudy 'M' on everything," Rabastan mumbled beneath his breath, causing Avery to sputter up his drink.

"It's a petition against the Medical Act if you must know." Rodolphus placed his cards down, leaning back. "Your father is leading the opposition, he's collecting support before he presents his argument before the Committee."

Draco leaned back as well, the blood draining from his face. Before he could formulate a response the Doctor spoke up, posture at ease.

"This is the Medical Act Gurney presented two years ago?"

Rodolphus nodded, sipping from his lowball glass. "Yes. It's undergone several revisions since then, mind you. But it's finally going to be laid to rest in the coming weeks."

"I take it you're all in opposition of it then?"

A general chorus of laughter could be heard around the table, excluding Draco and the Doctor.

"Women parading as doctors? Can you even imagine?" Yaxley coughed out a plume of smoke.

"You're a medical man, Riddle. Surely you find the entire idea ludicrous." Dolohov raised a dark brow, amusement etched across his features. "Women are temperamental creatures, controlled by the whims of their emotions. Not to mention their delicate constitutions. Can you imagine one of them wielding a scalpel?"

Draco blinked as something in the Doctor's eyes flashed, scorching as hell flame. Dolohov seemed to notice it as well, leaning back in his chair, putting more distance between them.

Then the Doctor smiled, teeth white and gleaming. "I imagine such a scene would end in fantastic bloodshed."

Antonin swallowed thickly, then smiled as well, a bit nervously. However, the other men at the table seemed to find his response wildly amusing. Draco felt his stomach clench in revulsion.

It was impossible to push Hermione from his mind now. This bill was everything to her. Her entire future in the medical field.

And his father was leading the charge against it.

How could Draco not have known?

Lucius had kept the knowledge from him purposefully. But why? Could it have to do with her? How could his father possibly know her desire to become a doctor?

_Both her parents were in the medical field, it's not that far off to assume she'd follow in their footsteps…_

Draco took a deep breath, willing himself to calm.

And realized the Doctor's eyes were once more upon him.

His open-mouthed smile had fallen into a smirk, but a shadow passed across his eyes and turned his expression truly sinister. He and Draco were the only two not laughing. Their gazes remained locked, and tension grew to sweltering proportions.

"Riddle, it's your bet."

The Doctor didn't blink, didn't glance away from Draco.

"Call."

And suddenly Draco was able to decipher the intense gaze.

It was a challenge.

Draco's spine went ramrod straight, chin tipping up.

On some instinctive level, he knew this had nothing to do with the game. He just wasn't sure what the man was attempting to lay claim to.

_Perhaps my pedigree. Men always resent me for my name and title._

No.

The man's gaze held no jealousy, no covetous envy Draco was so used to seeing.

It held something more feral. More base.

_Almost as if…_

Draco's eye twitched once more.

_You're being paranoid._

"I'm out." Yaxley threw his cards onto the table face up, leaning back in a slump and draining the rest of his drink in one heavy swallow.

"Me as well. And I need a refill." Avery followed suit, pushing back from the table.

"Oi! Get me one while you're up." Yaxley held his glass aloft only for Avery to scoff loudly.

"Get off your fat arse and get it yourself!"

Rodolphus shook his head, leveling Riddle with a sardonic expression.

"My apologies. They were raised in the stables of the West End."

"And where about do you descend from?" Draco interjected, detecting the sudden rigid lines of the Doctor's back and shoulders.

The man smirked yet again, though Draco could see a mask was firmly in place this time, erasing the vicious repose from moments before.

"Funny you should ask. I-"

A heavy knock sounded at the front door. Everyone turned their head to look.

"Bloody hell, who is it now?" Avery grumbled, pouring more liquor into his glass.

"We must have left the sign out on the front lawn inviting every wayward drifter inside. No offense, Drake."

Draco didn't spare Yaxley a glance. "Seeing as my pocket square is worth more than your entire suit I take no offense."

The object of his scorn turned red while Rabstan and Antonin burst into laughter.

The butler could be heard crossing the wood floor to the billiards room, knocking softly on the door frame. Rodolphus scowled.

"Christ." He threw his cards onto the table. "I'm out anyway. Keep going, I'll return shortly."

Draco couldn't help but watch his Uncle cross the room with a sense of rising dread. Any other additions to this little party were sure to be just as awful as the current company.

The Doctor excluded. He didn't have the lemming quality of Yaxley or Avery or the oily demeanor of Dolohov. And yet comparing him to either of his Uncles was perhaps the greatest condemnation of all.

So far, the man was wholly unique. And wholly unnerving.

Then Rodolphus's scathing voice filled the room, causing the rest to abandon any pretense of paying attention to the game.

"What _the fuck_ are you doing here? I told you never to never seek me out in the open again-"

"I'm not here for you," a deep, gravelly voice replied. "I was summoned."

Draco tensed. The voice was hauntingly familiar.

"By who?" Rodolphus bit out, voice echoing through the entryway.

"By that lawyer ponce."

Antonin adjusted in his seat, his expression caught halfway between embarrassment and annoyance.

"You _didn't_ ," Rabastan hissed. "You aren't that bloody stupid."

"There's no cause for concern-"

"You invite that animal into this neighborhood and you don't think it's a cause for concern? How fucking desperate are you?"

Dolohov's jaw flexed. "You certainly weren't complaining when it was for you-"

"Shut your fucking mouth and go get rid of him. Immediately."

Dolohov pushed back from the table in a fit of aggravation and stormed to the doorway, Rodolphus appearing just as he was leaving.

"You have _got to_ be joking-"

"Your brother already gave me an earful."

"Then I'll bash you upside the head."

"What was I supposed to do? Have him come to my office? Yours? Parkinson doesn't mind-"

"Shut up and get out here." Rodolphus grabbed Dolohov by the arm and pulled him forcefully from the room, pushing him into the hall that led to the foyer. And for the briefest of moments, a third man could be seen standing at the other end, his massive shoulders nearly touching either wall. His face was twisted in a scowl, yellowed teeth bared like an angry dog.

Yaxley reared back in his chair while Avery set the crystal decanter down with a clank. The Doctor tipped his head, eyes roaming the interloper from top to bottom with careful precision.

Rabastan took a deep breath, turning to face the table as the three men disappeared from sight.

"Sorry about that, gents. Let's get back to it, shall we?"

Draco leaned forward.

"I don't think so, Rab." He set his cards down, eyes narrowed. "What the bloody hell is Greyback doing here?"

* * *

 The evening was going nothing as planned.

And yet Tom found himself far more intrigued than expected.

The man standing at the end of the hallway was unmistakable, even before the Malfoy heir uttered his name.

Fenrir Greyback.

Though Tom mostly heard the man referred to as the Boogeyman of East End.

Tom had never seen him in person before, and yet he'd heard the man's description enough times he was certain he could pick him out of a lineup.

And not just for his size, though he was without a doubt the largest man Tom had ever laid eyes upon, comprised of hulking muscle that pulled at the seams of his linen shirt and trousers, suspenders stretched taut over a barrel chest, sinewy forearms wrought with coarse hair and dark ink.

No, his size was intimidating to any man, and yet it wasn't his defining characteristic. Rather, it was the sizable facial scar that made Greyback the horror of legends. The jagged mark ran the length of his face diagonally, from right temple to left molar, bisecting his eyebrow and discoloring one of his brown irises a golden amber.

It made Dolohov's small scar look neat and surgical by comparison.

Tom was barely afforded a glimpse of the man before Dolohov was shoved through the doorway with Rodolphus hot at his heels, blocking his view before they all turned the corner and disappeared into the foyer.

And then a different sight appeared.

"Sorry about that, gents. Let's get back to it, shall we?"

Tom couldn't pull his gaze away from the approaching figure. She moved like a cat, each step sensuous and fluid. Her eyes glowed within the dim light of the hallway, dark pupils gleaming as they latched onto his, holding him steady in her wake.

"I don't think so, Rab." He only half listened to the young blonde prattle on. "What the bloody hell is Greyback doing here?"

Her hand curled around the door handle as she stepped inside the room, shutting it firmly behind her, never breaking eye contact with Tom.

She smirked, something sparkling in the depth of her gaze.

Tom gripped his cards more tightly, his other hand clenching to a fist on his thigh.

"Hello, boys." Her sultry voice rang through the room like a bell, effectively quieting the table. "On behalf of my husband, I apologize for that little interruption. But please," she winked, "don't let it ruin your fun."

Tom's jaw ticked as he watched her sashay her way around the settee and head for their table.

"Are you dealing, Rab?"

"You know it, luv." The man stubbed out his cigar. "I'm sure the men would have no objections if you'd like to take over Rod's hand."

She laughed low in her throat. "Why thank you, darling. But I much prefer to watch."

She met Tom's gaze once more. Something in his chest tightened, squeezing the air from his lungs. And then her predatory gaze fell on the pristine coif of white blonde hair seated across from him.

"My, my, as I live and breathe." She wet her rouge stained lips, coming to a stop behind the boy, placing her hands on his shoulders. Tom watched the young man fight back a cringe.

_This just gets more interesting by the second._

"Is it really my nephew, come to pay me a visit?"

"Hello, Bella."

His voice conveyed no ounce of affection. She laughed again, leaning down to whisper something in his ear, her ample cleavage pressing into the back of his head.

Tom couldn't make out her words, his ability to read lips hampered by her distracting presence. But whatever she said painted no amusement on the boy's face. If anything he went impossibly more rigid in his seat, head tipping away from her just a fraction, just enough to convey his deep-rooted desire to evade her touch.

She squeezed his shoulders, talons hooking into her prey, and then pecked him on the temple, a motherly gesture of affection that caused him to scowl and finally jerk free of her hold.

"Always a pleasure, Draco, my sweet. I hardly get to see you anymore."

She released him from her clutches, stepping away and running her fingertips across the chair back of Dolohov's abandoned seat. "How is the game going?"

"We're almost through. With Rod gone, it's just Riddle and Drake left."

Her eyes brightened, fastening on Tom once more.

"Is that so? Then I arrived at the perfect time. The climax is my favorite part."

Malfoy rolled his eyes, wiping away her rouge from his temple with the back of his hand. Rabastan shook his head with a chuckle.

"You're incorrigible, Bella."

"There are worse ways to be in life. Wouldn't you agree, Doctor?"

Tom forced his tense body to relax, reflecting amusement back at her with a smirk of his own.

"That depends on your definition, Madam. In philosophy, incorrigibility is a property of a philosophical proposition, which implies that it is necessarily true simply by virtue of being believed."

She blinked, then her smirk expanded to a full-fledged grin as she released a delighted laugh, resting a hand on Rabastan's back to balance herself as she succumbed to her amusement.

Avery finally returned to the table, full glass in hand.

"It's like have a dictionary at the table."

"Rather like having someone with more than half of a functioning brain," she said through her laughter, wiping absently beneath her eyes.

"Don't stop, Doctor. Tell us more."

His leaned back, tipping his head to examine her at an angle. He'd already forgotten about the others in the room. They were merely background props to their two-person play.

"Based on its original usage a common example of such a proposition is René Descartes' famous saying _cogito ergo sum_ ; I think, therefore I am. If we're applying this classic meaning to the word then I agree, Madam, there are far worse ways to be in life, since the alternative would be to cease one's existence entirely."

He wet his lips. She'd stopped laughing, eyes hooded, fixed upon him.

"However, as with most words deriving from a language not of English origin, the usage evolved as it was traded between foreign tongues and cultures, taking on an entirely different meaning in most modern British circles. I believe Lord Lestrange used incorrigible as a term synonymous with incurable. And as a Doctor, my one true nemesis is the incurable. In which case I would have to disagree. Incorrigible is the worst way to be."

The room was deathly silent. Madam Lestrange was still at her brother-in-law's back, barely a meter away from Tom. Her gaze radiated an intensity that caused the floor to hum, vibrating through his heels, into his legs, and through his chest.

Finally, Avery broke the eerie silence with a drunken laugh.

"Well. That certainly clears that up."

Yaxley joined in, albeit a bit high pitched and nervous. Tom spared a glance to Rabastan, who shook his head in amusement.

And then he glanced at Malfoy.

And paused.

The young man's eyes were narrowed and harbored as much potency as his aunt's.

He didn't like Tom.

Not one bit.

Which made him the smartest person seated at the table.

And that annoyed Tom a great deal. Because the Malfoy heir was a powerful player in this game, unwitting or not, and he obviously harbored some secret tie to the establishment in which Tom was employed.

But given his disdain for his family, Tom doubted he was involved as deeply as the others, if at all.

So why his intense interest in Tom's job? Why give up his evening to attempt and stealthily draw information out of a stranger?

The blonde was a mystery. One Tom would look into unraveling at a later time.

Tonight... tonight was about something else.

He drew his focus back to Madam Lestrange. She had sidled closer, placing a hand on his arm.

"May I watch you play the final round, Doctor?"

He held her gaze.

"Of course."

He faced forward once more, ever aware of her fingers curling around his shoulder, squeezing lightly, the heat of her body just at his back.

Her scent invaded his nasal passage. Sweet and poisonous. Such a contrast to the way _she_ smelled-

Tom blinked, drawing his attention back to the young man seated across from him. Malfoy's face showed open distaste and yet it seemed such a natural repose it told Tom little about the boy's hand.

Rabastan laid the final card down.

"Alright, men. Final bets."

Malfoy's mercurial gaze flickered briefly to the feminine hand atop Tom's shoulder, then back to Tom's eyes, his own turning molten. His left eye twitched, just a fraction before a calm mask of indifference slid into place.

"All in."

He pushed his mountain of chips to the center of the table.

Avery chuckled into his glass, spilling some over the side.

"Now it's getting interesting. Finally."

Rabastan glanced at Tom.

"It's all on you, Riddle. Knock this smarmy little shite off his pedestal, won't you?"

"Hush, Rab. Aren't dealers supposed to be impartial?" Her tone was a lilting tease as she stepped even closer and curled her fingers over Tom's other shoulder, boxing him in.

Her proximity put every one of his senses on high alert, to the point he was nearly overloaded by the nuances of sight and sound, scent and taste. His jaw tensed briefly before he smirked, eyes never straying from his opponent.

"Call."

He pushed his pile into the center as well, the clay chips falling over in a cascade of color.

Yaxley whistled low under his breath. Rabastan's eyes brightened, thrilled by the stakes. They weren't even betting real money. Tom suspected the man was an avid gambler.

Yet another useful tidbit to stow away for later use.

She leaned forward, pressing against Tom's shoulder blades.

"Moment of truth," she whispered in his ear, loud enough for all to hear, yet low enough to remain dangerously intimate.

Malfoy smiled, eyes still narrowed, wicked in its triumph.

He threw his cards face up, leaning back with an air of smugness that was befitting a King upon his throne.

Rabastan rolled his eyes. "Fucking hell, every single time... "

"A straight flush," she said, hands skimming down Tom's shoulders to trace his jacket lapels. "Good fortune runs in our blood." She winked across the table. "Good job, Drakey."

The boy's look of triumph was briefly shattered by pure revulsion. Tom drew his attention back as he threw his own cards down.

"Three of a kind," Tom said, leaning back, pressing further into Madam Lestrange as her hands splayed flat across his chest. "Congratulations, Malfoy. Impressive hand."

His tone was brimming with amusement, knowing what it would do to the boy's ego. Malfoy's interest in the Home may pose a mystery, but his weaknesses certainly didn't. Youth and privilege were the boy's Achilles heel as much as they were his strength. He would be easy enough to wind up and release in whatever direction Tom wanted to point him.

Sure enough, the blonde's eyes narrowed, jaw tensing.

Then the door flew open.

"Sorry about that." The elder Lestrange strode in, chest heaving as though he'd just sprinted the distance between the foyer and billiards room. "What did I miss?"

His wife released Tom slowly, hands retracing their path back up his chest and over his shoulders before falling away completely. She turned around.

"Your nephew won the game. But the Doctor put up an impressive fight."

Her husband nodded, eyes falling on Malfoy. "Good job, Drake. Sorry I missed it. How about another round?"

"Not tonight." The blonde pushed back from the table. "I've lingered long enough, I must be going."

Tom smiled, copying his movement. "I'm afraid I must follow suit."

Madam Lestrange looked at him sharply. "But you've just gotten here."

He buttoned the front of his bespoke jacket. "I've neglected my duties long enough. I'm still getting the office in order, I need every minute of spare time I can afford to get it situated properly."

Dolohov slowly entered the room, cheeks ruddy.

"What's all this? Why's everyone standing?"

"Drake and the good Doc are leaving," Avery supplied, finishing off his glass once more.

Dolohov looked at Tom. "But you've just-"

"We've been through it already, Antonin. Why don't you pour yourself another drink and shut up."

Dolohov glared at the back of Rodolphus's head briefly before making his way to the liquor cart.

"Thank you for joining us, Riddle. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Rodolphus supplied, extending a hand to Tom. Tom understood the impact of this moment, this symbolic seal of approval Lestrange was offering.

Tom accepted his hand, shaking. "The feeling is mutual. It was an honor to be invited. I do hope to cross paths again soon."

Rabastan had a hand clapped atop Malfoy's shoulder, saying something that Tom couldn't hear or focus upon as Madam Lestrange flanked her husband, hanging off his arm.

"Luv, we must have the Doctor over to the Club sometime."

Rodolphus looked down, sharing a loaded glance with her. Dolohov made his way over, standing far too close for Tom's comfort.

"Riddle's a good sort, he'd have a good time." He clapped Tom on the shoulder, eyes glazed. "We can talk more there since you can't stay tonight."

Rodolphus glanced back up. "We'd love to host you, Riddle." The man paused, eyes narrowing a fraction. "Have you heard of Amortentia?"

Tom didn't flinch.

"I can't say that I have."

Bella smirked. "You'll love it, darling."

Rodolphus wound his hand around her waist, drawing her into his side. "It's a pleasure house."

He held Tom's gaze, no doubt waiting to see if any trace of disdain or judgment would surface.

Tom felt his chest swell, rib cage cracking open, blood surging.

"Sounds exciting. I'd love to join you."

Bella squealed in delight. "Perfect! Come Sunday night."

Her husband gazed down upon her with indulgent admonishment. "Bella, luv, we've monopolized enough of his weekend."

She pouted. "But-"

"It's no inconvenience. I'd be honored to attend."

Dolohov clapped him once more on the back, jolting him. Tom's hands clenched at his sides, the urge to break the man's wrist nearly overpowering his good sense.

"It's settled then! We'll pick up where we left off in a far more enjoyable setting."

Rodolphus pinned the man with a ferocious look. "Just make certain not to invite any additional guests without notifying me, Antonin. I won't have a repeat of tonight."

Dolohov paled slightly, stepping back. "Of course, Rod, I wouldn't-"

"I'm heading out now." They all turned to face the blonde at their backs. Malfoy glanced at each of them in turn, his silver gaze lingering on Tom.

"Pleasure to meet you, Doctor."

"Likewise."

Tom offered his hand, smirking in amusement when the young man seemed to debate snubbing him. Finally, he relented, accepting the offer and putting extra force behind it.

They stood level, both at impressive heights.

"I'm leaving as well, perhaps we can head that way together."

Malfoy visibly fought back a sneer. Tom's smile deepened.

"Brilliant." The blonde relinquished his grip, stepping back with a nod to his relatives.

"Good evening."

"Nice try, Draco. You might be a foot taller but you'll never be too big to give me a hug."

Tom glanced away for propriety's sake, watching the exchange from the corner of his eye. He was endlessly fascinated by the dynamic between nephew and aunt. Malfoy's face tensed as he stepped closer, allowing her to do all the work, finally leaning down at her insistent tug to allow her to kiss his cheek.

"Do send Cissy my love. I was hoping to see her this weekend but it seems our schedules leave no window of opportunity."

"Of course."

"Good boy." She wiped away the rouge stain on his cheek, tipping her head, hand lingering on his face.

"You're the spitting image of your father. It's almost frightening."

He attempted to pull back but she curled her fingers in, long nails indenting his high cheekbone, holding him captive.

"And yet you are your mother's son on the inside, where it counts. A Black. Do well to remember that, Draco."

The blonde blinked, looking unnerved. Tom tucked his hands into his pockets, absently thumbing the satin ribbon. It had been a risk to bring it here of all places, and yet he found himself adding it to his pocket at the last minute before departing from the Home. It had become a balm to his nerves.

And most importantly, a reminder of all that was at stake.

"Goodnight, Bella," Malfoy clipped, finally freeing himself. He glanced at Tom. "Shall we?"

He nodded, smiling pleasantly. "Lead on."

After a few more cursory goodbyes to the men seated at the table, Tom entered the hallway at Maloy's side, easily matching the younger man's stride.

"Excellent game," Tom said, staring ahead at the door, denying the awaiting butler even a parting glance. "You have true skill with the cards."

Malfoy smirked. "I've always been a dab hand at poker. Though it seems I always have the best cards when the least is at stake."

Tom smirked, detecting something lingering beneath the simple words. A steel tooth trap lying in the tall grass. He gracefully sidestepped the metal claws, casting his own net into the fray.

"It was a well-deserved win, even with your left eye constantly sabotaging you."

Malfoy blinked, pausing in the entryway, prompting Tom to do the same. The butler glanced between them, hovering at the door.

"You're saying I have a tell?"

Tom raised a dark brow. "Of course. All men do."

"This is the first I'm hearing of it. And I've played a lot of cards." His eyes narrowed. "If you knew I had the better hand why the hell did you go all in with three sevens?"

Tom tipped his head, eyes scanning the young man's alabaster skin, the sharp lines of his face, pinched in annoyance.

"I knew you bluffed on the turn. I wasn't sure how many masks you wore. I needed to be certain." He met his gaze once more, grey eyes gleaming. "Now I am. And in the future, I'll be able to recognize your deceit." His smile deepened, revealing his teeth. "Sometimes strategy extends beyond the table. Enjoy your evening, Mr. Malfoy. And your victory."

He nodded to the butler who quickly opened the door, still gazing upon Tom as though he were a wine stain on white linen.

But it did nothing to dampen Tom's elated mood as he swiftly exited the townhome, trotting down the marble steps with a smirk, well aware of the seething aristocrat at his back.

* * *

 Hermione tipped her head, peering more closely at the expanse of exposed skin.

"The mark is symmetrical, has a defined border and consistent coloring throughout. Have you noticed any changes to the shape or size since discovering it?"

The girl shook her head. "No. But I only noticed it last week. I normally wouldn't worry, but given the location, I thought I should have it looked at. It's not like I'm flashing my bare thigh out in the garden."

Hermione smiled. "Understandable. But moles aren't only caused by sun exposure. Genetics plays a large part. Did either of your parents have moles or freckles?"

The girl shrugged. "I never knew my pa and ma died when I was a babe."

Hermione's smile fell, expression sobering. "I'm terribly sorry." She swallowed lightly, helping lower the girl's shift over her bare legs. "I see no indicators the mole is cancerous. If you're still worried I can ask the Doctor to-"

"No!" The girl sat forward. "I only came because the girls said you were helping examine patients. I don't want a man seeing me in such a state."

Hermione nodded, placing a hand on the girl's bare shoulder. "It's alright, Mandy. I understand completely. As I said, there's nothing to worry about. But if you notice the mole change shape or color, come and see me immediately. Alright?"

The girl sighed in relief. "Thank you, Hermione."

"You're very welcome. I'll let you get dressed in privacy. Have a good rest of your day."

"You, too."

Hermione ducked out from behind the partition, walking to the desk and grabbing up Mandy's patient file. She spun around, eyes searching.

Her heart skipped a beat as she found him standing across the room, open medical book in hand, eyes upon her.

She bit her lip, rocking back on her heels before proceeding forward, trying to maintain a slow and steady gait.

Amusement danced in his eyes, lips forming a slow smirk.

"How is our patient doing?"

Hermione fidgeted with the file in her hands.

"Mandy Brocklehurst, I examined a possible melanoma, I saw no cause for concern. She's getting dressed right now."

He nodded, setting the book back on the shelf and extending his hand for the file. She passed it over, watching him flip through the pages.

"And the previous patient?"

"Oh, Sally-Anne Perks, she just stopped by for menstrual pads. She requested extras for her roommates as well, said they were too embarrassed to stop by themselves."

His grey eyes rapidly scanned the document before him. Hermione interlaced her fingers, twisting her hands.

"I was thinking…"

He continued to read, finally glancing up at her prolonged silence.

"I've noticed you rarely stop."

"Pardon?"

"Thinking."

She blinked, then smiled, a blush staining her cheeks. "Right. Well, I was thinking we could keep a supply pantry in the corridor outside the clinic stocked with menstrual pads and bloomer cloths, so the girls don't have to stop in every month to request products."

He held her gaze in silence. She took a deep breath, continuing on as her nerves rattled within her chest. "I mean, I only make the suggestion after speaking with Sally. I'm afraid that some girls will forgo their monthly hygiene because they're too nervous about asking a man for supplies. Also, before your arrival the supplies were kept on a shelf in the clinic, the girls were free to take them as needed, there was never an issue with hoarding or-"

"Relax, Ms. Granger." His smirk grew. "I was merely thinking. I agree with your assessment of the problem, and think keeping an external supply closet is a sound solution."

Her mouth clamped shut, flush spreading down her neck. The Doctor lowered the file, pinning her beneath the full intensity of his gaze.

"However, the decision will ultimately be up to the Matron, as she oversees all ordering and inventory."

Hermione felt herself deflate. "Then we can't tell her I had anything to do with the idea."

His eyes flashed even as his smirk grew into a smile. "Per usual, you are right again."

She held his stare, the air thick, sticking to the back of her throat.

A sudden noise from behind jolted her, drawing both their attention.

Mandy stepped out from behind the partition, smoothing her skirts. She glanced up, smiling and waving somewhat nervously at Hermione. Hermione returned the warm expression and bid the girl a final farewell, watching her depart the clinic at haste. Once the door fell shut Hermione turned to face the Doctor once more. His eyes roamed her face, making her fidget anew.

"So far every patient who's entered the clinic has requested you."

Hermione blinked. "No, the first girl who came in-"

"Requested you as well. However, she required a pelvic exam. I was going to ask you to stand in to keep her at ease but you were seeing to someone else."

She bit her lip. "Well, that's just because I'm a woman. And you're…"

He raised a dark brow. "A man?"

"Well, yes. That, too. However, I was going to say intimidating."

He tilted his head, expression lit by the afternoon light streaming in through the windows. "Is that so?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh dear, am I the first to bring that to your notice?"

Deep laughter erupted from his chest. The sound was an instant balm to her nerves.

"I see. So I scare the patients?"

She bit her lip. "Well, not all of them."

His eyes continued to gleam with mirth.

"I've noticed."

She caught the double meaning of her words. "No, I didn't, I just meant-"

"I know what you meant." He put her out of her misery, setting the file aside and striding towards the medical cabinet. "And I'm well aware that some of the residents harbor no reservations whatsoever when it comes to paying me a visit. At all hours."

Hermione felt her pulse quicken. "You don't mean…"

He opened the cabinet. "I do."

She felt the heat rise within her again, this time born of a far different emotion.

"Residents have… _propositioned_ you?"

"That's one word for it." He reached into the cabinet, grabbing a small glass bottle with a faded label.

Her mind reeled, rendering her silent for several moments before she burst.

"That's- that's ludicrous! How can they possibly think such a thing even _remotely_ appropriate-"

"I don't think proprietary was top of their mind."

She fell quiet, cheeks aflame. He glanced over his shoulder. "I assure you, I set them straight."

She took an unconscious step forward. "Of course you did. I never doubted that. I'm just shocked they'd have the audacity to do such a thing. Especially after the last physician-"

She stopped short, coming to a standstill. His back went rigid, shoulders tense. He was facing away, she desperately wished she could see his face but was also grateful she couldn't.

But perhaps it was best to pull the bandage off now, jump in head first rather than skirting the issue any further.

"Have you had an opportunity to attend the girls who…" she searched for the right term, mind too rattled to derive something decorous. She sighed. "Have you been able to examine his victims?"

He shut the cabinet, slowly turning the bottle over in his hand.

"The patient this morning was among those I suspect of being violated. However the majority of the girls Ms. Lovegood was able to identify have already vacated the Home."

Hermione drew in a slow breath, heartbeat reverberating through her limbs. "Are their files in the office?"

His eyes flickered up, rooting her to the spot.

"Many of them, yes."

Hermione shook her head, glancing away, overcome by emotion.

"Speaking of Ms. Lovegood," he said lowly, the steady tread of his footsteps approaching. "I'd like for you to pass this on to her."

He held the small bottle out. Hermione tilted her head, narrowing her eyes in an attempt to read the faded label.

"Aloe vera with rosehip," he supplied, tucking his other hand in his trouser pocket. "Her wound is healed enough to allow air exposure. This should help minimize scarring."

Hermione's chest swelled. She reached out, grasping the bottle, their fingers brushing. She bit back a gasp at the familiar sensation of heat rushing through her arm.

And without her permission, her eyes flickered up, meeting his shadowed gaze.

He maintained his grip on the glass, she held tight as well, their arms suspended between them, the pad of her thumb resting atop his knuckle.

She swallowed audibly. "That's very considerate of you."

"I am the Doctor, Hermione. It is my duty to see to the well being of everyone here."

"You seem to go beyond the regular call of duty."

For the expanse of a stuttered heartbeat, his expression morphed into something wild, dangerous. She squeezed the bottle, in turn pressing harder against his flesh.

"I didn't mean-" She wet her lips, other hand clenching at her side. "I meant in regards to Luna's hand. You ensured she didn't succumb to infection. You're not obligated to worry about scarring."

"I'm merely offering a topical ointment for her own use. I'll hardly be receiving any special certificates."

Hermione smiled. His eyes flickered to her mouth.

And she realized that at some point one or both of them had stepped in closer, minimizing the distance between them to less than a half meter.

She glanced down at their feet, wondering how on earth that happened, and then back up to his eyes. Or at least she meant to. Instead, her gaze became fixed on his lips, full and parted slightly.

His tongue darted out to lick them, and she felt her entire body throb.

"Scars are terrible burdens to bear," he spoke lowly, voice a deep rumble she felt vibrate along every bone in her body. "A constant source of suffering, long after the pain is gone."

She inhaled slowly, still focused upon his mouth.

"Yes. They are."

"Ms. Lovegood's cut was long but shallow. It should leave minimal damage in its wake."

Hermione nodded, transfixed.

"Unlike Mr. Dolohov's scar, which will only become more prominent with time."

The air was pulled violently from her lungs. She released the bottle, rearing back, meaning to step away, flee-

His hand shot out of his pocket lighting fast and captured her wrist, pulling her forward, causing her to tip off balance and fall against him. Her eyes snapped up, wide with fear and shock. His expression was void of emotion, a placid lake, but his eyes… his eyes were positively feral.

"A fine piece of work, if I may say so myself." His breath smelled of spearmint, blowing across her face, pushing past her own parted lips and invading her mouth. "What did you use to inflict such injury?"

She blinked rapidly, vision blurred by tears, lips pressing thin. She tugged her arm back once, felt his iron grip hold true, and recalled the last time he restrained her in such a way.

She accepted the futility of trying to escape.

Instead, she opened her mouth, mind spinning with rebuttals, refusals, lies.

But his eyes stripped her bare, dismantled her defenses as quickly as she contrived them.

Her chin tipped up as she held his gaze steady.

"A letter opener."

His dark brow arched high, nearly disappearing beneath the fall of his hair as his face tipped down, closer to hers.

"A letter opener," he repeated slowly, eye narrowing. "Must have been sharp."

She swallowed thickly. "Very."

"You sliced up and outward with your dominant hand."

She blinked, inhaling sharply, feeling the press of her chest against his.

"How do you know that?"

"The angle of the cut and variation in depth from one end to the other suggests greater force was applied at the base, near the top of the cheekbone, decreasing in pressure as the blade moved upward, across the eye socket."

She felt light headed.

"If you had used the same hand to slice his left side in a downward swing you would have easily ruptured the eye beyond repair."

Her jaw flexed.

"Hindsight is 20/20."

He chuckled darkly, her ribcage absorbing the sound. "Yes, yes it is." The pressure on her wrist increased. "I hope he bled like a gutted pig."

Her heartbeat was in her throat, in her captured wrist, behind her knees.

"He did. It made a mess. Ruined my dress."

The windows were at his back, casting his face in shadow, making the nuances of his expression hard to discern. But his eyes gleamed like a cat in the dark.

"How many times has he attacked you?"

If she hadn't been leaning against him already she would have surely collapsed. She'd never had an out-of-body experience before, but surely she was having one now, some supernatural force controlling her vocal chords.

"Once."

"After your parents died, I assume?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you report him?"

She swallowed past the constriction in her throat. But the lump was too thick, too rooted. His eyes flickered between hers, fingers squeezing her tighter yet. She cringed. He blinked, loosening his grip but not relinquishing his hold.

"Why haven't you reported him, Hermione?"

Hearing her name from his lips was usually a sure fire way to disarm her. But this time it triggered different memories within her mind. Different voices, different faces, and eyes.

_"Why won't you come to Grimmauld, Hermione?"_

_"Why don't you move to the Burrow, Mione?"_

She wet her lips, shaking her head. "I…" her breath was coming faster, shorter, making her dizzy. "I can't…"

His gaze narrowed, something dangerous taking root in their dark depths.

"Wilting flowers don't slash their attacker's face open. You _can_ turn him in, but you won't."

He tilted his head. "Which leads me to believe..."

She felt her blood pressure rise, watching in abject horror as the pieces clicked into place within his eyes.

"He's got something over you."

She reared back, twisting her arm, but he merely pulled her captured wrist closer.

"I see. But what could it possibly be? You're not the type to beckon scandal."

His face darkened and lightened at once, mesmerizing in its unnaturalness.

"Unless... it isn't blackmail." He tipped his head, eyes scanning her face as though the truth were written across it. "Perhaps it's a trade-off."

She was rendered frozen, numb with growing terror.

His smile gleamed triumphantly.

"You're protecting some-"

The clinic doors burst open.

He released her at once. She staggered back, gasping for breath as though emerging from the depths of a frozen lake.

Shoes tapped lightly on the stone floor before coming to a stop.

"Oh. Sorry." The girl gazed at them with unease. "Um... are clinic hours still open?"

The Doctor fixed the young woman with a pleasant smile, mask firmly set.

"Yes. Come in, take a seat. I'll be right with you."

The girl nodded, cheeks flushing at being the sole recipient of his attention before quickly shuffling to the other end of the room.

Hermione's fingers twisted around her wrist, mimicking his hold, mind reeling. She couldn't meet his eyes, instead staring numbly at a spot on the wall just beyond him.

"You're free to leave, Ms. Granger. You've put in plenty of work today."

She nodded, slowly backing away.

"Don't forget the aloe."

He extended the bottle once more.

Hermione stared at it, heart racing, fingers twitching at her sides. She still couldn't bring herself to look at his face but she could feel the intensity of his gaze across her skin. She stepped forward tentatively and quickly took the bottle from his grasp, terrified of losing her hand to another steel trap.

The glass was warm from being encased in his palm for so long. She swallowed, spinning on her heal and heading for the door as fast as she could without outright sprinting.

"Ms. Granger."

Her muscles went rigid as she forced her gait to slow, pausing at the door and glancing over her shoulder.

He smiled.

"Enjoy the party."

* * *

 Harry pulled his pocketwatch free from the inner lining of his bespoke coat, flipping open the golden lid and peering at the time.

He sighed, eyes briefly lingering on the engraving-

_For those who love,_

_Time is eternal._

_Lily_

-before snapping it shut, tucking it away again.

He glanced at the man by his side.

"It's been twenty minutes, should I-"

"Hurry them at your own risk, my boy," Mr. Weasley said with a laugh, patting Harry on the shoulder. "You aren't married yet, so take my advice to heart. Never rush a woman, especially for a special event. Whatever time you save beforehand is nothing compared to the time you'll spend wallowing in the dog house afterward."

"Wiser words were never spoken," a third voice spoke from the doorway.

"Hello, Mrs. Weasley," Harry smiled, nodding politely.

"Hello, Harry, dear. Don't you look dashing in your suit! Oh, how I wish I could watch you walk across the stage." She crossed the room on her short legs, fussing with the lapels of his coat.

"I wish you would. You and Mr. Weasley were invited."

She sighed deeply, straightening his silk pocket square. "I don't bother going to such events these days. With all the boys grown and only Ginny left it just makes us seem a bit-"

"Desperate?"

Mrs. Weasley spun on her heel, eyes narrowed at her youngest son who was descending the stairs. "Excuse me, Ronald?"

He smirked. "Sorry, mum. Carry on."

She released a huff of annoyance, abandoning Harry to instead tug at her son's coat. It was slightly ill-fitting, yet another hand me down from his elder brothers.

"Oh, I just knew I should have let the sleeves out a bit more. Your knuckles practically drag across the ground when you walk-"

"Oi!"

Harry smothered a laugh, sharing a look of amusement with Mr. Weasley.

"I didn't mean it like _that_ , darling, you're simply long-limbed-"

"Then say that! Don't call me a bloody knuckle dragger!"

"Watch your mouth, young man!"

"You're the one who-"

"Alright, alright!" Mr. Weasley stepped away from his position at the mantle and approached his wife and son. "No one meant to offend anyone, we're all in high spirits tonight." He placed a hand at the small of his wife's back, peering over her short form at Ron.

"How are the girls doing?"

"I don't know," Ron grumbled, trying to evade his mother's busy hands, still pulling at the fabric of his coat. "Door's closed. But I can hear Mione complaining from halfway down the hall."

Mrs. Weasley tisked. "I don't know what's gotten into that girl. Invited to a fancy party as the guest of honor's date, given a brand new dress for the event, what does she have to complain about?"

"Molly," her husband gently admonished, rubbing circles into her back. "She's been through a lot, and even before all that Hermione was hardly what you'd consider a normal young woman." He looked up at Harry. "I mean that in the best possible way of course."

Harry smirked. "Of course."

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had known the Granger family for as long as the Potters had. They considered Hermione a second daughter, just as they considered Harry yet another son.

However given that they weren't actually blood-related, Mrs. Weasley made her desire to have both of them marry into the family well known. She'd been quite open about her designs for Harry and Ginny as well as Ron and Hermione when they were all younger. As the years went on she seemed to accept that neither pairing was going to happen.

So she changed tactics, setting her sights on Hermione becoming the next Mrs. Potter instead. He and Mione laughed about it often, never keeping their sibling bond a secret from the Weasley family matriarch, and yet it never seemed to stall the woman from her fantasy.

And as if she read his thoughts aloud, Mrs. Weasley turned to face him once more with a wry grin and gleaming eyes.

"It was so lovely of you to purchase dresses for the girls, Harry. You didn't have to worry about Ginny, though. I had a perfectly appropriate gown laid out for her on the bed. It was the same one I wore the night I met Arthur."

Mr. Weasley chuckled. "And you looked stunning, my love. But fashion has changed since then, and Ginny deserves to have a gown of her own." He looked at Harry. "Still, I intend to pay you back for what you spent-"

"Absolutely not. It was my thank you gift to Gin for helping me drag Mione to this event. Not to mention picking out the dresses. I have no bloody clue what's in style these days."

He fought back a cringe at the mere thought of Pansy's copious skirts and flashy bustiers.

"How nice of you to take Hermione as your date," she continued, tone lilting. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for the unavoidable conversation to follow. "Tonight marks a major turn in your career. Who you bring means a great deal."

Harry opened his mouth but before he could respond Ron rolled his eyes and scoffed loudly. "Jesus, mum! When are you gonna accept that Mione and Harry are just friends? They're never getting hitched!"

"Ronald!" She hissed, spinning back around in a blaze of fury. "At least Harry is bringing a respectable date!"

Ron raised a brow. "You're calling your daughter unrespectable?"

Mrs. Weasley's face pinched in supreme annoyance. "I don't consider bringing your _sister_ to such events the height of social decorum! You should have invited a proper date, someone you intend to court! You're too old to be-"

"I told you, I'm meeting my real date there!"

"And what kind of chivalry is that? Are you ashamed to have her on your arm?"

"I haven't asked her father's permission to begin courting her yet is all." Ron's face flushed as red as his hair. "And I'd prefer going stag but Gin blackmailed me into taking her!"

"I heard that, Ron!" A feminine voice yelled down the hall.

"It's true you nasty harpy!" He called back up.

Mrs. Weasley turned to her husband with fists clenched. "Arthur! Do something about your children!"

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Why don't we go in the kitchen and have a nightcap and let the boys wait for the girls alone, give them time to prepare for the night?"

She groaned but allowed him to maneuver her towards the hall. They passed Harry as they went. She reached out and smoothed an invisible wrinkle on his pressed shirt. "You really do look dashing tonight, Harry. Hermione is a very lucky girl."

He smiled. "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley."

"Yeah, thanks, mum."

She scowled at her son. "Sorry, darling. Ginny is also a very lucky girl."

"Sick, mum!"

Harry couldn't contain his laugh as Mr. Weasley finally pushed her from the room. Ron glared at him.

"Shut up."

Harry's laughter slowly faded as the sound of a door opening echoed down the upstairs hall.

"About bloody time!" Ron groaned, leaning against the railing from the outside. "Get your dolled up arses down here!"

"Shove it up yours, Ron!"

"Oi! You're supposed to be a high society bird tonight! How am I supposed to pawn you off on some clueless yuppy when your mouth's filthier than mine?"

Ginny scoffed loudly, the sound nearly identical to her brother's as she started to descend the stairs. Harry's smile broadened as her vibrant emerald skirts came into view. The waist cinched tightly, highlighting her lean features and pale, freckled arms adorned in cap sleeves. Her deep auburn hair was styled up in an intricate chignon, a white calla lily pinned into the side.

The gown was silk and cost a small fortune, one that Harry would never disclose to her parent's in fear they'd try and reimburse him. He'd been sneaking Ginny presents since they were children, considering her a little sister to dote upon. Hermione, though technically younger as well, always felt older, so full of wisdom and concern. And she _detested_ when he surprised her with gifts.

Which is why he'd had to enlist Ginny to select a proper gown for her to wear tonight. He knew Hermione would be too proud to say anything, too practical to justify purchasing such an extravagant garment when she dressed modestly the majority of the time.

_When she isn't running around pleasure dens half naked._

He shook his head, dispelling the memory, stepping closer to the stairs and offering Ginny his hand to help her step onto the ground level.

"You look absolutely stunning, Gin."

She beamed. "I know!"

He laughed, shaking his head. "Good. No point in playing it modest in a dress like that."

"You're gonna give her a big head, Harry. Not that it can expand much mor- Ow!" Ron reared back as Ginny punched him in the arm with a mean right hook. "Bloody bit-"

"Ron," Harry said calmly. "Tell your sister she looks beautiful or shut up."

"Always taking her side."

Harry rolled his eyes as he glanced up the empty staircase. "Where's Mione?"

Ginny sighed, tipping her head back and inhaling deeply. "Hermione Granger get your skinny arse down here!"

Harry cringed at the deafening volume of her voice, though it was certainly effective. There was no way anyone within a quarter mile could claim not to have heard her.

And yet the upstairs remained stubbornly silent.

Ginny scowled. "If you make me walk up those steps in these shoes to fetch you I'm going to drag you down by your hair!" She turned to Harry. "Not really," she whispered, patting him on the arm. "Took me almost an hour to get her hair looking perfect. I wouldn't ruin all that hard work."

Harry smirked. "Good to know. Why don't I try wrangling her?"

She shrugged, stepping aside. "Be my guest. But hurry, I want to arrive in time to be announced."

Harry blinked as he started up the steps, glancing over his shoulder. "Gin, you know this isn't a royal ball, right? We don't get announced."

She raised a delicate brow. "Does it at least have an open bar?"

"Yeah."

"Even better."

Harry shook his head and ascended the rest of the stairs, gazing down the narrow hallway to the closed door at the far end.

"Mione," he called out, slowly approaching. "Are you decent?"

"Harry, I can't do this!"

He sighed, stopping at the barrier, placing his hand flat against the wood. "Can I come in?"

He could hear her muffled groan.

"Yes."

He smirked, turning the knob and opening the door-

He blinked, heart jolting.

"Jesus, Mione."

She paled, placing a hand on her neck. "Is it that bad? I told Gin to go easy on the rouge-"

"You look beautiful."

She stopped short, mouth opening and closing. His eyes roamed her figure. He'd seen the gown Ginny selected on the hanger and thought it pretty enough, but seeing it on Hermione transformed the garment, brought it to life, and turned her into an ethereal creature.

"You're just saying that to get me out the door."

He smirked, eyes trailing back up slowly. "If you're fishing for compliments I'm happy to give them."

She laughed, high and nervous, face tinging pink, highlighting the delicate sweep of rouge along her cheeks.

"I'm not fishing, I assure you. You know I can't stand attention."

She gazed down at the full skirts, layers of white silk overlaid by sheer periwinkle, meeting a white bustier that fit her like a second skin, decorated in hand painted cherry blossom branches, curving around her ribs.

Her shoulders were bare, sheer bell tiered sleeves starting at her upper arms and ending at her elbows, adorned in the same hand-etched detailing. Tiny silk petals in varying shades of teal and blue adorned the sweetheart neckline and scattered along the waist and skirt, as though the branches were shedding their blossoms as she moved.

Her hair was in a low bun, soft curls framing her face, grazing her bare neck and shoulders. Unlike Ginny, she wore no flowers denoting her marital status. Harry knew the lack of open declaration would only intrigue men further.

He shook his head. "Then you're out of luck, luv. Because you're going to get all the attention tonight."

She raised a brow, trying her best to affect a stern expression and failing miserably. He could see she was practically vibrating with nerves.

"What's the matter?" He stepped fully into Ginny's bedroom, shutting the door behind him. "I'm the one who has to get on stage. You have nothing to worry about."

She swallowed lightly, head tipping down. "I know. I'm sorry."

He crossed the small room, placing a hand beneath her chin and tipping her head up. "Don't apologize."

She sighed deeply, closing her eyes. "I just, I haven't been to a function like this since…" she bit her rouge stained lip. "And there's going to be so _many_ people, people I haven't seen in months. And they're all going to know about my circumstances, they're going to look at me and judge-"

"Mione. Open your eyes."

She released a slow breath, doing as bade. Her expression was tense, eyes heavy and resigned.

It pained him to see her in such distress.

"I shouldn't have pressured you into coming tonight."

Her hazel gaze widened. "No, it's not that!" She grasped his wrist with both hands, squeezing gently. "I want to see you up on that stage, being honored for all of your hard work. I want it more than anything. I don't regret agreeing to come." She breathed in deep, holding the air in her lungs for several beats. "I'll be okay. Honest. Just nerves."

Harry smirked. "I know the feeling."

She tilted her head, tense expression giving way to a look he recognized better than his own face.

Concern.

"How are you doing? Have you had a chance to come to terms with the promotion?"

He sighed, nodding. "Yes." A pause. "And no." He smiled. "Things have been pretty busy around here lately."

She smiled as well, though it was weighed down by a great sadness that caused his chest to ache.

"Thank you for all you've done for me, Harry."

He rolled his eyes.

"No, I mean it." She tugged on his wrist, prompting him to meet her earnest gaze once more. "You've always been there for me. Through thick and thin, through blood, sweat, and tears. No matter the request, no matter the situation, you're the only one I've been able to count on without fail. Without reservation." She pressed the back of his hand to her cheek. "You're more than a brother. More than a best friend."

His heart swelled with emotion, prompting him to blink several times and swallow thickly. He cleared his throat, smirking to break the heavy tension.

"Don't let Mrs. Weasley hear you say that."

It did the trick. Hermione released a giggle and lowered his hand.

"Poor Molly. She'll no doubt be choosing our wedding colors while we're out tonight."

"Let her have her fun. Besides, whatever she organizes can be used for Ron and Susan. This will be their first date, so according to the rate in which Ron moves, they'll be married by the end of the month."

Hermione's laughter intensified. She grabbed her side, shaking her head, loose curls swaying. "Harry James Potter, you're awful!"

"And don't you love it." He winked, holding out his arm. "Shall we, my Lady?"

She smiled, stepping forward and grasping his elbow. "We shall, good Sir."

They both stared at the closed door, taking a deep breath.

"It'll have an open bar," he supplied, still unmoving.

She sagged in relief. "Thank Christ."

* * *

 The carriage rolled off, leaving the quartet at the base of the large stone steps.

"Bloody hell, this place is posh."

"Blimey, Gin, try and act like you come from class."

The redhead spun on her heel, blue eyes narrowed. "How about I knee you in the groin instead of punching you in the face? That's classy, right?"

Ron tipped his head back and laughed, extending his arm to her. "Come on, you heathen."

She smirked, accepting his arm and proceeding up the stairs with wonderment in her eyes, gazing upon the large Baroque building.

Harry gave Hermione's hand a squeeze, peering down with a reassuring smile.

"Ready?"

She forced a smile in return, it felt grotesquely out of place, but she fought through her rising anxiety. This evening wasn't about her, and she wouldn't give Harry anything else to worry about.

"Absolutely."

He raised a dark brow, not looking convinced, but faced forward and led her up the carpet lined steps just the same.

Tonight's party was at Wilton Place in Belgrave Square. Westminster was a posh neighborhood to be certain, and with the building's adjacent location to Hyde Park and the Serpentine, it made an ideal locale for royal banquets and parties.

The last and only time Hermione had been to the lush venue was for Princess Louise's birthday party. The rebel royal insisted on having a celebration outside the palace, and the event had truly been one to remember. It was the first time Hermione had seen a live tiger outside of the zoo. It was also the first time she'd tasted anything stronger than champagne.

She smiled at the memory of the night, nerves settling.

_Channel your inner royal, Hermione. They've been thrust in the public's eye their entire lives. You just have to get through one evening._

She squared her shoulders as they arrived outside the entrance, just behind the Weasley duo. The finely dressed staff opened the double doors and bowed. Hermione nodded with a smile.

"Thank you, gentlemen."

One of the employees glanced up in surprise.

Harry chuckled, drawing her attention. Her expression pinched. "What? Is being polite to staff considered gauche?"

He shook his head, eye fixed forward. "Not at all. I was just thinking about the last time we were here."

Hermione's ire melted away, a smile unfurling across her face. "So was I. We had so much fun that night, didn't we?"

"We did. Until you disappeared and Ron and I spent an hour and a half tearing the place apart looking for you."

Her smile fell, a blush staining her cheeks as she glanced away. "There's no need to bring that u-"

"Only to find you in the kitchen, giving the staff aptitude exams you wrote on the back of napkins."

"I was trying to help them find more fulfilling career paths!"

"You were drunk."

"That too."

There was a heavy beat of silence before they both erupted into laughter. Ron glanced over his shoulder as they entered the lobby.

"What? Do I have something on my back?"

"Not everything is about you, Ronald!" Ginny hissed.

"Did I ask you?"

"Let's all try and have a good time tonight, and remember this evening is about _Harry_ ," Hermione said lowly, hyper-aware of the people surrounding them on all sides, the steady hum of conversation and the gleam of watchful eyes.

They came to a stop in the center of the marble floor, glancing around at the opulence.

"I bet they have a massive food spread," Ron said, absently rubbing his stomach.

Hermione's eyes became fixed on the crystal chandeliers above. She felt her pulse quicken. Even when such events had been the norm of her social life she detested them. Getting all dressed up was fun every now and then, and she was vain enough to admit she enjoyed seeing herself in silk finery on occasion, but she never enjoyed mingling with large crowds under any circumstances. She did much better in small groups, preferably of like-minded individuals.

And she especially hated being paraded about parties like a cow to auction. She'd begged her parents to let her skip her Season. Her father had been happy with the idea, not ready to give his little girl up to another man just yet. Her mother had been more reluctant to snub the tradition entirely. So they'd struck a compromise and agreed to delay her coming out another year. That would also give time for the Medical Act to reach Parliament, and they'd know whether she was eligible for medical school.

Back then it all seemed to matter so much, the way society viewed her, the standards set in place. Now it all meant nothing. Hermione knew she needed a husband if she had any hope of obtaining her family's fortune. But she couldn't care less about that in the wake of her lingering grief. She refused to marry for money when her parents were alive, and nothing had changed in the wake of their deaths.

Still, she knew events such as this marked an excuse for men and women to scope out their prospective partners without the hassle of a traditional Season.

When the girls were getting ready at the Burrow Ginny asked for Hermione's help convincing the formidable Mrs. Weasley to allow her to skip her coming out party. Hermione was reluctant to agree, feeling Ginny had seen too little of the outside world to deny herself such an opportunity for the simple sake of rebelling. Hermione skipped a Season for a specific reason, to see what direction her career went, Ginny was simply trying to avoid social norms.

_"Why don't you wait and see how you feel after tonight, Gin?" She said, taking the girls hands in her own. "You haven't met many men outside of your own family. There will be all types of people there tonight, from all different backgrounds. You might find someone you like. And you won't have the pressure or rules of a formal Season to get in the way of having fun."_

_Ginny groaned, tipping her head back, long red hair cascading down her back._

_"I don't want to get married, Mione! I want to live on a ranch and raise horses!"_

_Hermione smiled. "Maybe you'll meet a jockey. Dare to dream big, Gin. Or in this case, small."_

_They'd both erupted into a fit of laughter._

Now Ginny looked pale and overwhelmed. Hermione touched her arm, gaining her attention.

"We're going to have fun tonight," she assured her with another forced smile.

"Famous last words," Harry mumbled under his breath. She rolled her eyes, pinching his arm. He smirked. "Just a fair warning, luv. Don't jinx us before the party even starts."

She shook her head, smiling despite her nerves. "Always the optimist." She faced the group. "Well, there's no point hiding in the lobby, if we want free food and booze we'll have to head to the main hall."

"You had me at free food," Ron said, once more rubbing his stomach.

Ginny smiled. "You had me at free booze."

Hermione laughed. "Lead the way."

Their small procession headed for the doors at the other end of the room, uproarious noise could be heard from the other side. Hermione squeezed Harry's arm for her own comfort, but felt the tension in the tightly drawn muscle and gazed up at him.

"Don't worry, Harry," she whispered, doing her best to sound assuring. "It's a party in your and Sirius's honor. What's the worst that can happen?"

She bit her lip as soon as she uttered the words.

His emerald gaze snapped to hers, brow raised.

"Good job, Mione. Now we're definitely screwed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Inspo ](https://www.annapromdress.com/collections/prom-dress-2018/products/ball-gown-prom-dresses-royal-blue-and-ivory-hand-made-flower-prom-dress-evening-dress-jkl348) for Mione's gown.


	14. Welcome to the Dollhouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I created a playlist for this story on [8tracks](https://8tracks.com/lovely-villain/wayward-girls) … helped me overcome writer's block and figured I'd share in case anyone's interested.
> 
> Thank you for all the love and support. I have the absolute best readers. Each of you is a shimmering moonbeam in a midnight forest.
> 
> And now for the longest chapter yet...

  _Do you suppose she's a wildflower?_

.   .   .

The attendants opened the double doors and the volume of the crowd increased tenfold.

Hermione swayed on her feet as Harry led her into the main room, blinking rapidly at the explosion of sight and sound. There were so many people, so many faces, so many voices- it was sensory overload. She unconsciously pressed into Harry's side. His hand squeezed the wrist folded across his arm.

"You're the most beautiful woman here," he murmured into her ear.

She smiled, releasing a short laugh, some of the tension ebbing away.

"You're sweet, Harry. And clearly biased."

"Damn straight."

She met his glimmering emerald gaze, sharing his smirk.

Then his eyes flickered past her, drawn by something else, and his amusement faded.

A knot twisted inside her stomach. Anything or anyone that diminished Harry's happiness was her enemy, even before she laid eyes upon it.

She glanced to her other side, seeing nothing but more faces in the sea of guests.

"What are you looking at?" She tried to keep her voice low.

His jaw ticked as he averted his gaze sharply.

"Nothing."

Her brow furrowed as she felt the muscle beneath her hand stiffen. Something had obviously upset him but she decided to let the matter pass, for now, wanting to keep his focus on the positive.

"Do you see Sirius?"

He shook his head. "Though I usually hear him long before I get a visual."

She laughed, doing her utmost to ignore the bustling crowd, to dismiss the sensation of ants crawling across her skin, the perturbing symptom of watchful eyes.

To say she felt self-conscious would be a gross understatement.

She clutched Harry's arm with both hands to prevent from fidgeting with her skirts, her bodice, her hair. She couldn't stand being stared at, analyzed. From her peripheral, she saw men and women sneaking furtive glances her way.

She could only imagine what they were saying.

Arriving on the arm of one of the Guests of Honor certainly didn't do her any favors when it came to fading into the background.

Suddenly Ron stiffened before her, bouncing back on his heels and tugging his arm free from his sister's grasp.

"There she is." His voice held an edge of anxiety. He spun around, raking his fingers through his hair.

"How do I look?"

His blue eyes held such guileless desperation Hermione found herself swelling with emotion until she was fit to burst. She released Harry and stepped forward, smoothing a hand over the redhead's lapels comfortingly.

"You look absolutely dashing, Ron."

His shoulders relaxed. She smiled.

"If she's not swept off her feet at the mere sight of you she doesn't deserve your company in the first place."

The corner of his mouth tipped up.

"You're the best, Mione."

He leaned forward to peck her on the cheek but Ginny's hand shot out and caught his arm just in time, pulling him back.

"We're not at home, Ron! If you kiss Hermione you might as well drop to one knee and propose!"

He flushed brightly. Hermione bit back laughter bubbling inside her throat.

"It's alright, Ron, I'll be making far worse faux pas before the night is through."

"You're dead set on cursing yourself," Harry muttered from behind her, still looking frightfully distracted.

Ron cleared his throat, nerves drawn tight. "Alright, well, I'm off, wish me luck." He started to back away but then glanced at Ginny and stopped short.

"Er…"

She rolled her eyes.

"Get out of here, Casanova. I'll be fine."

He glanced at Harry.

"Keep an eye on her?"

"I'm not a dog, Ronald. I can take care of myself just f-"

"We'll all keep an eye on each other," Hermione interjected, resting her hand on Ginny's shoulder. "Go ahead, Ron. And good luck." She winked, prompting Ron to nod in relief before spinning on his heal and cutting a quick path through the opulent room.

Hermione couldn't help but perch on her toes, trying to gaze over the heads of milling guests to glimpse the mysterious woman who'd managed to enrapture her best friend in such a short time.

Harry told her the truth about Susan during his visit to the Home- that he met her at the opium den in McLaggen's company, a detail he was still keeping from Ron in light of the current circumstances. Hermione agreed it was better to let Susan confess the truth herself, and selfishly, Hermione hoped the woman would stay in their lives long enough to help further the investigation.

But Hermione's love for Ron surpassed even her burning desire to seek justice. If their relationship proved toxic in anyway, or Susan was leading Ron on for her own nefarious purposes, Hermione held no qualms about expelling the woman from all their lives. By force if necessary.

As she searched the sea of pretty faces and lavish dresses in search of Ron's beloved, she instead became ensnared by a gleaming silver gaze that rendered her breathless.

She sank back on her heels, heart beating through her chest.

Draco stood at the other end of the room, dressed in an impeccable charcoal suit that paired magnificently with the dark violet of his date's dress.

Astoria hung off his arm, smiling and laughing, a radiant sight to behold. Her dark hair was woven into an intricate braid crown, a lavender rose pinned to the side.

Hermione swallowed thickly, eyes quickly roaming the other woman's lithe figure.

The dress conveyed royalty. Though in truth, she looked more like a goddess, Aphrodite come to life. But the rose… the rose…

_Love at first sight._

Familiar pain lanced through her chest. She set her shoulders back and brought her gaze to the tall blonde. Beside Astoria, he appeared the impeccable aristocrat his lineage denoted. They cut such a beautiful image her hands began to shake.

Draco had yet to look away, to even blink. His eyes bore into hers from across the room, slowly tracing every line of her body from top to bottom, rendering her frozen in abject misery.

His irises seemed to glow, or perhaps it was merely a trick of the light as the rest of the room became hazy, only his face in stunning clarity. His jaw ticked, a crease forming between his pale brows, only to give way to a mask of blank indifference as another body stepped in front of him, blocking his face from view.

The river of white blonde hair situated between a set of broad shoulders made her entire body tense.

Lucius Malfoy stepped aside and Draco reappeared, though his gaze was averted away from where she stood. The Malfoy patriarch leaned in close, whispering something in his son's ear that only seemed to agitate Draco further.

And then, in the next heart-stopping moment, Lucius's gaze shot up and locked with hers.

Her blood froze in her veins, lungs compressing. She couldn't breathe, couldn't blink, couldn't look away-

The corners of his lips turned down, face creasing into a map of disdain. Heat tore through her body, an inborn humiliation that bubbled to the surface and seeped out of every pore.

At that moment, trapped beneath his penetrating stare, she couldn't hide from the truth.

She was an imposter. A stain on an otherwise flawless tapestry. A scratch on the crystal. Unworthy to share the same air.

And above all else, unworthy of his son's affection.

Suddenly a waiter walked by and obscured the Malfoy men from view. She took the brief reprieve to inhale sharply, starved for oxygen. By the time the waiter moved Lucius was staring at his son once more, clapping him on the back before striding away in the opposite direction, leaving Draco openly fuming in his wake.

Hermione jolted as a hand grazed her arm.

"Mione?"

She blinked rapidly, spinning around to face her friends, Harry's touch falling away.

"Sorry. Thought I saw someone I recognized."

He raised a dark brow. "Oh. I thought you were staring at Malfoy."

She scowled. "Keep your voice down!"

He rolled his eyes but fell silent while Hermione blushed every shade of red.

"I need a drink."

"I second that!" Ginny groaned, gazing around the room with obvious anxiety.

"If we all start drinking now I predict terrible things for the future of our evening." Harry snagged two champagne flutes off a passing tray. "But with any luck, we'll be too drunk to remember any of it."

"It's moments like this I forget you didn't spring from my own loins."

Hermione's face split into an uncontrollable grin as she spun around, periwinkle silk fluttering.

"Sirius!"

"Kitten." His smile matched her own as he reached for her hand.

She threw social decorum to the wind and sprung forward, ensnaring him in a hug that he returned with a deep chuckle.

"You look breathtaking, luv. I'm going to have to murder half the idiots here tonight just for the way they're staring at you."

She shook her head, leaning back. "There are so many things wrong with that statement my brain is stalling out on where to begin correcting you."

"Think on it and get back to me, I'll be the bloke dancing on the bartop in an hour."

She laughed, the tension from moment's ago melting away instantly. He released her, glancing to the redhead lingering behind.

"Gin, aren't you the vision. Get over here, lass."

She stepped forward with a laugh, extending her hand for Sirius to kiss. He did so with an exaggerated flourish, eyes flickering up as he held her fingers.

"What do you say we cause a real scene and I spin you about like old times?"

Ginny's blue eyes flashed with rebellious intrigue, lips curling into a wicked grin.

"Absolutely not!" Hermione interjected, glancing beside her. "Harry! Tell Sirius he is free to incite scandal surrounding his own reputation but he is to leave Ginny out of it."

Yet it seemed Harry was deeply preoccupied with draining the champagne flute in a single convulsive swallow, the second glass empty in his other hand. She sighed, shaking her head as Sirius's bark of laughter echoed around them.

"Now it's impossible to tell he isn't mine."

"Harry," she whispered, sidling closer. "Is everything-"

"I'm fine, Mione." He lowered the glass, licking his lips. "Just marvelous."

She blinked, drawing back. Something was clearly amiss but she couldn't work out if it was simply nerves or something else. She wanted nothing more than to get to the bottom of the mystery, but she knew this was not the best time to do so.

"Alright." She turned away with great reluctance. "Sirius, congratulations on your promotion to Admiral. It's well deserved. I'm so proud of you."

He flashed a dazzling smile, the kind that made women of every age group weak in the knees, or so Hermione had been told, always viewing the man as an Uncle herself.

"That's sweet of you, Kitten, but I think we all know I only got to the top by-"

"I'm going to stop you there and remind you that Ginny's present."

"Hey! I'm only a year younger than you!"

Hermione nodded. "Exactly. I'm older and wiser."

Harry flagged down a waiter and set the empty glasses on the tray, reaching for another. Hermione flashed a worried glance at Sirius, who winked at her and stepped beside his godson, throwing an arm over his shoulder and steering him away from the tray.

"Pace yourself, my boy. You drown your sorrows in booze and you're likely to wake up the Admiral of Her Majesty's Royal War Fleet."

Harry rolled his eyes.

" _You_ are not giving me a lecture on vices."

"Of course not. That sounds terribly boring. But I will remind you at least one of us needs to not make a complete fool of themselves tonight, and you know my record is o for sixty, so all the responsibility falls to you I'm afraid."

"Lovely."

Sirius clapped him on the back, much in the same manner Lucius had done to Draco, and the contrasting dynamic between parent and child was stunning to her eyes. She harbored no doubt Lucius loved his only child, but that love was so rigid in comparison to the warmth shared between Harry and his godfather. Even their tense moments were blanketed in affection.

Hermione suddenly thought of her own father. His warm brown eyes and easy smile. She swallowed thickly, clearing her throat to dislodge the sudden obstruction.

"Oh- Harry?"

They all turned to face the new voice.

"Neville!" Sirius shouted, releasing his godson to instead throw his arm around the nervous looking young man's neck, drawing him into their cluster. "I haven't seen you in a dog's age, how have you been?"

He blinked rapidly, smiling despite his obvious unease. "Oh, um, I'm good. Congratulations on your new rank, by the way." He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing as his eyes flickered to the girls. "Hey, Gin. You look great." He blushed. "I mean, you look lovely."

She laughed. "Thanks, Nev."

He smiled, eyes moving to Hermione...

...and widening to comical proportions.

"Her-Hermione?"

She couldn't help but giggle.

"I'm afraid so."

His blush deepened to feverish proportions. Sirius and Harry exchanged smirks.

"Wow. You look… different." He blinked rapidly. "That didn't- I mean, you look really nice, you always look nice, but tonight you look-"

"It's alright, Neville." She held up a calming hand. "I understand. This definitely isn't something I wear around the market."

"Right." He laughed, high and nervous. "I didn't know you were coming tonight."

"I'm Harry's date."

Neville swallowed once more. "Oh. I didn't know you were… I mean, that's great." He glanced at Harry. "Congratulations, mate."

Harry held his gaze a full beat before bursting into deep laughter, grabbing his side. Sirius and Ginny quickly followed suit. Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"It's not _that_ funny."

Harry sucked in a breath. "It's pretty funny."

She rolled her eyes, glancing back to a painfully confused Neville.

"We aren't _together_ , Nev. We're just _here_ together. As friends."

The man's shoulders seemed to ease. Hermione blinked, sudden dread seizing her. Before she could reflect on the possible revelation she caught sight of a familiar shock of red hair approaching from behind the boys.

"Er… hey everyone." Ron looked stiff and awkward as he escorted a pretty brunette forward. "Oh, hi, Nev."

Neville turned around and smiled.

"Hey, Ron!"

Ron placed a hand on the girl's lower back.

"I'd like for you all to meet Susan Bones."

She smiled brightly, albeit a bit nervously as well. "Hello, it's a pleasure to meet you all."

Hermione noticed her body stiffen as her gaze landed on Sirius.

_"She came by Grimmauld to tell me about Lavender," Harry had relayed. "The family thought I was secretly courting her."_

Sirius winked.

"The pleasure is all ours, Ms. Bones. Please, allow me to introduce myself." He stepped forward, grabbing her hand. "Sirius Black."

He kissed her fingers. She visibly deflated in relief. Ron didn't seem to notice anything amiss.

"You've already met Harry at the party, this is Gin, my sister." Ginny smiled sweetly even as her eyes roamed the woman from bottom to top with careful precision. "This is my old schoolmate Nev." Neville nodded politely. "And this is Mione. Er, Hermione."

Susan's smile wavered as their gazes met.

"It's great to finally meet you, Susan. Ron speaks so highly of you."

The other woman blinked, posture easing further.

_She knows Harry told me everything._

"He speaks highly of you as well, I've been looking forward to finally being able to put a face with the name."

Hermione's earlier fears started to split at the seems. Susan seemed genuine enough, and Hermione never sought to knowingly prolong another's suffering.

The sound of shattering glass drew all their focus to the bar. Nearby conversations tapered off as heads turned.

Hermione saw Susan take a step back as Cormac McLaggen came into view, leaning heavily against the bartop as he shouted drunkenly at a waiter.

"What the bloody hell is that arsehole doing here?"

"Ronald!" Hermione hissed.

"What? He _is_ an ars-"

"We get the point, mate." Harry's eyes remained fastened on Cormac.

Meanwhile, Susan faded a deathly pale. Hermione's natural instinct to protect took hold. She barely knew the girl, but she was important to Ron, and therefore Hermione felt some vested interest in her well being.

"Ron, why don't you ask Susan to dance?"

He blinked, cheeks coloring red. "What?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh come off it, you can't expect to _not_ dance with her on your first date, at a party no less?"

"I'm a shite dancer!" He hissed, glancing at the girl in question.

Hermione sighed.

"I know."

Ron looked at her sharply. "What the hell is _that_? You're supposed to tell me I'm not that bad! Or that there's more to romance than dancing ability or some shite."

She smirked. "It warms my heart you think so highly of my advice. But you clearly don't need me to say what you already know."

She tipped her head toward the dance floor at the center of the room, the band on stage above playing an upbeat tempo.

"Now go ask her to dance before someone else beats you to it. You aren't her official date for the evening and you know how high born males can get when they have enough drink in them."

Ron swallowed, inhaling deeply. "Christ. I can't believe I'm going to humiliate myself in front of everyone."

She patted his arm. "It's alright. Your friends already know you can't dance for shite. And we love you anyway. Consider this a test of her devotion."

He rolled his eyes even as he drew back, sidling closer to Susan.

Hermione turned away to afford the pair some privacy, and her eyes landed on the coif of white blonde hair that seemed to draw her eyes like a magnet.

Draco stood by the glass doors of the back garden. His eyes held her in a hypnotic trance as he tilted his head, gesturing to the exit and then slipping through it, disappearing from sight.

She released a breath.

_Don't even think about it, Hermione._

She turned to face her friends. Ron and Susan made their goodbyes and departed for the dancefloor.

"Looks like he's got a pole up his arse," Harry muttered, watching Ron escort her stiffly through the crowd.

Hermione wrung her hands together. Harry glanced at her. "You alright?"

She blinked. "Yes. Why?"

"You didn't scold me just now."

"Scold you for what?"

He raised a dark brow. Neville cleared his throat and took a half step closer.

"Er… Hermione, would you like to-"

"I need some air," she said suddenly, so consumed by her thoughts she didn't even hear him speak. Neville quickly stepped back into his previous place, blushing profusely.

"I'm going to head to the gardens for a few minutes."

"You can't go out there alone, poppet," Sirius said. "Even I know that."

She sighed. Damn all these social constraints.

Harry stepped towards her. "I'll take y-"

Sirius placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You stay with Gin, I'll take her."

Hermione bit her lip, wondering which of the two men would be less of a hassle to shake so she could get some blessed privacy.

"Come on, kitten." He held his arm out to her. She took it with a forced smile.

"I'll be back soon." Yet the only one staring at her was Neville, in such a way that twisted her heart. She faced forward once more, allowing Sirius to escort her through the crowd.

"Thank you, Sirius, but honestly, you don't have to come outside with me. This is your party-"

"This is Her Majesty's party, a chance to show off England's Naval strength with fancy music and champagne so the elite feels they have some part in it despite never getting their hands dirty."

She blinked.

"Oh… right."

"And don't worry, as soon as we get outside I'll turn you loose to your ferret. Just make sure you leave enough room between yourselves for Jesus."

She tripped over her feet, his arm keeping her steady. "What?"

He smirked. "I didn't get the title Admiral without taking notice of my surrounds, luv. Little Drake's been watching you from the moment you arrived, and I saw him give you the signal just before he slipped out."

She swallowed heavily but didn't see any judgment in his eyes or hear it in his voice. There was no point in trying to deny it now, and she hadn't the mental fortitude necessary to even make the attempt.

"It's not…" she wet her lips. "It isn't like _that_."

He raised a brow. "Like what?"

She rolled her eyes at his coy smirk. "You _know_ what. We aren't going to do anything sordid. We're just going to talk."

"So that's what the kids are calling it these days."

Hermione sighed. "We haven't been… _together_ in some time." She blushed, remembering their heated encounter at Kew and later inside Amortentia. "Well, we've-"

"Alright, kitten, I appreciate you wanting to confide in me, and you know you can come to me for most anything." He patted her hand. "But if you start telling me about Malfoy putting his greedy little hands on you I'm liable to cut them off at the wrists, which will cause Lucius to bring the wrath of Parliament down upon my head and induce all types of headaches I do my best to avoid."

He smiled. "But if that blonde idiot does anything to upset you, and I mean anything at all, you come see me right away. I will personally see to it that his bullocks are removed from his person, no matter his father's reach."

She couldn't contain the fit of giggles that overtook her.

"Fair enough."

They pushed open the glass doors.

"Alright, luv. You go have fun. Just not too much fun. I'll be over here enjoying a cigar when you're ready to go back inside."

She smiled, squeezing his arm gently before releasing it. "Thank you, Sirius."

He winked, reaching into the silk lining of his coat and extracting a wrapped cigar.

Hermione took a deep breath, turning to face the garden milling with men and women. She saw a flash of blonde hair in the far distance, near the fountain, and swallowed heavily, glancing down at her dress. Her hands smoothed along the branches on the bodice.

"Kitten."

She glanced over her shoulder.

Sirius smirked, flipping open his gold lighter. "You look beautiful."

The tension expelled with her next breath.

She smiled, turning forward with her shoulders back, and started up the path towards the fountain.

* * *

Draco sighed deeply, grabbing a flute of champagne off a nearby tray and handing it to Astoria. She blinked, staring at the offering for several beats before accepting.

"Thank you…" she held it delicately, as though expecting it to grow teeth and bite her at any moment. He rolled his eyes.

"Christ, you saw me take it off the tray, when would I have had time to poison it?"

She smirked. "I'm just surprised you didn't grab one for yourself. I assume there must be something wrong with it if you're not drinking."

He raised a pale brow. "I never said that." He gestured to the waiter. "Bring me a scotch on the rocks."

The man nodded, disappearing into the crowd.

"Ah. Now the world makes sense again." She took a dainty sip, her other hand still wrapped around his upper arm.

Draco tilted his head, trying to alleviate the tension in his neck.

"How much longer do we have to stand like this?"

"Another twenty minutes at least, then we're free to wander at leisure." She raised a manicured brow. "Or in your case, make a beeline for the exit."

His jaw tensed. "I'm not going to abandon you here, Tori."

"Of course not, Granger hasn't arrived yet."

He blinked, gazing down at her sharply, but she continued to glance about the room, seemingly at ease.

"Did you bring the manuscript?"

"It's in the carriage."

He nodded. "Good."

She swirled the champagne in her glass, staring at the bubbles. "Why did you have me bring it?"

"You'll see."

"I hate mysteries."

He laughed without humor. "You're a woman."

Her nose twitched, eyes narrowing. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"You're a living, breathing mystery."

Her head tilted as she gazed at his profile. "I can't tell whether to be flattered or offended."

"If you're on the fence I suggest going with the former, lord knows I insult you enough without trying."

She shook her head, taking another sip of her beverage.

Draco sighed in relief as the waiter arrived a moment later with his drink order. He accepted the low ball glass with an appreciative nod, relishing the burn down the back of his throat with the first swallow, warmth pooling in his stomach, spreading out through his limbs, a blissful reprieve from his hellish surroundings.

Present company excluded. Astoria was actually ideal company to keep in such situations. She always knew just what to say to the idiots who sidled up to them, desperate to converse, eager to get into Peerage good graces. She always dismissed the interlopers with such casual grace the fools hardly realized they'd been redirected until they were halfway across the room.

She'd spared Draco from having to make trivial small talk at least a dozen times over since their arrival. Their exchanges with one another had been limited but painless, which was as much of a compliment as he was capable of extending this evening, nerves stretched taught.

He took another deep swig of liquor.

And then the main doors were opening at the other end of the room, conversations tapering off and heads turning, socialites eager to get an eyeful of each guest as they arrived, the gossip mills in full swing.

He tilted his head at the matching set of red hair that emerged.

"Bloody hell," he tilted his head the other way, as though the change in angle would reveal some new detail. "Did Weasley bring his own sister as a date? Christ, I know no woman will have him but this is desperate even for him."

"Draco," Astoria hissed, unamused. "That's terribly rude, keep your voice down."

He peered down at her. "Are you telling me you condone such behavior, Miss Greengrass?"

She rolled her eyes at his mocking tone. "I hardly think this announces his intent to marry his sister, idiot." She shifted, glancing away. "Though it is a bit lacking in decorum."

He smirked. "Lacking in decorum? What a filthy mouth you have, Greengrass."

She shook her head, fighting back a smile. Then her eyes widened.

"Oh my."

He blinked, gazing ahead. "Wha-"

And then stopped short, jaw hanging open as the second couple slowly entered the room.

His breath left him in one fell swoop, grip tightening on the glass until it threatened to shatter beneath his hand.

Hermione stood beside Potter, but the dark-haired idiot was rendered invisible to Draco's gaze.

He saw nothing but her.

She was… perfect.

Absolutely beautiful. Adorned in silk that hugged her narrow waist and accentuated her hips, shoulders bare and sleeves fluttering behind her. Her hair was up, exposing the pale column of her neck. Her skin looked like fresh cream, flawless and smooth. His fingers tightened once more of the glass, desperate to touch the soft expanse of flesh.

His teeth ground together as Potter escorted her deeper into the crowd and she disappeared behind the gaping red headed fool and his sister.

Draco swallowed thickly, breaking from his trance. He peered down at Astoria, desperate for some distraction, only to be rendered mute once again. She appeared similarly transfixed, perching on her toes to follow their path, sagging in disappointment as they disappeared from view.

He tilted his head, eyes carefully cataloging every nuance of her expression.

What he discovered was deeply unsettling.

_Fucking hell._

"Tori."

She blinked, eyes darting up, a delicate blush staining her cheeks.

He opened his mouth but found he couldn't find the words to broach this disturbing topic succinctly.

Before he could dwell on the subject a couple sidled up beside them, recognizable even from the corner of his eye thanks to the female half of the duo's outrageous outfit.

Draco turned to face the newcomers with a scowl.

"Jesus, Pans, aren't you supposed to wear the cages under your dress?"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Bloody hell. Men." She flashed both him and Theo an annoyed look before releasing the latter's arm to adjust the golden hoop skirt that hung from her narrow waist, suspended over her deep sapphire skirts. "It's not a _cage_ , idiot. It's decoration."

Draco shook his head, taking another drink and glancing back to where he'd last seen Granger.

"I think it's marvelous," Tori said, leaning forward to brush a fingertip over the filigree detail. "I've never seen anything like it."

"There's a reason for that," Theo said, cringing as Pansy pinched his arm in retaliation.

"It's the latest design from Paris. Lord knows we haven't had any fashion innovations here since that dowdy nun took power."

"I believe that's treason, Pans."

"Spare me, Draco. I'm sure far worse things are said in the House of Lords on a daily basis."

"Attacking her politics is one thing, attacking her looks is another beast entirely."

"That's true," Theo interjected, glancing about the venue with little interest. "Women are much more sensitive about their appearance."

"You're kidding, right?" Astoria raised a dark brow. "She's a queen! She has far more important things to worry about than her wardrobe!"

Pansy signaled to a waiter holding a tray of champagne.

"She has an entire team of people devoted to worrying about her wardrobe for her. There's no excuse."

Astoria shook her head even as a reluctant smile broke through.

Draco was about to take another drink when a gap appeared in the crowd and a familiar flash of periwinkle silk caught his eye. He followed the line of fabric up until her face emerged. She was perched on her toes, peering through the sea of guests, eyes searching for something-

His heart lurched in his chest as her eyes swept in his direction, holding his breath until that moment when the ground shook and the earth tore open.

Her eyes met his, and she froze.

The rest of the room fell away, every face, every voice, every tinkling glass. All that existed was her and the endless expanse of time and space between them.

His eyes carefully roamed her figure, cataloging every detail, storing it in his brain to revisit on the lonely nights that surely awaited his future.

The thought pained him to no end. That he couldn't just go to her, couldn't declare his feelings publically.

_A lot of good that would do. Even if you could have her, she wouldn't have you._

The pain sharpened tenfold.

And then a hand was clapping his shoulder, pulling him violently from his musings. The world came crashing back around him in stunning clarity, lights and noise exploding against the inside of his skull.

"Draco, there you are."

His father's voice put him on high alert. He looked away from Hermione, praying his father hadn't noticed the direction of his unwavering focus. He felt Astoria stiffen beside him as well, her hand gripping his arm tighter as Theo and Pansy drew back a half step.

"Miss Greengrass, Miss Parkinson, don't you both look stunning this evening."

The girls sank into demure curtsies, picture-perfect smiles adorning their faces, eyes hollow.

"Draco." His father leaned in, voice low. "Be on your best behavior tonight. Remember that you represent much more than just yourself." A heavy pause. "It won't do to have any distractions getting in the way of your bright future. Do I make myself clear?"

Draco's only response was to grind his teeth together, shrugging his shoulder to dislodge the man's grip. His father pulled away with a bright smile, as though that were exactly the response he'd been hoping to elicit, and patted him on the back.

His gaze flickered to Theo and Pansy. "As I understand it, congratulations are in order. I hear that the official announcement will be made soon."

Pansy gripped her champagne flute so tightly her knuckles turned white.

"Thank you for the good wishes, Lord Malfoy." Theo's face was void of emotion. "And yes, our families are planning the announcement and engagement party as we speak."

Lucius nodded. "Excellent. There's no better cause for celebration than two of the most powerful and well-respected families in the British Empire uniting through love."

Both couples shifted awkwardly. Draco pulled at his silk cravat, feeling suffocated. His father chuckled under his breath.

"Excellent, well I'll leave you young ones to it. Enjoy your evening."

The other three bid him a polite farewell while Draco continued to try and alleviate the pressure on his airway.

Pansy released a slow breath, shoulders dropping.

"He terrifies me more than my own father, and that's really saying something."

Theo grabbed the flute from her weak grasp and drained the contents in one gulp.

"My father is still the scariest," he said, licking the moisture from his top lip.

Tori shifted at Draco's side. "I think mine can go head to head with Lord Nott."

Theo raised a dark brow. "Wanna bet?"

"Enough," Draco bit out, earning surprised glances from all of them. He sighed, glancing at Astoria. "Come on, there's someone I want you to meet."

She blinked. "Who?"

"Yes, who?" Pansy asked, leaning in, eyes sparkling with intrigue.

Draco grasped his date by the hand and tugged her away from the other couple without a backward glance or parting farewell.

He wasn't surprised Theo made no allusion to their previous fight. They'd been trading barbs since they were children, brushing aside the fallen debris and resuming their turbulent friendship without ever addressing past transgressions.

But he couldn't bear to linger in their presence another moment. Their pending nuptials reminded him of the blade swinging above his own head. He was Damocles, living on borrowed time, one hair's breadth away from being skewered through the middle.

"Who are we meeting with, Draco?"

He sighed once more, scanning the crowd, focusing upon the last place he'd seen them.

"My Aunt."

Astoria drew back, hand clenching.

" _What_?"

His jaw ticked as he continued to search the room.

"Not that Aunt…" his gaze found its target. " _That_ one." He gestured with his head, smirking. "Her husband owns a publishing house, we're going to give them your manuscript. Also, speaking to Andy pisses my father off royally. It's a win-win."

He started to lead her forward but she dug in her heels.

"Draco, wait!" She hissed. He blinked, peering over his shoulder. She bit her lip. "I didn't know… I didn't expect to talk about my work- I haven't prepared what to say."

He rolled his eyes. "You aren't walking the stage tonight, Tori. This is a casual conversation. Besides, they're the type of people who prefer genuiness, if you delivered a polished speech it would only turn them off." He tugged gently at her arm. "Come on."

She continued to worry her bottom lip as she reluctantly followed in his wake.

"If my father finds out-"

"He won't."

She swallowed audibly. "If _your_ father finds out-"

Draco squeezed her fingers. "He won't, Tori."

She finally fell silent, walking closely at his back as he navigated them through the crowd. People glanced their way with obscene smiles, eyes bright as they tried to catch his eye. Draco kept his focus forward, the force of his gaze attracting his Aunt's attention. She was standing next to her husband among a small group, everyone laughing at some anecdote.

Upon seeing her nephew's approach she squeezed her husband's elbow and gestured with her head. She whispered something to him before slipping past the group and meeting him halfway.

"Draco," she uttered with a genuine smile as soon as they were within earshot. "Don't you look marvelous tonight." Her gaze shifted. "And who is this beautiful young woman?"

Astoria dipped into a perfect curtsy.

"Astoria Greengrass, Mistress Tonks, a pleasure to meet you."

Andy nodded, her smile transforming into a smirk upon seeing such pristine manners.

"I thought you looked familiar. You have your mother's eyes."

Astoria blinked, shoulders relaxing.

"You knew my mother?"

"Of course, we went to finishing school together. Such a beautiful woman, inside and out. I was very sorry to hear of her passing. My condolences to you and your sister."

Astoria nodded. "That is very kind of you to say."

Andy's eyes shifted once more, head tilting as she gazed up at Draco.

"So was I correct in assuming you crossed the great expanse to speak with your dear old Aunt?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "The last time I called you old you beat me with a mop."

Her laughter echoed like tinkling bells. "I believe I _forced_ you to mop, my dear. Though I'm sure in your mind that's just as bad."

He shook his head without any ire. Andy was impossible to be at odds with, her every breath exuding easy affection, even for the nephew she was barely allowed to see throughout the majority of his life.

"Alright, what's going on? I can tell you're on a mission."

His nose twitched. She also had a keen intuition that rivaled even his mother's. All the Black sisters were practical mind readers, their ability to determine when he was hiding something bordering on the supernatural.

"I just came to bid you a good evening."

"Mm-hm." She raised a dark brow, the gesture transforming her face into a reflection of her elder sister, making his heart skip a beat before the edges of her expression softened once more. "And if I ask Astoria will she feed me the same poppycock?"

Astoria clapped a hand over her mouth to smother a giggle. Draco sighed, jaw flexing.

"Alright, we came to speak with you and Ted about an amazing new book, we want to give you first publishing rights."

She tipped her head back, laughing anew. "Is that so?"

Draco grinned, confidence exuding from every pore as he stood at his full height. "Yes, it is."

Her expression sobered. "Alright, I'll bite. Who's the author?"

"You're looking at her."

Astoria went rigid at his side, a brittle reed set to blow away at the next gust of wind. Andy's eyes widened a fraction as she brought her focus to his companion.

"You wrote a book?"

Astoria blushed deeply, mouth opening and closing. Draco gave her a nudge, seeming to break her panicked daze.

"I- yes, Ma'am."

Andy smiled. "Now _this_ is interesting." Her eyes roamed Astoria from bottom to top with much more precision than before. "We don't have many female authors signed, we've been looking for more to add. What's the genre?"

Astoria cleared her throat lightly. "It's a mystery thriller."

Draco blinked, gaping down at her. "It's a _what_?"

She peered back, expression annoyed, as though she didn't appreciate him invading their private conversation.

"You heard me."

Andy laughed. Draco ignored her, still staring at Astoria as though she'd grown a second head.

" _You_ wrote a thriller?"

"Don't look so shocked. What, you assumed it was a romantic comedy?"

He shrugged. "A tragic romance perhaps."

She rolled her eyes, peering at the woman across from them once more.

"My mother used to read Wilkie Collins to my sister and me when we were little. I've always had a passion for mystery."

Andy nodded, the wheel's visibly turning behind her eyes. "It's a popular genre, to be certain. Even more so now that Arthur Conan Doyle is on the scene. His newest novel is practically flying off the shelves. Though there's certainly a need for female writers in the genre. The only one who comes to mind is Catherine Pirkis."

Astoria nodded, eyes bright. "She's brilliant. I'm also a fan of Anna Katharine Green."

"The American writer?"

"Yes. My sister's fiance managed to procure some of her works for me while abroad with the military."

Andy eyed her speculatively. "Your family is supportive of your writing then?"

Astoria wilted before their eyes.

"I thought as much." Andy leaned forward, eyes warm. "Families can be total shite sometimes, my dear. Don't let it discourage you."

Astoria blinked several times before erupting into indelicate laughter, releasing Draco's arm to grip her side. Draco smirked at the sight before addressing his Aunt.

"We have the manuscript in the carriage. Even if you don't decide to publish I'd like for you to print a professional copy for her to send out to other publishing houses. I'll cover the expenses."

Both women gazed upon him intently, Andy with brimming curious and Astoria with such heartfelt emotion he couldn't bear to look at her. His Aunt held his unwavering gaze a moment longer before smiling.

"We'd be happy to, darling." She looked back to Astoria. "I'd like to introduce you to my husband, he must meet the new up and coming female novelist."

Astoria blushed anew. "I'd be honored."

Draco felt his chest ache as his eyes caught a flash of blue in the distance. It was merely a stranger's dress, the coloring all wrong, but it set his heart aflame just as well.

"While you get better acquainted with the Tonks I'm going to take a quick stroll through the garden."

Astoria nodded absently, thoughts obviously preoccupied. Andy met his gaze.

"Thank you for introducing us, Draco."

Her tone held an underlying firmness that gave him pause. She smiled knowingly.

"I think Astoria and I will have much to discuss."

His heart leaped into his throat. He swallowed it back down.

"I hope so."

She nodded, effectively dismissing him as she escorted his date to the group in which Ted still stood. Draco watched them walk away for another prolonged beat before making his way to the garden exit, racing thoughts scattering as his mind became fixated upon one thing only...

He lingered at the doors, facing the room, eyes darting rapidly across the sea of faces.

And then that familiar, magnetic force drew his gaze to where she stood. She was standing in a group, laughing and smiling, utterly beguiling in her radiant innocence. Light pulsated from her very being, an aura that drew the gazes of every man around her. He stole glances for several moments more until he watched her spine straighten, shoulders stiffen, head dart to either side as her eyes scanned the crowd.

She met his gaze once more and time stood still. He drew in a slow, steady breath before tilting his head to the doors, forcing himself to break their shared gaze as he slipped outside.

He cut a determined path across the garden, confident her burning curiosity would outweigh even her stubbornness.

He adjusted his diamond-studded cufflinks for idle distraction as he arrived at the grand fountain, waiting on the girl he'd spent half his life wanting.

* * *

Harry was having a piss-poor evening.

He'd strongly suspected this would be the general direction of his night, though he'd certainly kept himself open for the possibility of something slightly less awful. Ever the optimist.

But the moment they'd entered the grand ballroom and his eyes fell upon the sight of his former lover and his former lover's current fiance, the bottom promptly dropped out.

Which really left him with only one option.

Alcohol.

Lots and lots of alcohol.

As soon as his godfather escorted Mione towards the garden he'd grabbed another flute from a passing try. He justified his avid thirst by telling himself it was only champagne, mostly bubbles really. It wasn't like he was pounding pure whiskey.

Though that was certainly next on his list because it seemed his eyes couldn't stop searching out the familiar contours of a body he knew better than his own.

Theo was everywhere he looked, a living shadow cast from one wall to the next in the space of a heartbeat.

Or maybe Harry's heartbreak finally spread to his mind. Perhaps this deeply seeded ache was truly a disease, festering and growing until it consumed him whole.

"I'm glad Hermione came tonight."

Harry blinked, pulled back to the present moment by the sound of Neville's low voice.

"I mean, I haven't seen her at any events for the last few months, I was worried she'd turned into a recluse, or that they didn't let her out of that place." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. Harry nodded.

"It wasn't easy convincing her to come, but I'm glad it worked out. She needs to start getting back into the swing of society."

Ginny sidled up to his other side.

"My feet are bloody killing me! I knew I shouldn't have worn these shoes."

Harry gazed at the ground, her feet masked by her emerald skirts. "We can trade if you like?"

She burst into laughter. "That would be fantastic, actually."

He smirked. "We'll have to swap outfits as well, my boots will clash horribly with that dress."

He allowed himself to get lost for a few moments in easy banter, his anxiety ebbing. Only to return tenfold as a familiar presence appeared in his peripheral.

"Hello, Potter."

Harry turned into a living statue, limbs frozen. Theo came to a stop just before him, Pansy on his arm, her outfit even more obscene than the Venetian costume.

Harry forced his gaze to meet the sapphire eyes that haunted his dreams each night and plagued his every waking moment. They sparkled like stars against the midnight sky as they bore their way through Harry's skull.

"Congratulations on your promotion. What an accomplishment." He wet his lips. Harry swallowed. "Her Majesty is lucky to have such accomplished sailors as you and your godfather in her fleet."

Harry's jaw tensed as they continued to stare at each other for several suffocating seconds. Then he forced himself to speak, hardly aware of what he was saying.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but you're too kind, Nott."

Pansy tipped her head, glancing between them, brow arching high.

"I tell him that all the time," she interjected, drawing Harry's gaze at last. "Luckily I'm a raging bitch and am able to balance things out."

Harry rolled his eyes while Neville shifted awkwardly and Ginny burst into laughter, wild and unrestrained.

Pansy's gaze cut to the young woman. Her pupils dilated, red lips curving up.

"Hello, darling. I don't believe we've been formally introduced."

Ginny settled down, cheeks lightly flushed. "Oh. I haven't officially come out yet. I'm Ron's sister, Ginevra."

Pansy's smile widened, eyes bright. "Never preface your introduction by way of a man, my dear. You are your own person, are you not?"

Ginny blinked.

"Well, yes."

"Then introduce yourself as Ginevra Weasley."

Ginny's blush deepened as Pansy said her name.

"People call me Ginny."

"Ginny is a little girl's name," Pansy licked her lips. "A nickname from your youth. If you continue to associate with it you'll never be taken seriously as a woman." Her eyes flashed. "Would you like for me to call you Ginny?"

Theo rolled his eyes even as Ginny stood transfixed.

"Call me Ginevra."

Pansy winked. "Good choice, darling."

Theo shook his head. "Well, now that we've got _that_ sorted-"

"I _love_ your dress." Pansy reached out a hand, ignoring him completely as she traced her fingertips along the emerald cap sleeve, grazing freckled skin and causing Ginny's entire arm to twitch."Custom made?"

"Uh.. um, yes…" Ginny followed the path of Pansy's fingers with her eyes.

"Stunning. Who designed it?"

Ginny blinked, eyes snapping forward. "I did."

Pansy's brow raised, eyes roaming her figure carefully, causing the other woman to fidget.

"You have a marvelous eye for fit and form."

Harry glanced at the other two men. Neville looked perplexed, but Theo shot him a weighted look that cast stones to the pit of his stomach.

Ginny laughed, glancing down at her dress. "I don't know about that. I just provided a rough outline, the seamstress did the rest."

"Don't act meek, darling, it clashes terribly with that outfit."

Ginny's eye snapped up. "I like your dress as well. I've never seen anything like it."

"I strive to be original."

"Well, you're certainly turning heads."

Pansy's eyes gleamed. "Am I now?"

Harry stepped forward. "You look like you're wearing a birdcage, Parkinson." Her expression soured instantly as her eyes cut to him. He pinned her with a warning look, the message clear.

She held his severe gaze a moment longer before rolling her eyes, glancing away in acute annoyance. And then her expression transformed into something truly wicked.

"Come on, Theo," she coaxed throatily, bringing her lips close to his ear, speaking loud enough for them all to hear. "Let's go slow dance."

Theo sighed, eyes locking with Harry's for a heart-pounding instant. The emotion contained within absolutely gutted him. And then the man looked away.

"Congratulations again, Potter." His voice was hollow, unrecognizable. He grasped Pansy's hand and led her away. She shot a glance over her shoulder at Harry, eyes narrowed and sinister. And then they swept to Ginny, lingering a moment longer before the couple disappeared into the crowd.

Everyone visibly deflated in the wake of the passing storm.

"Pansy is more… vibrant than I remember," Neville provided, no doubt trying to ease the strange tension holding them all in its grasp.

Harry sighed. "She's a bit more everything."

Ginny bit her lip, eyes averted to her skirts. "I thought she was fascinating."

Harry watched her carefully.

_Fuck. Just what I need to deal with._

Before he could think of a suitable response Neville stepped forward. "Gin… um…" he shuffled awkwardly. "Would you like to dance?"

Ginny beamed. "I'd love to, Neville."

His expression matched her own as he extended his arm to her, then glanced back at Harry nervously.

"Oh… you don't mind, do you, mate?"

"Not at all. Have fun out there."

Ginny flashed him a wink as Neville led her away. "I'll save a spot on my dance card for you, Harry."

He chuckled. "You'd better."

And then they were gone and his expression fell. He glanced around with resignation, alone in a room full of people, a special sort of misery.

Though it seemed he wasn't unique in his acute suffering.

A crash sounded at the bar, followed by a few shocked gasps. Harry spun around, sighing in aggravation as he spotted the culprit.

McLaggen.

_Bloody hell._

Harry made a quick beeline across the room, nudging his way through the spectators watching the scene play out with avid fascination.

"Fucking sheep!" McLaggen listed heavily against the bar. "All of you are fucking sheep!"

Harry paled, emerging through the crowd and grasping the man's shoulder, causing him to jolt and nearly fall over.

"Wha-" His unfocused eyes widened. "Potter! What are you doing here?"

"I crashed the gates. Hear they're throwing this bash for some uppity ponce."

McLaggen blinked, then burst into loud, grating laughter. Harry cringed.

"Alright, mate, I think you've had en-"

"I killed her you know."

Harry reared back. A few people standing nearby ceased their conversation to listen in.

"Cormac." He squeezed the man's shoulder. "Not here, mate, let's go outs-"

"We aren't mates." He wet his lips, face pinching. "You said that."

"Let's go outside anyway."

"I don't have mates. Not really."

Harry glanced around, causing a few eavesdroppers to glance away quickly while others continued to shamelessly stare.

"People pretend to like me for my money… I know that…" He knocked a glass over on the bar, ice spilling across the glossy wood. "Lav was different though. She liked me for me. Flaws and all."

Harry swallowed thickly. "Cormac, listen to me. We can't talk about this here."

McLaggen ran a hand over his face, offering little resistance as Harry pulled him away from the bar, sliding an arm beneath his to help steady his weight and directing them towards the garden exit.

"I shouldn't have ever taken her there. It's like I cut her throat myself."

Harry's heart lurched. He glanced sharply at the man, surroundings fading into the ether.

"Take her where?"

McLaggen groaned. "You know where Potter."

Harry's jaw ticked.

 _Amortentia_.

"You think-"

He stopped short, too many spectators whispering behind hands and feather fans. Harry sighed. "Come on."

He hauled the man to the exit, balancing precariously as he opened the door and maneuvered them both through.

He inhaled the fresh night air in a desperate gasp, relieved beyond measure to be free of the oppressive crowd. He glanced around, spotting a scenic bench by some flowering bushes and quickly made their way over.

He lowered McLaggen with a groan. The man slumped over immediately.

"Alright, McLaggen, don't choke on your own tongue." He blinked. "Or perhaps do, that's a sure fire way to bring this evening to a screeching halt."

McLaggen scrubbed a hand over his face.

"I need another drink."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You need water and a good night's rest. In your own bed, not on a bench. I'm putting you in a carriage."

McLaggen attempted to stand, only succeeding in tipping over further, nearly completely horizontal on the bench. Harry shook his head.

"Fucking hell."

"Don't act all pomp you uptight arse."

Harry couldn't contain his grin. Leave it to this idiot to pick a fight when he couldn't even sit upright.

"I'm going to go hail a ride unless you came in your private carriage?"

McLaggen groaned anew, rubbing his temples. Harry stepped back.

"Right. Don't go anywhere."

Ten minutes later he was shoving the man into the back of a carriage, the cramped interior already reeking of a brewery as McLaggen laid down on the seat.

Harry started to dismount but hesitated, glancing inside once more. He was brimming with questions but knew McLaggen was in no condition to provide any valuable answers.

He sighed.

"McLaggen."

A low moan emanated from the shadows.

"Sleep it off, mate. I'm going to swing by your father's estate in the morning, finish our conversation."

The huddled figure started to rise, only to fall again.

"We aren't mates."

Harry stared into the darkness. "I know." He pulled back. "Good night."

He leaped to the cobblestone and slammed the door, gesturing to the driver.

As he watched the carriage pull away from the entrance he felt cold tendrils wrap around his heart and throat, pulling him under the surface and down down down to the darkest depths of his mind.

* * *

Hermione clutched her skirt tightly as she cut her way across the garden, knuckles turning white.

Draco spotted her the moment she stepped onto the grass, his silver gaze tracking her carefully as she made her way to him. His utter stillness and pale beauty made him look more marble than man. She was reminded of the statues at the V&A, their cold perfection. She wondered if his skin would be hard and unyielding beneath her touch, or warm and pliable, muscles tensing beneath her nails. She clutched her skirts tighter.

And came to a stop at the other end of the fountain.

The distance between them yawned and stretched. The statue came to life, head tipping, eyes roaming her figure with such raw desire it caressed her like a physical touch.

"You look nervous."

She blinked, mouth opening and closing. She forced her hands to relaxed, her skirts swaying around her in an invisible current.

"I'm not nervous."

His eyes finished their upward ascent, locking with hers once more, keeping her trapped in place as he slowly walked towards her.

Every footfall clipped away at her resolve.

"I'm sorry about Lavender."

She swallowed heavily, rocking on her heels.

"Potter told me what happened." His jaw ticked, something flashing in the depth of his gaze. "Are… How are you?"

She blinked again, tilting her head back to hold his gaze as he reached her at last. The sincerity in his voice tore at her heart further.

"I…" she shook her head. "I haven't really thought about how I am. There's been so much else to deal with."

He inhaled slowly. "Please tell me you aren't entangling yourself in the investigation."

Her eyes narrowed. "There isn't an investigation." The relief in his eyes made her spine turn ramrod straight. He sighed deeply.

"Don't give me that look. I'm not happy her murder is being ignored, but I will sleep better at night knowing you aren't running around the city hunting a killer."

"Interesting. I find I can't sleep at all knowing her murderer is still loose, free to abuse more young women."

He glanced away. "Christ. There's no winning with you."

She crossed her arms, expression pinched. "After ten years of losing every argument, you'd think you'd have learned that by now."

He ground his teeth, eyes flashing.

"Is Dolohov your attorney?"

Hermione reared back, losing her balance. Draco's hand shot out and grasped her arm just in time, drawing her forward.

"I'll take that as a yes."

She gazed up at him, eyes wide and horrified. "Why are you asking me that?"

_Is he here?_

The urge to glance around was strong, but Draco's magnetic gaze was stronger, holding her focus.

"He mentioned making a recent trip to the Umbridge Home for a client. I doubt the majority of residents could afford his services." His fingers tightened around her arm, cutting into the circulation. "He controls your estate then?"

She paled considerably, eyes flickering between his, seeing no escape in sight. She knew he wouldn't have bothered asking if he wasn't already assured of the truth, he merely wanted to see her reaction. And she was certainly giving him quite the show.

She wet her lips.

"Yes. He maintains a controlling interest."

That much was safe to share. As for the rest…

Draco could never know. For the same reasons she would never tell Harry. Either man would go on a homicidal rampage and kill the bastard without a thought for the consequences.

Well… Harry would certainly revert to violence. She wasn't certain if Draco would follow suit or take the legal route. The latter would be the most devastating, hurting those she was trying to protect…

No.

The attack was a secret she would take to her grave. As agreed.

"When did you speak with him?" She hoped to steer him away from the truth.

Draco continued to grip her arm, his other hand sliding to her waist, fingers splayed across the branches on her corset.

"I was wrangled into a poker game with my uncles and their guests."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm sure that was quite a sacrifice for you."

His jaw ticked. "I've been cutting back."

"I can see that."

His silver gaze narrowed. "I made another fascinating discovery that night."

She tilted her head, muscles tense and ready to pounce, the feeling of being in his arms awaking her most base instincts.

"I'm sure it was positively riveting, I'm ever so eager to hear."

Their faces hovered so close his next words glanced off her lips.

"I learned that the Home recently employed a male physician by the name of Doctor Riddle."

Hermione blinked.

And then several things happened.

Looking back, she wouldn't be able to ascertain the order of events as it all seemed to occur at once.

One of the first things her memory recalled was the intensity of his gaze, the eerie glow of his irises, as though lit by some internal source.

The next thing she became aware of was the unforgiving line of his body, as though she were suddenly pressing against a brick wall.

The third thing to imprint on her memory was the way his head tipped back, causing his eyes to narrow as he peered down his nose at her, effectively turning him into the spitting image of his father.

And that thought triggered her final realization.

_It's a test._

She knew with unequivocal certainty that the next few seconds would alter the course of their future forever.

He was waiting for her to react.

And that knowledge gave her all the power. She could make or break it all with her next word, her next movement.

A small voice whispered in the distance, begging her to tell the truth. It sounded suspiciously like Harry.

But a louder voice that sounded like her own urged her to tread carefully.

_Don't lose him. Not like this._

There was no decision to be made.

The lie coated her lips like nectar.

"Yes. We also planted three new rose bushes and added croissants to the breakfast menu. Aren't you receiving the Home newsletter?"

His eyes flashed, something wild taking root, making her heart race. But she maintained her mildly annoyed expression, her easy posture, as though they were discussing any mundane topic that resulted in their usual banter.

She was unnerved to see suspicion still present across every sharp line in his face.

"He's quite the impressive character. Seems hard to overlook."

She tipped her head.

"Would you like for me to ask if he's single? Perhaps you can take him to dinner."

"Do you speak to him often?"

"Define often."

"Don't play dense."

"I'm trying to make you feel more comfortable."

His hands gripped her arm and waist tighter, a thrill raced along her spine, nerve endings firing to life.

"Hermione." His eyes flickered between hers. "You know what I'm asking."

She swallowed lightly, soul withering inside her shell. She pushed on, committed to seeing this through.

"I do."

The silence grew and festered, the only sound in the universe the melody of her racing heart and the fountain at their backs.

"But I assure you, I have no interest in him." She felt dizzy yet managed to stay upright. "I find him deeply unsettling if I'm being honest."

That much was certainly true.

"I do my best to avoid him."

He held her gaze for a short eternity before she felt his body deflate against her, tension expelling with an audible hiss.

He nodded, expression softening, mask falling away. She blinked rapidly, eyes burning.

"I found him unsettling as well. It's good you keep your distance. I don't trust him."

Cleared her throat, vocal chords tangled. "Why was he at the poker game?"

Draco shrugged lightly, hand falling away from her arm, the limb tingling at the renewed blood flow. His fingers instead traced idle patterns along the branches at her ribs, grazing the fallen petals.

"Dolohov invited him. They're best mates now apparently."

Her entire body throbbed. She pressed her hands to Draco's chest as she swayed on her feet. He glanced back up, brows drawn.

"Hermione?"

She forced a smile, trying to shove her heart back into the empty cavity at her center. "You're a fan of the dress I see?"

She prayed the subject change wasn't too abrupt but dwelling on the previous topic for a second more would prove fatal.

"You look breathtaking. Half the men here can't keep their eyes off you. I don't think I'll let you back inside."

She relaxed against him, taking comfort in the familiarity of his hold.

She realized then she'd never once felt threatened by Draco's presence, even during the height of their arguments.

Hermione took great comfort in that realization.

He raised a hand towards her face, twining a loose curl around his finger, eyes roaming her hair.

"You aren't wearing lilies or daisies."

She shook her head, glancing down at her bodice. "I'm wearing cherry blossoms."

Draco raised a pale brow. "I'm not familiar with their meaning."

Hermione glanced back up with a smile tinged with sadness.

"Ginny picked the dress. I doubt she knew the meaning either. I think she just liked the color."

She removed a hand from his chest to run a belled sleeve between her fingers. "It's ironic really, how fitting they are to this occasion. To me. And yet they were chosen completely by accident."

The hands on her waist slid around to rest at her lower back.

"What do they mean?"

She swallowed lightly. "The significance of the cherry blossom in Japanese culture goes back hundreds of years. They represent the fragility and splendor of life. A reminder that each of our lives is overwhelmingly beautiful, but also tragically short."

She became lost to melancholy thoughts, unaware of the intensity of Draco's gaze or the increased pressure of his hands.

She only came back to reality at the sound of his voice.

"Run away with me."

Her head snapped up, eyes wide.

" _What_?"

"You heard me."

She tried to draw back but his arms held her firm. His face held an open yearning that rendered her mute.

"What's stopping us? Family? Friends? The people you love won't ever abandon you, and the more distance I put between me and my father the better."

He wet his lips, leaning in. "Besides, Potter ships out in another couple weeks. Back to his life. And what will you do? Go back to that hovel? How much longer do you plan on staying there? What are you waiting for, Hermione?"

She shook her head, thoughts caught in a whirlwind, breathing labored.

"Draco, I-"

"I can already see the answer in your eyes. But before you reject me outright I want you to stop and really think about it. What future do you really want? You've always said you don't want to marry for money, I'm willing to walk away from all of it to be with you."

His jaw ticked.

"Unless you don't want to be with me."

He drew back, arms stiffening around her.

"In which case that would change everything."

She felt light headed.

"Tell me the truth, Hermione. I need to hear you say it."

"I can't-"

"You can."

She gazed at him with pleading eyes. "Draco, I can't do this right now."

"I'm sick and tired of this runaround!" He hissed, eyes bright. "I deserve to know the truth! If you don't want to be with me then just say it!"

Her abject misery was replaced with white-hot anger in the space of a heartbeat.

"How dare you corner me with this when your _fiance_ is waiting inside for you!"

His eyes narrowed. "She isn't my fiance."

"She is and you know it! I saw the way Lucius doted on her earlier, he's practically salivating at the thought of your pending nuptials!"

Draco's chest heaved.

"Furthermore, my friend was just found _murdered_. I have no plans to leave London until I know the person responsible is off the streets!"

He opened his mouth but she cut him off with a swift elbow to the ribs, causing him to grunt and clutch his side as she twisted free of his hold.

"But the main reason for my vehement reservation is the fact that you've never _once_ told me you love me!"

She swallowed thickly, unaware the words had been sitting heavily on her heart until their weight was lifted. They both stared at each other in surprise, earlier agitation forgotten.

Draco blinked several times, and then she saw the flame ignite in his pupils even as the vines constricted around her heart. She raised her hand just as he opened his mouth.

"Don't you _dare_ say it now, Draco Malfoy!" Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Not in the middle of a fight and certainly not after I've mentioned it to you!"

His face transformed into his signature scowl. "I can say it whenever the hell I want to say it, Granger!"

She threw her hands up. "Fine! Say it then!"

"Well the moment's fallen to shite now, hasn't it?"

"That's what I just said!"

"No, you just tried to dictate-"

"Don't tell me what I-"

"- never can get a bloody word in-"

"- insufferable prick that you are-"

"- telling me what I can and can't-"

"- like a child that doesn't-"

"- after I ask you to be with me-"

"- like it's some great romantic gesture-"

"Hello, kids."

Draco and Hermione jumped a foot in the air at the sudden interruption, spinning around to face the source of the voice just a few feet to their side.

Sirius stood with a cigar in his mouth and a delightedly entertained gleam in his eyes.

"I hate to interrupt, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart because it looked like the kitten was seconds away from rearranging your face again, little cousin. But I just spotted my godson dragging what appeared to be a very drunk man or possibly a dead body through the garden."

He released a long breath of smoke into the night air, glancing between their dumbfounded faces. "But I'm guessing you were a bit too preoccupied to notice."

Hermione recovered first, shaking her head to dispel the stray thoughts still plaguing her.

"Wait, Harry was dragging _who_?"

Sirius shrugged. "Hard to tell, but I think it was Cormac McLaggen."

She inhaled sharply, pulse quickening. "I need to speak with him."

She grabbed a handful of skirts, glancing over her shoulder at Draco. His eyes were still narrowed, color high in his cheeks.

"We can finish this discussion later."

He scoffed, voice dripping in derision.

"I think we've said all that we needed to, Granger."

The muscle in his jaw clenched as he strode past, long legs eating up the grass in graceful strides even as his body seemed to vibrate with pent emotion.

Hermione stared at his retreating figure for several seconds before she remembered Sirius lingering beside her. He stared back with a gentle concern that reminded her so much of her father she clutched her chest, glancing away.

"Please, don't ask."

He turned his head, blowing smoke in the other direction.

"I know better than to do that, kitten."

She nodded, staring at the fallen petals sewn into her skirts.

"And please don't say anything to Harry. He has enough on his mind. I don't want him worrying about me as well."

Sirius raised a dark brow. "Is there cause to worry?"

She met his gaze with great hesitation, embarrassed to have been caught in such a state, even by someone as accepting Sirius.

"No."

She didn't bother trying to sell the lie, knowing he would see right through her rouse. But to her immense relief and undying gratitude, Sirius didn't press the matter, instead offering his arm to escort her back inside.

"Just so you know, my offer still stands," he supplied around his cigar, smoke emitting with every word. "Just give me the word and I'll castrate the ferret for you anytime, luv."

A laugh bubbled from her throat, high and broken, but genuine. She met his knowing gaze and smiled, hoping it masked the pain.

"I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

Harry was fully immersed in the quest for a new drink when a small hand alighted on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

He glanced back, chest loosening when he was met with comforting hazel eyes.

"Mione, there you are."

She raised a brow.

"What were you doing with Cormac?"

His face fell.

"You saw us?"

"Several people saw you it would seem." She glanced towards the bar. "Is he still here?"

"No, I stuffed him in a carriage. I doubt he'll be able to find his way out of it before daybreak."

Her shoulders dropped.

"He didn't tell you anything else then?"

Harry's hands flexed at his sides. "Can we talk about this after I have a whiskey in my hand?"

"Harry."

He sighed. "He was too drunk to make much sense. But from what I garnered he harbors a lot of guilt about Lavender."

Hermione drew back, folding her arms. "I didn't think he cared for her that much."

Harry fought to keep his gaze focused on her, well aware that Theo stood several yards ahead, just within his eye line.

"Appearances can be deceiving."

A shadow passed across her face. "I suppose that's true."

He gazed at her for a long moment. Her forlorn disappointment was sharp as a dagger point.

"But he told me something earlier that may be useful."

The result was instantaneous. Light flooded back into her eyes, wide and eager.

"I ran into him at a pub the night after I came to visit you. He told me there's a girl at the Club who knew Lavender from their youth, he thinks."

She swelled with visible excitement. He held up a staying hand.

"Now before you go asking a million questions, no, I don't know her name or even what she looks like, besides the fact that she's also blonde."

She nodded quickly. "We can ask the-"

" _We_ are not going to do anything. _I_ am going to continue the investigation and _you_ are going to stay out of trouble just as we discussed."

Her eyes narrowed. "Discussed and agreed are two very different concepts."

He tipped his head back, gazing at the crystal chandelier at the center of the domed ceiling.

"Sometimes I think you live to put me into an early grave."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be so dramatic."

"Harry! Good to see you, m'boy!" A new voice practically shouted beside them, causing them both to jolt. Hermione brought a hand to her chest, steadying herself. Harry cringed.

"Congratulations on your promotion! About time, if you ask me. They certainly drag their feet when it comes to these sorts of things, you didn't hear it from me though- Oh, hello, dear."

The portly man smiled at Hermione. "I didn't see you there. Though I _must_ be going senile if I missed you in that stunning dress. I hope I didn't interrupt?"

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, clearly still processing the man's whirlwind arrival. Harry stepped forward.

"Not at all Doctor Slughorn."

"How many times must I insist you call me Horace?"

"Always at least once more it would seem."

He placed a hand at Hermione's elbow, a gesture that appeared chivalric but in reality was a means to keep her from leaving him alone with their unwanted guest.

"This is Hermione Granger. Hermione, this is Doctor Horace Slughorn."

She smiled pleasantly. "Of course, I recognize you from your photo."

Slughorn blinked. "My photo?"

"Yes, in the science wing of the British Museum, you're quoted next to one of the vaccine displays."

He stared at her a moment longer before breaking into a wide grin.

"Oh, I'd nearly forgotten about that." He chuckled, placing a hand on his sizable stomach. "Fortunately that photograph was taken many years ago when I had less around the middle and more up top." He gestured to his balding head. Hermione laughed along with him. Harry glanced around, looking for something to injure himself with. This exchange had barely begun and he was already desperate for it to end.

"Wait a moment…" Slughorn's eyes widened. "Granger, you say? You wouldn't happen to be related to Doctor Richard Granger?"

Harry watched her smile freeze in place, brittle and frail.

"He was my father."

Slughorn's expression fell. "Oh, I am terribly sorry for your loss, my dear. What a brilliant man, I had the honor of meeting him on several occasions."

She swallowed lightly. "Yes, I remember him mentioning you, he was a fan of your work."

"And I of his." His face brightened once more. "Now as I recall, I remember him mentioning a daughter. He said she was interested in becoming a doctor herself."

Hermione blinked, color staining her cheeks. "Oh, well, yes, I did. I mean, I _do_ , but-"

"Are you following the progression of the Medical Act through Parliament?"

She wet her lips. "Yes, as much as I can. I hear they're drawing close to the final vote."

"They are indeed. I remember your father being a very outspoken proponent of it, now I see why. He told me you were quite brilliant."

She smiled, eyes hollow. Harry stepped close. "She is. The most brilliant person I've ever met in fact."

She glanced up sharply. "Harry-"

"Don't be modest, Mione."

"Well with that endorsement I am eager to see the bill pass, we need more bright minds in the field. Perhaps one day I'll see you walking the halls of Mungo's in a white medical jacket."

She took a deep breath. "I'd love nothing more, Doctor."

Harry was focused on her face, so he saw the moment her posture turned defensive.

He glanced up and instantly understood the cause of her transformation.

"Oh, hello Lucius!"

"Hello, Horace."

The man's silver eyes darted to Harry.

"Mister Potter. I came to bid you congratulations on your promotion. I do hope I'm not interrupting."

Harry set his jaw.

"Not at all, Lucius!" Slughorn gushed. "I was just doing the same. Of course, I went off on a bit of a tangent as I'm prone to do. And then we got onto the subject of the Medical Act, which I just now remember is one of your party's focus. I do hope your ears weren't burning."

Lucius spared the man a sharp smile laced with acid. Harry felt his chest tighten, Hermione pale as a ghost at his side.

"It is indeed, Horace." His gaze drifted to Hermione, latching on with predatory focus. "And I do recall Ms. Granger's father being an advocate of the bill. Are you taking up his mantle, my dear?"

Harry opened his mouth, but Hermione gently touched his hand, silencing him.

"I've been a bit distracted with other endeavors, Lord Malfoy. But I am a passionate proponent nonetheless." She swallowed. "I didn't realize your party was involved."

His smile widened, teeth pointed and precise as the rest of his appearance.

"We are leading the charge against it."

Slughorn shifted uncomfortably but no one spared him a glance.

"I do hope you don't take offense, my dear. It's not that I personally have anything against women joining the medical field, but this bill will no doubt be a stepping stone the liberal advocates will use to launch more and more ludicrous ideas. Once momentum is gained it is difficult to stop. I am merely trying to protect the overall sanctity of the values and standards that keep our society running."

Harry's knuckles cracked with the force of his clenched fists, but Hermione's poise kept his feet firmly rooted. She wet her lips, eyes bright.

"If history has proven one thing, Lord Malfoy, it is that society continues to persevere even through the most radical of changes. Some of the most renowned structures are built atop ruins of the old. The floor we stand upon this very moment is built on land once occupied by the Anglo-Saxons, and earlier by the Celtic tribes of Britannia. Had our ancestors not set out into the unknown then we wouldn't be able to even have this discussion. The only thing that can halt us as a people and as a species is to turn our backs on change and innovation, to deny ourselves the opportunity of growth and development."

Harry smirked, tearing his gaze away from Hermione only to bask in Malfoy's reaction. His eyes were narrowed to slits, his hand clutching the dragon head of his cane like a claw.

"A passionate speech, indeed, Ms. Granger, but hardly relating to the topic at hand. I do not see the connection between women entering the medical field and our country's ability to thrive economically. We've certainly risen to become the world's most powerful nation without the use of female doctors, I dare say we can maintain our position just fine without altering our enrollment process. The reality of the matter is women are better suited to other areas, like taking care of the family, which is where their true strength lies."

She tipped her chin up, allowing her the luxury of staring down her nose at the man even as he continued to tower above her.

"I see. I can't disagree that women have shown to be unparalleled protectors. Perhaps you feel they would be better suited as military leaders, as history proves?"

Malfoy opened and closed his mouth but she didn't await his response.

"One of the greatest military commanders of the ancient world was Fu Hao of the Shang Dynasty, one of the king's many wives, who ended up leading his army to victory so many times she was granted her own fiefdom to rule and was buried as a warrior queen. And then there were the formidable Trung sisters of Vietnam, who ruled as co-queens and led the charge to reclaim their nation's lands from the Han Dynasty. They were famed for appointing female deputies to their armies, one of which is said to have charged into battle while pregnant and given birth on the very field. And you've of course heard the tales of Boadicea, the Celtic queen who led the rebellion against the Romans to protect her daughters' legal claim to their father's land. And we mustn't forget the infamous Joan of Arc, who took charge of King Charles army as a mere teenager and broke apart a bloody siege that had been raging for months in only nine days, a victory that became the most pivotal battle in the Hundred Years War. There are countless others I could mention, Laskarina, the famed Naval Commander, Azurduy, who escaped a convent to become a guerilla warrior, and then, of course, there's our own English Queens, Elizabeth and the beloved Queen Victoria herself. So I agree with you, Lord Malfoy, women certainly play a pivotal role outside of medicine. But if they can be trusted to defend and lead entire nations, our own included, I don't see why they can't be trusted to care for the health and wellbeing of individuals outside of their own family."

She tipped her head, eyes as innocent as a doe.

Malfoy blinked, expression caught somewhere between explosive rage and utter disbelief. Harry was similarly transfixed, gazing upon her with so much pride he thought his ribcage may split with it.

Slughorn finally broke the silence.

"Well, my!" He clapped his hands together with a laugh. "I see that Harry wasn't exaggerating before. That was quite impressive Ms. Granger. If you were allowed to speak before the Committee I dare say you would be able to sway more than a few minds."

Malfoy's eye twitched.

"That... was certainly a pretty speech."

Hermione's face remained a placid lake, which only served to rile the blonde further.

And then an arm was slung around Harry's neck, causing him to stiffen in annoyance even though he knew who it was.

"Well isn't this an interesting group," Sirius said with a wry grin. "Let me guess, you're discussing Lotta Crabtree's theatre group finally making a European tour. I'm excited as well, we should all go in on tickets."

Harry rolled his eyes, shrugging the man's arm off.

"And to think you will soon be commanding our nation's war vessels," Malfoy said, expression still pinched from Hermione's epic smackdown.

"No one is as shocked as I am. Still, the only thing that would make the promotion even better is if I could wear a powdered wig to work each day. You're living the dream, Lucius, living the dream."

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose to mask his laugh as Hermione stifled hers with the back of her hand.

"Sirius, I'm so happy to run into you!" Slughorn seemed oblivious to the mounting tension. "I was meaning to tell you about-"

"Sorry, Horace, old chap, I just got word from the old man that we're needed on stage." He glanced at Harry. "Ready, kid?"

Harry released a long breath. "Let's get this over with."

"That's the spirit."

As his godfather started to direct him towards the raised stage he glanced over his shoulder to Hermione. She flashed him a wink of reassurance. He tried to smile but found it a herculean task.

Instead, his eyes drifted, drawn by a familiar magnetic force that he put no effort into resisting.

He locked eyes with Theo from across the room.

His former lover looked devastatingly handsome, eyes unfathomably blue. Harry wanted to drown in their depths. Anything to put an end to this misery.

Yet he managed to continue putting one foot in front of the other, tearing his gaze away and leaving a trail of blood in his wake.

* * *

Hermione watched Harry take the stage with a heavy heart. He looked so despondent… she knew more than just the promotion was plaguing him, and it made her feel overwhelming guilt she didn't know what it was.

_I've been a selfish friend._

Her thoughts scattered like dried leaves to the wind as she felt a body draw near. Lord Malfoy hovered above her, breath cascading across her face and neck.

"Tread carefully, Ms. Granger," he whispered into her ear. "You are nothing but an ant. Easily crushed beneath my boot."

She blinked rapidly, trying to maintain her neutral composure as she stared ahead.

"And stay _away_ from my son, you wretched girl. I assure you, he considers you nothing but a passing amusement. Easily used and discarded. Like the rest of your kind."

He lingered a moment longer, seemingly satisfied by her silence, finally drawing back and spinning on his heal, pale hair flowing behind him as he slipped back into the crowd.

Hermione released a gasping breath, feeling light-headed.

She thought she detested the man before, but her previous emotions felt benign compared to this new hatred festering in her heart.

_He's leading the charge against the Medical Act…_

She swallowed thickly, smoothing her skirts in the hopes of distracting herself.

_Did Draco know?_

Her attention was drawn back to the stage as a familiar and intimidating figure crossed the stage to stand behind the podium, the sea of guests falling silent by his mere presence.

He had that effect upon people, Hermione included. Her mind went stunningly blank as he began to speak.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. And thank you for showing your support by attending tonight's event. For those of you who do not know me, my name is Albus Dumbledore, I am the Fleet Admiral for Her Majesty's Royal Navy, and tonight I have the great honor of rewarding two of my sailors for their hard work and dedication."

Hermione felt her chest swell with emotion as her eyes drifted to Harry, standing beside his godfather behind Dumbledore.

But the man's next words were drowned out by the blood rushing through her ears as a new presence joined the stage.

One that stole the breath from her lungs.

Just behind Dumbledore hovered the ghostly apparition from the corridor, the girl who led her to the hidden door.

She wore the same white dress, hair flowing around her in the same underwater current…

And she continued to levitate off the ground.

Hermione took a step back, glancing around at the crowd. There were no looks of shock or terror, no screams aside from her own voice in her head.

She gazed back up, locking eyes with the girl.

_This can't be happening. Not here._

She'd never experienced an episode outside of the Home. The sudden evolution terrified her more than the vision itself.

_Why are you here? Why are you doing this to me?_

It took every ounce of strength to maintain her calm expression, though her eyes brimmed with tears as she gazed upon the girl.

And then, a memory played before her eyes, bright and clear as the night it happened.

And only one word came to mind.

_Door._

Hermione swallowed, covertly wiping away her tears, hoping anyone watching would assume she was overcome by emotion at seeing Harry take the stage.

She saw the outline of the hidden door in her mind's eye, except this time a sinister red light emanated from behind it.

Hermione knew then what needed to be done.

She glanced back at the stage, but the girl was gone.

Hermione looked around the room, spotting her target not far away. She quietly made her way through the spectators.

"Neville," she whispered once within earshot.

He brightened at seeing her. "Hermione! Is everything okay?"

She nodded. "You're still an engineering major, aren't you?"

Neville raised a brow. "Er… yes, I am."

She sighed in relief. "Great! I need your expertise."

He blinked. "Oh. I mean yeah, of course. About what?"

She wet her lips. "What's the best method for prying open a door?"

* * *

Harry stepped off the stage, idly thumbing the medal around his neck, eyes combing the crowd for his friends.

He caught Ron's eye from across the room. The man mock saluted him with a smile, Susan on his arm. Harry smiled, shaking his head and continuing his path towards the bar. People kept stopping to congratulate him, he nodded and uttered the proper responses, his mind starting to shut down with exhaustion.

He wasn't used to staying at social events this long into the night, and he certainly wasn't used to being the center of attention. It was grueling.

And then he caught a flash of periwinkle silk, his heart lifting.

"Harry! You were magnificent up there!" She clutched his arm. "I'm so proud of you!"

He tried to smile but ended up sighing instead. Then he noticed a similarly conflicted look in her eyes, bottom lip pinned between her teeth.

"Mione? Are you alright?"

"Oh, of course. I just… I need to go, Harry."

He straightened. "Oh thank god. I thought you'd never say it. Let's get out of here."

She blinked. "What?"

"You don't think you're leaving me behind while you fly free?"

"It's your party, Harry, you can't just leave."

"I assure you I very much can."

Hermione released a frustrated breath. "It will look bad."

"I'm not concerned about how these people perceive me, Mione. The ones I care about will understand my need to get out of here before my sanity slips any further."

She pinned him with a withering look. He smiled his most boyish grin, emerald eyes bright.

She sighed.

"Alright fine."

He grabbed her elbow, leading her through the throngs of partygoers at rapid speed.

"Wait! You have to say goodb-"

"Why don't I stand on the buffet table and shout it to the room?"

She rolled her eyes. "If you receive grief for this from your superiors don't come crying to me."

"Sirius will cover for me if Dumbledore cares, which I doubt he will. He detests these showy events as much as we do."

"We at least should tell Ron."

Harry sighed deeply, coming to a stop.

"Okay fine, where is h-"

His gaze found his friend quite quickly, red hair a bright beacon pulsating in the midst of the dance floor.

Ron was laughing wildly, spinning Susan around in a quick mazurka, her face equally alight with joy. Susan's movements were fluid and precise, while his were abrupt and ill-timed, but neither seemed to care.

Hermione followed his gaze, spotting the dancing couple.

"I don't think they'll notice our absence," he said, emotions warring within him.

Hermione seemed to sense the change, always so attuned to his moods.

"She seems rather taken with him."

Harry nodded, tearing his gaze away.

"I'm happy for him."

She held his gaze. "Just worried?"

His jaw ticked. "Aren't you?"

"I want him to be happy. If she can manage to do that… I think the rest will have a way of working itself out."

Harry ran a hand through his barely tamed hair, causing a few strands to stand on end. He was plagued by guilt, the lies eating away inside him.

All the lies.

"Gin's dancing with Neville, should we-"

"Ron will make sure she gets home. Let's not interrupt their fun."

She nodded. He continued sweeping her out of the room before she could formulate a verbal response.

As they walked through the lobby he felt her keen eyes upon him once more.

"Harry?"

He took a deep breath, bracing himself.

"Is everything ok?"

He opened his mouth, an excuse at the ready-

"And please don't give me one of your canned responses."

His mouth snapped shut. She squeezed his arm.

"I know you're upset about something, this isn't just aggravation over the event. I hate to see you this way."

Her voice was a warm blanket wrapping around his shoulders. It reminded him so much of his mother it caused his chest to seize.

"Please talk to me."

He swallowed heavily, continuing to lead them through the double doors of the exit, eyes fixed firmly ahead.

Theo's face flashed before his mind's eye.

He thought he may faint.

"I-" he stopped short, stomach in knots. He fought to maintain his breath.

"I'm just a bit distracted with everything that's happening." His eyes burned, he blinked to alleviate the dryness. "It's nothing sinister, I promise."

She tipped her head, studying his profile carefully. "We've always been able to tell when the other person is lying, Harry."

Every footstep was a feat. They reached the main stairs. He gazed down at the carpeted steps, careful to keep his eyes averted. She'd read the truth in them as easily as one of her medical books.

The need to tell her was strong, burning a hole in his esophagus.

But the fear held him back.

If anyone would understand it would be Hermione...

But what if she didn't?

She was his ship, his sail, his compass. If he lost her he'd never be able to navigate the treacherous waters of this life.

It was a risk he hadn't the courage to take.

Not tonight.

Not after seeing the fire burning in Pansy's knowing gaze. The hollowness in Theo's.

He shook his head, desperate to dispel the memory.

"I just need a good night's rest."

She deflated beside him. He forced a smile, patting her hand.

"That doesn't mean I'm not up for some dessert. Why don't we visit Honeydukes?"

She glanced away.

"Actually, I need to get heading back."

Now he was the one trying to capture her gaze.

"For any particular reason?"

She bit her bottom lip. "I'm just as much in need of a good night's sleep."

His jaw ticked.

She was right.

They always knew when the other was lying.

Of course, Hermione wasn't doing much to cover hers, spewing his own words back at him rather than constructing her own excuse.

They both gazed sadly at the carriage pulling in.

What a pitiful state of affairs this was. Keeping secrets from one another.

He wondered if hers were anything like his, sewn into the very fabric of her heart, poisoning her blood with every beat.

What cure was there for something so firmly attached to one's core?

The driver hopped down, bowing low before straightening to open the door.

"Are you sure I can't convince you to accompany me on one last outing?"

She met his eyes, her brows drawn, as though the refusal caused her physical pain.

"Next time."

He held her gaze a moment longer before nodding, bringing her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles.

"You really were the most beautiful girl here tonight."

Her smile contained more sadness yet.

"It reminded me of old times. I'm glad I came. Seeing you on stage was…"

Her smile faltered, something haunted passing across her gaze, there one moment and gone the next.

She shook her head. "I'm just happy I got to see it. I'm very proud of you, Harry. More than you could ever know." A beat. "Your parents would be proud of you as well."

His body throbbed with the force of his heartbeat, arteries splitting, every part of him bleeding out.

"I hope so."

She leaned up and pecked him on the cheek. She lingered a moment, as though about to whisper in his ear, but then changed her mind, settling back on her heels.

"Goodnight."

"Night, Mione."

He helped her into the carriage, pushing her skirts past the threshold before closing the door and stepping back.

He placed his hands in his pockets, watching her pull away, smiling to himself as she leaned out of the window as the horses turned the corner, waving farewell as per tradition.

He laughed to himself, tears brimming in his eyes, and raised his hand to wave back.

But she was already out of sight.

* * *

Hermione felt strange entering the main doors of the Home in her finery. She had been half tempted to sneak in through the back, feeling as though her late-night excursion and dress were a great betrayal to the other residents.

They were all trapped in this hell together, made stronger through their unity. Over the last few months, she'd developed a kinship with and earned the respect of most the girls here. If anyone saw her like this she could only imagine their reactions.

However, she knew her skirts would not allow her to slide through the gap in the gate, and so the front door it was.

Luckily it was after curfew and the lobby was empty. Umbridge had given her approval for Hermione to attend the party, another strange attempt to help Hermione cope with Lavender's murder, apparently, so Filch wasn't standing warden.

She hesitated at the mouth of the corridor that led to the dormitory stairs.

And replayed Neville's voice in her head.

_"You need to pry open a door?"_

_She wet her lips. "I know it sounds… alarming, but I assure you, it's completely innocent."_

_Neville blinked._

_"Um… alright then." He scratched the back of his neck. "What kind of door is it?"_

_She tried not to fidget._

_"It's hidden in a wall."_

She shook her head as she changed course, heading in the direction opposite her rooms.

Poor Neville.

Poor, brilliant Neville.

_"Hidden? Like a secret door?"_

_She forced a smile, trying to put him at ease. "That's one way to think of it, I suppose."_

_He stared at her for a long beat. "Okay… well, all doors are designed to be opened somehow. Usually with a key. But if it's hidden there's probably an extra layer of security, like a catch."_

_"A catch?"_

_"A trigger mechanism." His eyes brightened, voice becoming more animated. "Something attached to the jam or hinges that allow it to be accessed. It may be concealed, but it will likely be on the same wall as the door so the wire can connect."_

_Hermione nodded. "Okay. And if I find the trigger…?"_

_"Well, theoretically that may be all you need. But if it merely opens an access panel, you still may have to get through a lock."_

_She bit her lip. "I don't suppose you know how to pick one?"_

_"There are hundreds of lock variations so unless you can describe to me what it looks like there's no telling what the best method would be." He sighed, then blinked. "But technically, there still may be a way in."_

Hermione pushed open the butler door to the kitchen, pulling her skirts through before they got caught in the swing back.

She felt around through the dimly lit space until she found the drawer containing the matches, quickly striking one and following its glow to a spare lantern.

She lit the oil soaked wick and shook out the match, holding the lantern high as she inspected the utensils hanging along the wall.

This time a ladle would not do.

Hermione walked further along until the knives came into view.

Her eyes lingered on the cleaver. She shook her head.

No…

She smiled at the butcher knife.

The blade was long and narrow, the handle short and wooden.

Perfect.

She quickly retrieved the tool. Her skirts had no pockets, the true definition of fashion over function.

But even if they did, she wasn't keen on stuffing the sharp blade into them. So instead she made her way upstairs with the lantern in one hand and the massive knife in the other.

Hermione felt emboldened by the weapon, less fearful of the shadows and the creatures that dwelled within them.

She went slowly, lingering behind each corner, straining to hear any noise. But Filch seemed to be making dormitory rounds, the hallways on this side of the building clear.

She debated walking down the corridor containing the secret office.

Just to check on the files.

Make sure nothing was amiss.

It had nothing to do with the fact that the Doctor's chamber was just across the way.

Hermione could care less what he was up to.

And she certainly didn't want him catching wind of her late night adventure.

Instinctively she knew this was a mission she must undertake solo. The visions plagued her and her alone. She would seek out the source of the madness without his intervention.

And somehow she knew the answer would lie beyond the hidden door.

It had to.

She finally emerged into the long, barren hallway, making her way quickly down.

_"Don't ever run with a knife in hand," her mother's voice echoed in her head. "No matter how much of a hurry you are in, a blade to the stomach or chest will surely slow you down a great deal more than simply walking."_

She swallowed as she came to halt at the dead end.

The hidden panel was clear as ever now that she knew what to look for.

Hermione wondered if Umbridge knew of its existence.

She pushed the thought aside, setting the knife on the floor before backing up slowly, extending her gaze outward, searching for a hidden catch.

_It will be hidden…_

Her eyes landed on the only portrait on the wall, an oil painting. It depicted a young woman in all black sitting before a solid grey background, making her pale skin glow in the darkness. She looked as much of a ghost as the being that led Hermione here.

She ran her fingertips carefully along the back of the frame, feeling for any sort of push or pull mechanism, eyes locked with those of the portrait.

For a heart-stopping moment, the woman's eyes seemed to flicker, following Hermione as she adjusted her stance.

Hermine blinked and the portrait was lifeless once more.

She sighed in frustration as she felt nothing amiss, stepping back and glancing at the wall with narrowed eyes, desperation building.

_I refuse to walk away in defeat._

The girl had appeared to her twice now.

She wouldn't let her down.

Wouldn't let Lavender down.

Wouldn't let _herself_ down.

Her shoulders drew back with determination.

_There has to be something else, something I'm missing…_

Her lantern dimmed dramatically, drawing her gaze.

The moment her eyes fell upon it the flame flared to life once more.

She blinked.

And then her chest swelled.

_Of course!_

Hermione spun back around, glancing at the sconce high upon the wall.

She reached up but her fingertips barely grazed the base.

She lowered back to her heels, holding the lantern high, tilting her head to study the iron structure.

There.

The left side had a seam absent the right.

Like a lever.

Adrenaline surged through her system.

Now, to reach the damn thing.

_If only I were taller..._

A vivid image played out in her mind, Doctor Riddle reaching up with graceful fingers and pulling the level with ease.

She took a deep breath.

_No._

_I can do this._

Hermione gazed upon the sconce a moment longer before an idea occurred to her. She smiled at the ludicrousy of it, then glanced over her shoulder to ensure no one was watching.

She was about to make a fool of herself after all.

Hermione set her lantern aside and kicked off her heels, walking several yards down the hallway with a wry grin.

_I can't believe I'm about to do this…_

She shook her head as she turned around once more, setting one foot back and bending her knees, lifting her skirts off the floor.

_Here goes nothing!_

She sprinted as fast as she could at the wall, lungs pumping furiously, silk rustling around her, hairpins sliding loose-

And leaped for the sconce. Her arms stretched out, hand wrapping around the lever and pulling it down as gravity took hold and her body fell.

She dangled in the air, hanging from the iron decoration for half a heartbeat before she released it, fearful of pulling the item off the wall entirely.

She jumped at the sound of a loud click, and then to her utter delight and fear, the wood panel swung free from the wall, a narrow gap appearing.

She fought to catch her breath, the run made more difficult by her flowing dress and rattled nerves.

But it paid off.

She swung the wood panel open all the way, a dry, dusty gust of air rushing out and hitting her in the face.

Hermione drew back, coughing into her hand, eyes squinting into the utter blackness beyond.

Of course. It just had to get more terrifying.

She leaned over to retrieve her knife and lantern, hesitating for just one second more before forcing her feet forward-

"Ow!"

Hermione reared back, leaning over to rub her sore toe. She lowered the lantern, illuminating a set of stairs leading up.

She blinked.

_Isn't this the top floor?_

Her heart skipped a beat.

_The attic._

But the attic had an entrance on the other side of the building, one that all the residents knew about.

And yet they were all forbidden to enter the space.

A chilling memory stole through her mind. The evening she returned home from the Apothecary after her first day of work… the cold that blew past as she walked up the main stairs, the chilling face gazing down from the attic window…

Or what she _thought_ had been the attic.

Hermione swallowed thickly, gathering her skirts carefully with her knife-wielding hand and holding the lantern aloft in the other. The stairs creaked loudly beneath her bare feet, the wood cold to the touch. She peered down, seeing a thick layer of dust marring their surface. Every step left a footprint behind.

_No one has walked these stairs in years…_

She released a sigh of frustration as the steps led to yet another door.

She shuddered at the sight.

It was solid black, gleaming beneath the lantern flame.

It seemed as though faces danced along the lacquer, hollow eyes and gaping mouths stretched grotesquely in cries of anguish and desperation.

She blinked, tearing her eyes away to gaze upon the handle, and took a deep breath.

_Might as well try it, I'm bound to get lucky one of these days, right?_

It would seem that day would not be today.

The door was firmly locked.

Time for plan B.

_"... technically, there still may be a way in." Neville's eyes gleamed. "If you come across a lock, you can try getting around it. You'll need something sharp, like a hammer end or crowbar. A knife may work, too, if the blade is strong enough."_

Hermione set the lantern on the step below her, turning the knife over in her hand.

_"Start by prying open the top of the door."_

She bit her lip in concentration as she carefully maneuvered the flat side of the blade into the narrow gap between the wood.

_"Slide the tool along the frame through the door stop."_

She grabbed the handle with both hands, standing on her tiptoes and using all her strength to drag the blade down and around. She grunted with exertion.

_"Once you get through that, carefully slide it through the latch."_

Hermione gasped as she felt the blade hit the metal lock, then held her breath, eyes narrowed, face flush as she carefully jimmied the knife-

She gave a short shout of joy as the metal latch clicked loudly, echoing through her ears.

"You're bloody brilliant, Nev."

She pulled the knife free and pushed open the door.

The room beyond was dimly illuminated by moonlight and orange glow from the gas lights on the street below, filtering in through a dirty circular window.

_The same one I saw the girl standing in..._

Her limbs trembled, the lantern shaking in her hand and casting chaotic shadows along the wall.

And yet her eyes were drawn to one sight alone.

A massive dollhouse.

She was drawn towards it by some mysterious force. Or perhaps it was merely her burning curiosity, the benign image clashing so strongly with the horrors she expected to uncover.

But she quickly realized the further she walked into the small room the more sinister it all became.

Broken dolls littered the floor, each missing something- an eye, an arm, a dress- one integral piece away from being made whole.

More disturbing yet was the doll lying within the dollhouse. Hermione slowly reached for it, throat tightening as she gazed upon the red marks marring the eyeless sockets and grinning mouth. She brushed a fingertip along its lips, then inspected her skin.

It was stained. She rubbed her fingers together, feeling tiny granules.

Red charcoal.

Hermione set the defaced doll back down carefully.

Alrighty then.

She spun around, desperate to leave this disturbing room but reluctant to do so empty-handed.

_What is this place? Why was I led here?_

_What am I meant to find? The dolls?_

She held the lantern out, scanning the remainder of the room. But all she saw were more toys for a little girl.

_Why is there a playroom beside the attic?_

_And why is it guarded by a locked, hidden door?_

She felt a cool draft blow into the room, ghosting across her bare shoulders and arms, raising gooseflesh in its wake.

Her spine straightened.

Hermione was familiar enough with the unnatural cold to know what it meant…

A message.

Or a warning. 

She watched the invisible breeze disturb dust, stray coloring papers, and doll hair, following its progression across the room-

Her heart leaped.

Her eyes landed upon a short and narrow file cabinet in the corner, hidden in shadow.

She wasted no time crossing the room and kneeling before the wooden structure, not an easy feat in her current outfit.

She tried opening the top drawer.

Locked.

She raised a brow.

_Not for long._

She wedged her blade into the gap, face lit with determination. After taking down two doors she refused to be deterred now.

She managed to pry the lock free in a few seconds, heart swelling with pride. Hermione considered herself an academic. Breaking and entering was not her usual pastime.

But it was quite exhilarating.

She began to understand the appeal of certain crimes…

She brushed the thought aside, wetting her lips eagerly as a drawer full of files came into view. She grabbed up the first stack and held the pages before the light.

She blinked. Then deflated.

More patient records.

Hermione wasn't certain what she'd been expecting, but disappointment flooded her system.

She sighed, ignoring the feeling and doing her due diligence, flipping through every page, pain lancing through her chest each time she saw the word Suitable marring the final sheet.

She shook her head, grabbing more files.

_What am I supposed to be seeing? Are these different from the others? Why are they locked away instead of kept in the records room downstairs?_

She scanned the pages two, three times, looking looking looking-

Wait.

Her eyes widened.

Maybe…

She picked up a file she previously glanced at, focusing on the first page instead of the last.

And inhaled sharply.

She quickly flipped open another folder, and then another…

_Dear god._

They dated back forty years.

Chills ran up her spine.

_It's been going on for decades…_

_What evil is this?_

Hermione grabbed more records, the dates becoming more recent until she reached a pile that was nearly thirty years old.

And suddenly something else caught her eye.

She blinked rapidly, assuming it was only a trick of the light, and brought the page directly in front of the lantern.

Her chest broke open, breastbone splitting down the middle, ribs tearing through muscle.

_No._

She grabbed another folder from the same pile and flipped it open, eyes scanning desperately-

There it was again.

She shook her head.

It wasn't possible.

She quickly opened a third file.

And a fourth.

_It can't be. It doesn't make sense._

She clenched the papers tightly in her hand, glancing around frantically, as though some other clue would lend itself to this mystery...

And caught a glimpse of something on the wall behind the dollhouse.

She set the pages aside and picked up the lantern, holding it high above her head.

Her lungs compressed violently as the image came into view.

Writing. In bright red charcoal, scribbled in a childlike hand.

And suddenly, somehow, Hermione understood…

 _This_ was what she was meant to find.

These four simple words.

This blood chilling message.

**the Dollmaker is coming**


	15. River of Flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love that so many of you are Alice: Madness Returns fans and caught the easter eggs last chapter! If you've played the game you'll catch more references moving forward, but rest assured my plot will deviate quite strongly so there are plenty of surprises in store for you yet ;)
> 
> Quick anecdote- I'm not a gamer and discovered Madness Returns through _another_ fic. If you're a fan of the games, Alice in Wonderland, or you just like creepy thrillers set in the Victorian era I highly recommend reading Behind Sanity by Lani Lenore, available on Wattpad.
> 
> Lani's a published author now and her writing is absolutely beautiful and haunting. Her story The Nutcracker Bleeds is one of my all-time faves ❤︎

_A reflection sometimes exposes more reality than the object it echoes._

.   .   .

Hermione charged down the corridor in her extravagant party gown, barefoot, with a massive kitchen knife in one hand and a stack of confidential papers in the other.

The evening was proving to be quite eventful.

Her hair had fallen into disarray at some point, perhaps when she was running full speed at the wall before leaping into the air, or maybe when she was stabbing at the door jam or wandering the eerie doll room. It was all a bit of a blur, her only vivid memory being the moment she discovered the name upon the pages.

And the end result was thus; her curls spilled free of the pins Ginny had spent nearly an hour painstakingly placing, her skirts were a rumpled mess, caked with dust, and sweat glistened at her temples and the valley of her cleavage.

She was only half aware of these components to her appearance and didn't care one tosh.

She wasn't seeking compliments or validation.

No.

She was seeking _answers_.

And she couldn't wait until daybreak to have them. If she returned to her room now she'd only spend the remaining twilight hours tossing and turning in bed, or perhaps pacing the floor like a mad woman, which would only alert Parvati to her discovery.

And Hermione couldn't risk this information getting out, not until she knew for certain what she read was accurate.

Even then, she could hardly believe it herself.

Steel laced her spine as she marched to the one place she promised herself to avoid.

She wasn't positive of the hour, perhaps it was around midnight, perhaps even later.

But there was really no ideal time to do this. And a part of her suspected it was better to catch her target off guard, give them no opportunity to formulate seamless lies that slipped through her fingers.

Yes, now was the _perfect_ time.

She felt justified, emboldened.

Until she came to the closed door of the Doctor's chamber.

And then she felt dread pool in her stomach.

_You've come this far…_

_Don't cower now._

She swallowed thickly.

_I've faced down Lucius Malfoy, another ghostly apparition, broken through two doors and a bloody cabinet…_

_I can certainly face Him._

And yet some basic instinct told her confronting the Doctor would be the most dangerous part of her evening.

Before she could think better of it, Hermione lifted the hand holding the pages and brought it down against the door three times.

She could barely hear anything over the rapid pounding of her heart. She shifted on the balls of her feet.

And then gazed down at the papers once more, a flush stealing across her body, not born of embarrassment, but indignant rage.

_The secrets end tonight._

_One way or another._

She inhaled sharply as the door flew open.

And her vision was filled by a wide expanse of naked skin.

The Doctor stood before her, eyes narrowed dangerously, dark hair rumpled.

Chest startling bare.

"Ms. Granger?"

His gaze widened a fraction as he scanned her figure from top to bottom and back up again, lingering on her bodice before flickering to the glinting blade in her hand.

"Ah. You've come to murder me then?"

She blinked, his words slow to process, and forced her eyes away from the smooth pale flesh, the lines of toned abdomen and pectoral muscles.

"I… what?"

He nodded to the knife, his one hand on the door and the other bracing the frame.

"What your method lacks in originality is certainly made up for in manners. I've never heard of a killer knocking on their victim's door to announce their presence."

Hermione swallowed, thoughts a jumbled mess.

His tone and stance revealed no hint of fear, and yet his eyes darkened rapidly, pupils swallowing the grey even in the dim light of the low burning hearth.

"What are you doing here, Hermione?"

Hearing her name caused her to jolt, senses sharpening.

"I made a startling discovery tonight."

His eyes strayed once again, roaming her body with slow calculation.

"At the party?"

His voice was gravel filled with sleep. She struggled to maintain her steady breathing.

"No… in the attic."

His gaze snapped up.

"The attic?"

She curled her toes against the hall runner.

"Well, not _quite_ the attic… it's a bit of a long story."

He leaned away. "I'm starting to see that." His jaw ticked. "Very well. Come in."

He took a step back, holding the door open. She swayed on her feet, making no move to advance.

He rolled his eyes.

"You obviously thought this so-called discovery was important enough to pound on my door in the dead of night, dressed in a ballgown and wielding a knife no less. Did you really intend to have this discussion in the hall?"

She huffed in annoyance, stepping into the room with tensed muscles, eyes hard set.

He smirked, pushing the door with enough force that it swung closed behind her. She trembled lightly as he continued to stare at her from a few feet away, body eerily still, eyes gleaming.

And then he stepped back, turning around and making his way for the dresser.

The air was torn violently from her lungs at the ghastly sight laid bare before her.

His back was a mapwork of jagged scars.

She gasped, placing a hand to her mouth to smother the sound. But it was too late.

His spine went rigid as he opened the top drawer, glancing half-heartedly over his shoulder.

"My apologies, Ms. Granger. Had I known to expect a midnight visitor I would have adorned a shirt sooner. My back is not a sight easily stomached."

She released a slow breath, lowering her hand.

"I-" she swallowed, eyes transfixed on the undulating muscles beneath the knitted flesh as he pulled an undershirt from a neatly folded pile. "Does it hurt?"

His movements paused.

A heavy beat of silence.

"No."

He shook the shirt open, sliding his arms through the bottom.

"Not in many years."

He pulled the fabric over his head, turning to face her just before the fabric obscured his middle, lean muscles pulled taut, his flawless front such a jarring contrast to his mangled back.

He tugged the shirt down, smoothing a hand across the front.

She breathed easier, eyes no longer burning in their sockets at his partial nudity.

In her entire life she'd only seen two other men shirtless, her father and Harry, the latter when he was only fourteen, merely a boy.

Seeing a man's bare torso- a man distinctly _not_ her relative or childhood friend- put her current circumstances into stunning focus.

She stood in a male stranger's bedroom in the dead of night.

After seeking him out herself.

_What utter madness my life has become._

Yet his added clothing helped to restore a small fragment of her sanity.

She flexed her hands, the paper crinkling, drawing his attention.

"I don't know what I'm most curious about, the contents of your right hand or your left."

She gazed down at the knife, knuckles white around the handle.

"Oh. I forgot I was still holding it."

He tipped his head, studying her face.

"What a fascinating creature you are, Ms. Granger."

She wet her lips, glancing up.

"I can set it down."

"If you feel more comfortable wielding a blade in my presence then, by all means, continue to do so."

She raised a brow. "Aren't you nervous?"

His low laugh echoed off the walls and grated at her pride. She narrowed her eyes, which only seemed to amuse him further.

"My apologies, I don't mean to offend, I find the question amusing, not you."

Her expression eased.

"Why is it funny?"

"Because if you need to ask whether you instill fear in someone then you've already failed."

She held his gaze, realizing that she actually was more comfortable being armed in his presence. She'd never forget the feeling of his large hand ensnaring her wrist, holding her captive against his body while he slowly drew the truth of Dolohov from her lips.

She blinked.

The notion that she preferred wielding a blade unnerved her. She quickly discarded the weapon on the bed.

His eyes tracked its path, flickering back to her once it settled on the mattress.

"That's one hand down."

She followed his gaze to her left hand, clutching the files tightly.

"I take it those are from the office?"

She watched his face carefully.

"No."

His eyes met hers dead on, the intensity nearly causing her to stagger back.

"I don't like guessing games, Hermione. Tell me what has you in such a state."

She breathed in slowly, gaze unblinking, determined to catch every nuance of his expression.

"I found more patient files in a hidden room in the attic."

"A hidden room? How-"

" _How_ I found it is not important."

His eyes narrowed, obviously unsatisfied with that response.

But the truth was Hermione hadn't thought of a plausible story for how she discovered the trap door. Confessing the truth about her floating apparition guide certainly wasn't an option.

She took a tentative step forward, holding the papers out.

" _What_ I found is the important detail."

He continued to hold her gaze steady as he reached out and took the papers from her grasp.

He straightened the pages with dexterous fingers, finally looking away to peer upon the documents.

She took a deep breath as his shoulders drew back, body turning to unforgiving marble before her eyes.

She knew what he was looking at, the same sight that held her transfixed for so many minutes in the attic.

Hermione took another daring step closer, compelled by some invisible force, senses heightened, catching the subtle tick of his jaw, scenting bergamot and cedar bark and musk.

"Doctor Riddle," she asked slowly, hands curling to fists at her sides. "Why is your name all over those documents?"

* * *

Harry slumped into the settee, head tipped back against the cushion and one leg dangling off the side, bare foot flat on the oriental rug.

His arm hung over the edge as well, clutching the neck of a whiskey decanter.

He finished off the brandy an hour ago.

Since then he'd taken to steadily sipping from the crystal spout, forgoing a glass, and gazing blearily at the ceiling mural.

He'd never taken to studying the design before. He'd always known it was there of course, ever since his frequent boyhood visits to Grimmauld with his parents.

He'd been vaguely aware of all the creepy portraits adorning the walls of the house. Their oil pastel gazes tracking his every movement, watching, judging in eternal silence.

Their eyes followed him even now. He swore the portrait of Walburga Black was truly possessed, the lines of her face creasing more and more every passing year, her scowl deepening, brow darkening.

She practically grimaced when he walked past with Theo in tow.

It unnerved him greatly at first.

Until he found perverse pleasure in it.

He'd taken to stripping his lover bare in the hallway on the way to the bedroom, pinning him against the wall directly across from her image, giving her an up close and personal vantage of the glorious depravity occurring in the heart of her ancestral home.

He'd once asked Sirius why he kept the portrait up. A haunted look had passed across his godfather's face, the buried pain of his troubled youth clawing at the surface of the ice shelf.

Only to respond that the painting served as a reminder.

Harry had let the matter drop, despite the fact the vague answer only filled him with more questions than before.

Alas, Harry respected his godfather's privacy and elected to embrace Walburga along with all the other portraits comprising the Black family tree. They were as much a part of this home as Sirius. As Harry. For better or worse, each of them had left a mark upon the very foundation, forever shaping the walls and roof surrounding him today.

Harry raised the decanter to his lips, slowly tipping it up, doing his best not to spill the expensive contents all over himself or the silk upholstery.

But his hand wasn't as steady as he thought.

Whiskey soaked his shirt and the silk upholstery.

"Fuck!"

He sat up quickly, head spinning.

"Ah." He clutched his forehead, eyes closing. "Shite."

A steady pounding started at the base of his skull, slowly echoing until it bounced off the back of his lids.

He flexed his jaw, pulling the bottom hem of his shirt out of the waistband of his trousers, tugging the drenched fabric up and over his head, hair standing on end as it emerged.

The pounding grew louder.

Harry sighed, rubbing his temples and tossing the shirt to the floor.

The pounding stopped.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

And then it started again.

He blinked.

And then it dawned on him.

"Jesus Bloody Christ."

He stood from the settee, lurching slightly on his feet, before promptly crossing the drawing room for the entryway.

The knock continued, gaining persistence.

"Sirius you tosser," he groaned, running his hand through his hair. "Let me guess, carrying the key would have ruined the line of your coat."

He wrenched the door open with a scowl.

"Am I the bloody butler now or-"

He broke off with a jolt, blinking twice, jaw falling open.

His midnight visitor smirked, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe.

"Harry Potter, the shirtless butler with a filthy mouth." He tilted his head. "I've had this dream before."

Harry's senses returned in stages.

"Theo." He blinked again, still clutching the brass handle. "What are you doing here?"

"You left the party in quite the rush. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Harry swallowed, spine straightening even as his head continued to spin.

"It isn't your job to check on me."

He was about to add _not anymore._

But he smothered the words, realizing with a sharp pain it had never been Theo's job. They had been many things at one time or another, but they had never been _that_.

_Perhaps it's better he never wanted it._

_Otherwise, I'd have lost so much more._

And yet his chest still felt like it was caving in, crushing his lungs, making it all but impossible to breathe.

Theo's eyes roamed the expanse of tanned flesh laid out before him.

The deep blue ignited, internal flames turning his irises violet.

Harry swallowed.

"I'm fine, Theo." His grip tightened on the handle. "You should go." A beat. "Pansy will be looking for you."

Theo's eyes snapped up, body going rigid even as he maintained his casual lean.

"I dropped her off at her private estate. No doubt she's already tangled with another naked body at this very moment."

Harry's jaw tensed, a memory from earlier in the night bursting to life before his eyes.

"And would that other body be male or female?"

"If you have to ask you already know the answer. Nevertheless, this is a topic best discussed behind closed doors."

His gaze moved down, fixating on Harry's tight abdomen. "Not to mention the scandal that would erupt if a neighbor happened by and saw you in such a state of undress."

Harry shook his head.

"I'm not inviting you in, Theo."

"And why is that?"

"You know why."

"Think I'm going to damage the priceless antiques?"

"Between me and Sirius, they're already marked to hell. I'm not inviting you in because we both know what will happen once that door closes behind you."

Theo's pink tongue traced a slow path across his plush lower lip.

"I merely came to talk, I assure you."

"That's what you said the last time. And the time before that. And the-"

"You wore emerald tonight."

Harry's mouth opened and closed as he lost his train of thought.

"I…" He swayed precariously, using the door for balance. "I didn't notice. I just grabbed something from the closet."

Theo's smirk grew.

"Is that so? It had nothing to do with the fact it's my favorite color."

Harry released a sharp breath. "I didn't know it was your favorite."

Theo's arms slowly unfolded as he stood to his full height, taking a measured step closer, boot resting on the threshold.

"Liar."

Harry forgot how to breath entirely as Theo leaned in, the heat of his body saturating his naked skin, making every nerve ending tingle without so much as a touch.

"Invite me in, Harry."

His body throbbed.

"That's not fair," he whispered, eyes darting down to the man's mouth.

"What's not fair?"

"When you say my name." Harry wet his lips. "You know what it does to me."

Theo smiled, teeth gleaming, breath ghosting across Harry's jaw and down his neck.

"And you know what seeing you in emerald does to me."

His body pulsated with the force of his heartbeat.

"Yes."

Theo's hand rested above his on the handle, chests colliding as he stepped fully inside, forcing Harry back.

Forcing the door closed.

And then all hell broke loose.

* * *

"Why is your name all over those documents?"

The Doctor's hands tightened on the pages. Her heart stuttered, the room suddenly feeling very small.

 _She_ suddenly felt very small.

While his presence seemed to swell before her very eyes, his shadow stretching out to either corner of the room, like two massive wings unfurling at his back.

"You found these in the attic?"

She started to step away reflexively, but then his eyes darted up and pinned her in place as effectively as his hands had done in the clinic.

"Show me."

She blinked.

"I don't-"

"Hermione."

Her heart stuttered once more. She felt dizzy.

"You're going to take me to the place where you found these files." His voice remained steady, calm, eyes burning bright as hellfire. "Right now."

She swallowed heavily, nodding.

"Okay."

Her spine was ramrod straight as she led him down the darkened corridor, hands curled at her sides.

The Doctor remained a few steps behind, his gate slowed for her benefit since his legs could easily outpace her otherwise.

She fought to maintain her steady breathing, his ominous presence at her back combined with his eerie silence more unnerving than their destination.

As they finally made it into the hallway that led to the hidden stairs Hermione released a sigh of relief even as her shoulders tensed.

The Doctor slowed just before the panel, prompting her to do the same.

"Ms. Granger." He tilted his head, gazing at the items on the floor. "Are those your shoes?"

She blinked. Then flushed.

"Yes."

He raised a brow, eyes lifting to meet hers once more.

"You journeyed to my bedroom with a knife in hand but no shoes?"

A shiver raced along her spine as he said _bedroom_.

She cleared her throat, desperate to dispel the strange sensation, placing her hand between the narrow gap in the panel and the wall.

"It's a long story."

The corner of his mouth lifted. "So you keep saying. Yet I find those to be the most intriguing tales of all."

She bit her lip, pulling open the barrier and revealing the dark staircase beyond.

His smirk faded, gaze fixated ahead.

"You went up there by yourself?"

She set her jaw.

"I did."

He took a step forward, causing her to retreat on instinct. And yet the only direction to move was up. She paused on the first step, glancing at him wearily over her shoulder.

"If Filch happens by-"

"He won't. This wing is abandoned."

"He likes to search out possible hiding spots."

The Doctor braced a hand at either side of the doorway, blocking her exit and the dim light beyond.

"He avoids this hallway all the same. I have a feeling you're about to show me why."

Her pulse quickened.

"It's…" she inhaled deeply. "A bit jarring."

He tilted his head.

"I have a strong constitution."

They held each others' stare a moment longer before she slowly gathered her copious skirts and continued their journey to the black door.

Her hand hovered over the busted handle, limbs trembling.

Bracing herself for the broken doll bodies and haunting missive within.

She pushed open the door.

And led the Doctor inside.

Her eyes immediately alighted on the cabinet in the corner.

The papers she'd been frantically searching through remained piled on the floor. She hadn't taken the time to refile them, assuming no one checked this room given the amount of undisturbed dust piled atop every surface.

Next, she gazed upon the dollhouse. It seemed even more sinister the second time around. Now that she knew of the blood red scrawl hovering above its shingles.

And then her eyes slowly tracked up.

The menacing warning came into startling view, the crimson lettering highlighted by the moon.

She took an unconscious step back.

And promptly gasped, lurching forward as her body collided with hard muscle. The Doctor stood just at her back, eyes equally transfixed by the disturbing graffiti, his hands lifting to grasp her arms without so much as a glance.

He helped steady her, fingers grasping her bare flesh tighter as his brow darkened, eye gleaming in the week glow of the street lamps.

Hermione watched his face carefully, afraid to breathe, to break his concentration. The wheels turned frantically behind his unearthly gaze, expression frozen. She wished desperately she could decode the mysteries lurking behind those grey orbs. And yet they remained just as elusive as the mysteries within this very room.

And then he released her, so suddenly she found herself swaying into him, chasing the warmth. She reared back, catching herself just in time, flushing hotly as she averted her gaze.

She listened to his slow tread cross the small room, exploring every corner.

His eyes lingering on the spilled contents of the cabinet.

He lowered to his haunches, dexterous fingers spreading the documents further, eyes rapidly flickering back and forth, taking it all in.

Hermione swallowed lightly, resting her hands on her skirts, twisting the silk as a means of distraction. Yet her gaze still made its way back to the message scribbled across the wall.

She wasn't sure how much time passed staring at it, lost in a dark trance, but by the time she tore her gaze away, the Doctor was on the opposite side of the room, standing before the circular window, inspecting a stack of papers held aloft in the weak light.

The moon's soft glow illuminated his pale skin, his chiseled features, casting shadows across his cheekbones and brow, transforming him into Hades himself.

The silence grew as thick as the dust, but Hermione dare not break it. The tension radiated off him in heavy waves, weakening her knees.

So when he finally shattered the sinister quiet she jolted, barely stifling a gasp.

"It's not my name on the documents."

She blinked, fingers flexing.

"I figured that much out already. You'd have to be well into your fifties or sixties to be the same person who signed those records."

She was tempted to make a joke about hiding his age well, but the humor felt as ill-placed as the eyeless, limbless dolls littering the floor.

He continued to read avidly, flipping quickly through pages. She shifted on her bare feet, toes frozen.

"You took the identity of the real Dr. Riddle."

That certainly earned his attention.

His eyes snapped up.

"That's quite a theory." He tipped his head. "Rather imaginative."

She twisted her skirts until the fabric groaned between her fingers.

He watched her carefully, the moonlight hitting his eyes in such a way that they took on that supernatural glow that perturbed her so.

"Is that what you really think?"

She swallowed.

"No. But it's what I was hoping."

He lowered the pages to his side, awarding her his full attention.

"Why is that?"

"Because the only other plausible theory is so much worse."

He didn't blink, the utter stillness of his limbs making her feel like cornered prey.

"Say it."

She took an uneven breath.

"You're named after your father, Dr. Thomas Riddle Senior. His signature is the one on those papers."

One beat.

Two.

Three.

And then he smiled.

Canines glinting.

Eyes flashing.

And all at once, Hermione understood.

She was gazing upon a predator.

His beauty was nothing but a mask, a lure, hiding his true self beneath, marred flesh covered.

Venom dripped from his lips, pupils narrowing to slits as he held her steady in his sights.

And as he slowly closed in on her but one thought came to mind.

_No one will hear me scream._

* * *

"Ah! Shite!" Theo cringed in pain as his back collided with the unforgiving edge of the decorative hall table.

"Take it like a man, Nott," Harry hissed across his lips, wrenching him forward with the same brute strength he threw him into the table with.

"Bloody Neanderthal," he moaned into Harry's mouth, lips parting to give way for their tongues to resume the heated battle that began in the entryway.

He clawed at the man's clothing, sliding the sapphire coat off his shoulders and tearing at the front of his shirt, ripping it straight down the middle.

"Fucking hell, Potter!" He reared his head back, leaving Harry's mouth searching for his warmth. "I can't just wear my coat home! Unlike some people, I don't go galavanting around without a bloody shirt on!"

"You can wear one of mine, idiot."

"My father will recognize the difference. You dress like a -"

"Careful." Harry nipped at his lips, hands sliding around his bare waist, the pads of his thumbs tracing the line of his pelvis. "Don't go killing the mood with that sharp tongue of yours."

Theo rolled his eyes, even as he threaded his fingers through Harry's untamed mop, pulling his head in and claiming his mouth once more.

They continued to writhe and grind their way down the long corridor, stumbling every few steps, tipping into the wall only to push off and continue their chaotic trek.

And then Harry spotted a familiar sight at his lover's back.

Walburga.

Her black eyes were narrowed in acute derision, lip curled in a scowl Harry swore had not been present earlier in the evening.

"The old bitch really is haunting the place."

Theo pulled back, panting, cheeks ruddy.

"What?"

Harry swallowed thickly, shaking his head.

"Nothing."

He spun them around and threw Theo into the wall once more. This time there was no furniture to impede his movement. He landed flat against the barrier and a moment later Harry was upon him, trailing his searing mouth along his smooth, sharp jawline and down his throat, tongue laving his Adam's apple. Theo keened, pulling Harry's hips flush with his own, grinding against him, causing delicious friction as their erections collided.

"I have an idea," Harry whispered against the flesh he'd so hungrily marked with his teeth. "Let's give the evil crone a show to remember."

Theo blinked at the ceiling, eyes glazed.

"What the bloody hell are you on about, Potter?"

Harry drew back far enough to flash a truly devilish smirk. He watched Theo's eyes transform at the sight, black pools swallowing the violet. His body eased back, tension draining from his limbs as he silently surrendered to Harry's claws and teeth.

"That's it." Harry's voice was pure gravel. He lowered his hands to Theo's fly, the alcohol coursing through his system making his fingers clumsier than usual.

"How drunk are you, Potter?"

Harry's smirk grew, eyes bright, greener than the gemstones they so embodied.

"Not enough to be a lousy lay, just enough to give zero fucks about the consequences come morning."

Theo licked his lips as the corners lifted in a wry grin. "I dare say that's the perfect amount."

"I strive for perfection."

Harry finally managed to unfasten the front of his trousers. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband and began pulling them down.

Theo jolted as Harry followed their descent with his body, dropping to his knees as the fabric hit the floor.

"Potter-"

"Harry."

He gazed up with raw lust. Theo rocked back into the wall, palms flat against the wood paneling.

" _Harry_."

Harry's cock throbbed painfully at the sound.

"Not bad. But I think I'll have you screaming it by the end of the night."

He tore his gaze away, focusing instead on the appendage which brought nothing but beauty and destruction to his life in equal measure from the moment they first became acquainted.

He took the cock in his hand, pumping steadily, running his thumb over the weeping tip, causing Theo to shudder violently, head falling back against the wall with a thunk.

Harry smirked, chest swelling with pride at being able to elicit the string of broken sounds from his lover's throat.

He parted his lips, but before he could lean in, slender fingers tangled in his hair, holding his head back.

"Harry."

He glanced up once more. Theo's eyes were fully dilated, expression tense.

"You don't- _we_ don't-" he wet his lips, releasing a sharp breath. "I honestly didn't come here for this. I wasn't expecting-"

"Theo."

The man's jaw snapped shut. Harry raised a dark brow.

"I appreciate whatever sentiment you're trying to make. But if I don't put your cock in my mouth in the next five seconds I'm going to start feeling quite foolish down here."

Theo blinked.

And then his shoulders lowered, mouth curving into a breathtaking smile.

"Well, we can't have that."

His fingers tightened once more. Except this time they directed Harry's head forward.

He was only too happy to oblige.

* * *

Hermione's heart climbed steadily up her throat, its rapid beat radiating throughout all four limbs as she walked backward, breathing frantically as the Doctor drew near.

The papers rested at his side, arms relaxed, even as he stared at her unblinking, something sinister blossoming within the darkness of his gaze.

He licked his lips.

"You're afraid."

She blinked, gasping as her back collided with the wall. She flattened her palms against it, trying to press through the wood, break down her body on a cellular level and slip through the barrier entirely.

"You explored an abandoned part of the Home, broke into a hidden room with a knife, then banged on my door in the dead of night, and _now_ you're scared."

She inhaled sharply as the Doctor continued his slow advance, his body growing larger and larger, filling every corner of her vision until the rest of the room fell away and nothing existed but his watchful eyes and sinister mouth.

"Hermione…"

She trembled.

He reached her at last.

Large hands pressed into the wall beside her head, sliding down to rest just beside her hips. His head tilted, arms bracing his weight as he leaned in, towering form encasing her, burying her in his warmth and heady scent.

"I only mean to thank you," he whispered in her ear, breath ghosting down her neck and setting fire to every nerve ending in its wake.

"I've been searching for these documents from the moment I set foot in this godforsaken place." His elbows bent, chest pressing closer. Her nails clawed at the wallpaper. "And you deliver them right to my door, directly into my hand, like some heavenly messenger."

She tipped her head back, desperately trying to open her airway, to find the oxygen that evaded her lungs.

Her entire body sparked to life as his hand wrapped around the exposed column of her throat.

He didn't squeeze. Merely held her in place, forcing her gaze to meet his.

His smile remained, fangs fully extended, mouth hovering at her cheek.

"You're remarkably clever. I knew that from the onset. But I must admit, you've exceeded even _my_ expectations. That is quite the feat."

She blinked, tears brimming in her eyes, pulse radiating against his fingertips.

"And I see now you're just as brave as you are intelligent. A formidable combination. Especially on a woman."

The pad of his thumb began to move in slow motions, caressing her skin, causing a gasp to lodge in her throat.

"And yet I do not think it was merely your keen mind and daring nature that led you to this room tonight."

Lighting struck in his gaze and she felt it course through her entire body, all the way down to her toes.

"No…" his thumb continued its slow ascent, tracing along her throbbing artery, tipping her chin up until their mouths were perfectly aligned. "I think it's time for you to tell me that long story."

His fingers squeezed. Gently, yet no less threatening. "In detail."

She swallowed thickly as he took a slow step back, hands dropping from her neck and the wall, eyes burning like coals in the dark.

"And in exchange, I'll tell _you_ a story."

His head tilted, a wicked smile curving his lips, revealing sharp, gleaming teeth.

"One I think you'll be very interested to hear."

* * *

Draco awoke in a foul mood.

It seemed to be a pattern of late.

Especially where Granger was concerned.

He made his way down the grand staircase with his shoulders set, hands clenched in his pockets.

He heard the shuffle of paper from around the corner and came to a stop, bracing himself, before entering the dining room.

His parents sat at the far end of the table, his father at the helm, an open newspaper hiding his face, and his mother to the man's left.

Draco fought back a groan as she glanced up, spotting him. Too late to retreat now.

"Good morning, darling. Come have some breakfast. I want to hear all about your evening."

His jaw flexed as he slowly strode inside, walking to the end of the grand table. He was tempted to take the seat at his mother's side just to spite his father, but changed course at the last moment, sitting to his father's right.

Better to choose his battles.

And he certainly had a few he planned on waging. Where he sat was the least of his worries.

"Same as any government affair. Far too much talking and far too little entertainment."

He sank into the finely upholstered chair, the door behind his mother opening and their servant stepping through.

"I can scoop my own bloody eggs, Parker."

"Language, Draco!" His mother snapped, pale eyes narrowed. She glanced over her shoulder with a beautiful smile. "Thank you, Parker, but Draco seems keen on serving his own breakfast this morning."

The man nodded, pinning Draco with a look of acute annoyance, his expression softening as he gazed upon his Mistress, before slipping back into the kitchen.

Draco fought back another scowl, reaching for the pitcher of orange juice and filling his glass.

"Don't suppose we have any champagne to mix with this?"

"I'm sure you did enough drinking last night." She cut into her muffin delicately, pinkies out.

"I can certainly attest to that."

His father set the newspaper down, silver gaze alighting on his son.

"I also suspect you paid tribute to a pub afterward considering you left the party long before me and arrived home long after."

Narcissa glanced up sharply, setting her silverware aside. "Draco, tell me you didn't go down to the East End again. It's not safe there, you're a walking target for the criminals and-"

"Not to mention what it does to our family's reputation every time you're spotted."

Draco glanced at his father, rolling his eyes.

"I'm touched you're so vitally concerned for my welfare."

His father shook his head, folding the paper into a pristine square once more.

Draco's gaze drifted to the bold headline.

His heart leaped.

"Were you planning on telling me about the Medical Act?"

Lucius froze for half a beat before picking up his fork and knife, expression void of any discernible emotion.

"I didn't realize you were interested in such subject matter. You tend to gravitate towards business relating to foreign affairs."

_Because I fantasize about fleeing England everytime you open your mouth._

Draco's fists clenched beneath the table.

"Is that why you deemed to keep it a secret?"

His mother dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin.

"Draco, my heart, please mind your tone."

"It's quite alright, dear." His father cut a sausage into perfectly sized pieces. "It's good the boy is taking an interest in my work." He glanced up with an infuriating smirk. "May I hazard a guess as to your sudden interest in the Act?"

Draco's nostrils flared. He chanced a glance across the table to his mother. She watched him just as carefully, pale gaze all too knowing.

He leaned back in his seat.

"I don't like being kept in the dark. It's as simple as that."

His parents both watched him a moment longer before glancing at each other.

The silence was deafening.

Draco cleared his throat, fighting to keep his posture eased and voice even.

"I'd like to assist on the final debate."

Their eyes darted to him once more. His mother's face pinched in acute concern while his father merely blinked.

"Excuse me?"

He kept his gaze averted from his mother, unable to stomach the look in her eyes. Besides, she'd see right through him if he gave her the opportunity. She always had a way of peering into his very soul.

So he focused upon his father instead.

"I'd like to assist. I think it would be good practice for me, presenting before a Committee during final rounds. Don't you agree?"

Lucius tipped his head, eyes roaming Draco's face with meticulous precision. It took every ounce of strength not to squirm like a worm on the hook.

His father's eyes narrowed slightly, body still.

"You support the opposition?"

Draco didn't miss a beat.

"Of course I do. Female doctors? I may partake in vices but my mind isn't that far gone."

His mother sighed but made no comment, setting her napkin beside her plate.

Draco kept his eyes on his father, knowing this was a pivotal moment. If he looked away first, it was over.

"You're certain you don't have any other… _motivation_ for volunteering to assist?"

Draco's mind raced. Over a dozen carefully crafted responses played out in his mind, but in the end, he knew the best lie was one surrounded by truth.

"I don't see why we must beat around the bush like we're in session. You obviously think I'm in this for Granger."

His mother tensed. His father didn't flinch. Draco forged ahead, heart racing.

"You're right. The truth of the matter is we had a rather massive falling out last night." His jaw ticked. "It's over. Permanently."

His hands clenched so hard his knuckles cracked.

"And I'd like to move past my youthful stupidity by solidifying the nail in the coffin." He forced his fingers to relax as he reached for his glass, picking it up with a steady hand. "So you see, my _motivation_ , as you say, does revolve around her. But certainly not in the way you think."

He took a sip, desperate for the cool liquid on the back of his parched throat, watching his father steadily over the rim all the while.

Several moments passed. He set the glass down, licking his top lip, still refusing to meet his mother's gaze.

And then his father smiled.

Draco's chest swelled.

"It's good to see you've finally come to your senses."

From the corner of his eye he saw his mother lace her hands together on the table.

Draco smirked.

"I admit I was a love-struck fool. But I've certainly learned my lesson. It's time I step up and take on the family mantle."

His father chuckled, nodding.

"Excellent. I can't tell you how long I've waited for you to take such an interest." His eyes were bright. Excited. Draco blinked, suddenly feeling awash with a strange emotion he never associated with his father before.

Guilt.

"The first debate portion is tomorrow. You'll listen in, take notes, keep a careful eye on our opposition and help us find ways to exploit their weakness. You have prior knowledge of the bill no doubt but I'll bring you up to speed tonight."

Draco nodded, his face displaying an earnest eagerness, chest suddenly numb.

"Wonderful." His father raised a pale brow. "Did last night's epiphany extend beyond your career?"

He blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I'd like to set a date to announce your engagement. Unless you still oppose the match?"

Draco froze.

His father watched him like an eagle hunting its prey.

_It's a test._

The numbness spread outward to his limbs, every finger and toe.

"Astoria is a suitable Malfoy bride. She certainly didn't disappoint last night. That outfit is still emblazoned on my mind."

His father laughed, nodding once in approval, finally releasing Draco from his thrall.

"But let's hold off a little while longer." Draco traced the edge of the cool glass with his fingertip. "Theo and Pansy are announcing their engagement soon. It would be gauche to publicize ours first when their contract is already finalized."

His father picked up his cutlery.

"Excellent point. I suppose we can wait another few weeks. But we must announce before fall if we plan on a spring wedding."

Draco swallowed heavily, eyes inadvertently drifting across the table.

Only to be captured by his mother.

The hawk.

And just as he feared, her gaze cut right through him, scrambling his thoughts as though she were truly sifting through his mind.

It took every ounce of strength to maintain his composure beneath the silent onslaught.

And then she pulled back. His thoughts settled, strewn about in the aftermath of the storm, and the numbness dissolved into a searing pain centered in his chest.

She released a small sigh and shook her head imperceptibly, trapping him between the brick walls of panic and relief.

For Draco was certain of one thing.

His mother knew exactly what he was up to.

* * *

Harry blinked slowly, head pulsating in time to his heart, a dull ache he felt wind its way through his muscles and bones from his skull to his ankles.

Light streamed in mercilessly from the window overhead, blinding even behind closed lids.

He reached out to grab a handful of covers, intent on dragging them over his head, desperate for a few moments more of blissful unconsciousness before he was forced to face the relentless onslaught of his hangover.

Yet his groping hand met smooth, warm flesh instead of soft fabric.

Harry's eyes shot open.

Only to meet a shock of a familiar dark hair.

His gaze flickered down, following the pitch hue to a pale nape, then along the graceful curve of spine splitting a lean, toned back. His eyes lingered on the dip of his bedmate's lower back, the rumpled sheets draped over his pert arse.

Damn.

Harry groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face as he rolled to his back, blinking blearily at the ceiling.

His mind flashed back to last night.

He'd started out on the settee, staring at the ceiling in much the same position.

Then he'd spilled half the contents of the decanter. Then there'd been a knock at the door. Then he'd gone and made a royally cocked up decision that led to a literal cock up that would surely lead to nothing but more insanity and heartbreak.

He couldn't bear it.

Couldn't face another rejection so soon after the first.

For he'd known even through last night's lust and drunken haze that what Theo said earlier in the evening was true.

He hadn't come to Grimmauld for a seduction.

Which meant everything that ensued was just more of the same fleeting madness that possessed them countless times over.

And it changed nothing.

He flexed his back, chest already cracking down the center without a word being spoken.

And then Theo sighed, body stretching taut as he awoke slowly.

Harry gave it his best effort to keep his eyes averted. He really did. But he felt like shite inside and out and hadn't the strength to keep up the good fight as the man rolled onto his back, arms stretching overhead and back arching high, the sheets pulling down, revealing the dark shadow of his groin.

He sighed in contentment as his body relaxed.

Only to tense once more as his eyes opened.

He glanced around frantically, clearly not recognizing his surroundings for half a beat.

And then his gaze fell on Harry.

He blinked. And sank into the mattress once more.

They stared at each other for a short eternity, shoulders touching while an entire cosmos swirled between them.

And then Theo rolled to his side, bending his arm to prop his head up as he gazed down at Harry.

"On a scale of one to horse shite, how do you feel?"

Harry closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I've exceeded horse shite. We're in elephant shite territory now."

He couldn't see Theo's smirk but he could hear it in his voice.

"That's what you get for indulging your vices to excess."

Harry chuckled without humor, voice still thick and sluggish with drink and sleep.

"Considering you're one of said vices I find that extremely amusing." He wet his dry lips, eyes opening. "And I certainly didn't hear any complaints from you last night."

Theo's eyes flashed, as vibrant in the morning sun as they were in the moonlight.

"I complained after you passed out on top of me. But for obvious reasons you were deaf to my struggles."

Harry raised a dark brow. "I did _not_ pass out on top of you, Nott. Despite appearances, I know how to handle my liquor. I recall every part of the evening in vivid detail."

Theo's smirk widened, expression turning alarmingly smug and frightfully appealing to Harry's awakening libido.

"You didn't pass out from the drink. You passed out from the orgasm I gave you. Third in a row, mind you." His nose twitched. "You used to be able to go at least four rounds before losing consciousness. You're getting soft in your old age."

Harry scoffed. "Perhaps I passed out from the effort of ensuring you got off _four_ times." He propped his torso up on bent arms, putting them at eye level. "You're not the only one who keeps count, Nott."

He expected Theo to throw back another quip, perhaps fight back a grin, so when the man's expression melted away to somberness he felt his pulse quicken.

"You keep calling me Nott."

Harry blinked.

"That's your name."

" _Don't_." His voice was edged with something abrasive, chafing Harry's skin. "Don't start acting like this means nothing to you."

Harry sat up fully, pulling the sheets over his nudity and resting against the headboard.

"What the hell do you want from me, Theo? You tell me you're getting married, that we can't be together anymore, you parade your fiance around at my bloody promotion party, and then you show up at my door the same fucking night and practically accost me in the doorway-"

"What a selective memory you have, Potter." His eyes narrowed as he mirrored Harry's position, leaning into the headboard beside him. "First of all, _you_ attacked _me_ in the foyer. I have the bruises on my back to prove it-"

"That was from tossing you around the bloody hall-"

" _Furthermore_ , you showed up at my father's estate in broad daylight and tried shagging me against the wall of the main parlor while the entire household went about their business not a foot away. You stormed out on _me_ when I told you about the engagement- which I am being forced into, thank you very much. I didn't drop to one knee and propose to Parkinson in front of the fountains at Kew. We're both being sold to auction like cattle, dragged kicking and screaming to the whims of our families. She's just as put off by the arrangement as I am. But our mutual aversion gives us no more power over the situation."

Theo inhaled sharply, cheeks tinged pink. The muscle in his jaw clenched repeatedly as though he were biting back more words.

Harry watched him in silence for several stuttered heartbeats more, thoughts trapped in a vortex, unable to find the words to convey the flood of emotion his soliloquy inspired.

Theo sighed, dragging a hand over his face and gazing forward, eyes lost.

"I found out my future was drawn up in a contract and signed before I even sat down for breakfast. I found out one of my best friends was sealed with the same fate. That we're both condemned to a lifelong, loveless union. And still-" he broke off, gazing blankly at his hands. "And _still_ … losing you was the hardest part."

Harry's heart tore open. Blood poured out onto the white sheets with every dying beat. He reached through the river of red, grasping for Theo's hand, desperate for a lifeline, a means to pull himself back to shore.

But the moment their fingers touched he realized they were both drowning. Both lost to sea. And neither could save the other.

All they could do was cling to one another as they sank into the dark depths.

Harry leaned in, grabbing Theo by the back of the neck and dragging him forward, crushing their mouths together. Their teeth clanked, gnashing, hungry animals starved for affection-

A knock echoed through the room.

They split apart like similarly charged magnets.

Theo glanced around in a panic, ripping the sheet off the bed entirely as he staggered to his feet, covering his lower half.

"Black?" He whispered, eyes wide and face pale.

Harry stood slowly from the bed completely starkers, straining to listen for a noise in the hall.

The knock sounded again.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

"It's not my door." He glanced at Theo. "It's coming from downstairs. Someone's outside."

Theo nearly collapsed, eyes closing.

"Fucking hell."

Harry spun in a circle, looking for his clothes, trying to remember if he was already naked by the time they made it into the bedroom.

"I doubt Sirius is even home yet. He usually crashes with his one of his lovers after a night of celebration. Especially as the guest of honor. Probably had a line of people out the door to shag him."

Theo raised a brow, leaning over and picking up a pair of dark trousers lying crumpled on the floor. "Line of _people_? Are you insinuating he swings both ways?"

He tossed the garment across the room. Harry caught it deftly, shaking the pants loose as he stepped into them.

"I've never asked and he's never volunteered the information. But I've had my suspicions over the years."

He glanced up, fastening the fly. "Either way, if Sirius found out about us he wouldn't give a toss." He paused. "Actually, he'd care a great deal. Be absolutely merciless with his shitty puns. But it would have nothing to do with you being a bloke. He lives to torture me about this kind of shite regardless."

Theo dropped the sheet and walked to the wardrobe, awarding Harry with a spectacular view of his pert, tight arse, fully adorned with fingertip shaped bruises and the faint outline of teeth marks.

"And what _kind of shite_ would that be exactly?" He opened the double doors, gazing upon the shirts hanging within.

Harry shrugged, running his fingers through his mop in an attempt to calm it. It was more unruly than usual, the true definition of sex hair.

"Relationship type shite. He's an avid bachelor and self-proclaimed rake, if he found out I was shagging someone on the regular he'd have a field day."

He caught the shirt Theo pulled down and tossed his way.

"But he wouldn't disown me or alert the presses." He pushed his arms through, and by the time his head emerged out the other side Theo was pulling on a pair of trousers from the drawer.

Harry smirked.

"I like seeing you in my clothes."

Theo rolled his eyes.

"My skin disagrees. This fabric is no better than a potato sack. Do you buy all your clothing from Lenning Street? Those gypsies consider feather headdresses the height of fashion."

Harry glanced at his hands, busy fastening the buttons along the front plait.

"You should take Pansy. Sounds right up her alley."

He didn't dare look at Theo, knowing it was a risky statement to make, especially in light of their earlier declarations. But he couldn't resist and certainly couldn't recall the words now.

To his immense relief, Theo merely flashed him a fleeting scowl before pulling free another shirt from the wardrobe.

"Ha fucking ha, Potter. I'll have you know I intend to put a clothing budget into our prenuptial agreement."

Harry couldn't smother the bark of laughter that escaped him. "Good luck with that."

His expression sobered.

"So how does that work? The prenup." He straightened the collar and cuffs, trying to keep his eyes averted. "When it comes to both of your… proclivities?"

Theo blinked, a long beat passing before he opened his mouth.

Then the knocking started up from downstairs once more.

Harry sighed.

"Bloody hell, I nearly forgot." He tucked the shirt into his waistband. "What time is it anyway? Who comes knocking this early in the morning?"

His expression instantly fell.

"Shite, please don't let it be Malfoy."

Theo jolted. "Malfoy?"

"He has a tendency to appear when and where he's least wanted. And after seeing the state Mione was in when we departed company last night, I have a feeling words were exchanged between them."

Theo folded his arms as Harry opened his bedroom door. "Get rid of him fast. Smarmy bastard nearly made it upstairs last time."

"And whose fault was that? I almost had him out the door when you started banging around like a circus chimp."

Theo pinned him with a sardonic look. "Of all the animals you could have chosen, Potter." He shook his head. "Go answer your door. And keep your visitor clear of the hall." He directed Harry's gaze forward with his chin. "Looks like it's littered with our clothes."

Harry groaned. "Bloody fantastic."

He left Theo smirking in his wake as he headed downstairs, muscles tensed, mind reeling with excuses, anything to get the blonde heading back to his carriage before taking a step inside.

Then he saw the slight outline of the person standing on the other side of the glass inset, the pale curtain revealing a feminine shape.

His heart leaped.

 _Hermione_.

He jumped the last two steps and practically sprinted for the door, wrenching it open with such force the woman on the other side took a frightened step back.

Harry blinked, the morning sun illuminating her from behind and casting her face into darkness.

"Mione?"

A long pause.

"No…"

He released a breath, shoulders sagging.

"Susan. Sorry, I couldn't see your face."

She stepped towards the threshold once more. "I'm sorry to bother you so early, but I thought you'd want to know right away."

Harry blinked again, blood running cold.

"What's happened? Is Ron okay?"

She nodded quickly. "Yes, of course. I didn't mean to scare you."

He sighed, stepping back into the entry and gesturing inside. "Come on in."

She hesitated for a moment, glancing over her shoulder at the spare carriage out front.

"Sirius isn't here. It's just us."

She gazed at him with obvious interest, but to his relief didn't ask any questions, simply nodding and gathering her skirts before stepping gracefully inside.

He shut the door, finally able to take in her appearance without the blinding sun obscuring his view.

She was wearing a casual but bespoke gown, hair well groomed, though there were obvious dark circles under her eyes. He might have dismissed them as the same fatigue no doubt blemishing his own face. When he and Mione fled the party Ron and Susan gave no indication of following suit any time soon.

And yet it was the red lining her gaze that told a very different story. There was a slight puffiness in her face as well.

This wasn't the effect of alcohol or opium.

This was the result of crying. At length.

His body tensed.

"Susan?" He stepped closer. "What's wrong?"

She inhaled deeply, fingers interlacing before her, knuckles white.

"My father got the call early this morning. I was still up from last night or I wouldn't have heard…" she glanced down, as though steeling herself, and then met his gaze once more.

"Cormac is dead."

* * *

Hermione fumbled on her hands and knees, fingers tracing the wood floor, searching blindly in the shadows.

" _Where_ the bloody hell is it?" She hissed under her breath, squinting into the darkness, as though her willpower alone would bring the missing item into existence.

She huffed a sigh of annoyance, drawing back into a kneeling position and closing her eyes.

This day had been one mess after the other, starting with her clumsiness in the kitchen as she helped prepare breakfast, as it was her turn on rotation. Hannah helped cover for her, assisting in the clean up before Filch happened past.

The incident had been nothing but a dark omen for the events yet to come, she was certain of it.

Behind the darkness of her lids, within the chaotic solitude of her mind, Hermione's thoughts drifted.

Up up up…

And into the attic.

"Tell me, Hermione. How did you find this room?"

His voice rang through her mind with such clarity it was as though he were standing before her once more.

She had blinked slowly, still pressed against the wall even though there were several feet of space between them now.

"I-"

"I feel I should warn you. I am excellent at discerning truth from lie." A shadow passed across his gaze. "And I assure you, the truth is always the much easier option."

She released a shaky breath.

"Under normal circumstances, I would be inclined to agree. But in this case, the truth is far more damning."

Now it was his turn to blink.

Hermione pushed away from the wall, swaying lightly.

"I was led here." She wet her lips. "By a girl."

The Doctor's back straightened, obviously not expecting such a response.

"That is all I am comfortable revealing at this time." She set her shoulders. "Now it's your turn."

He raised a dark brow. "Is it now?"

"If the information you deem to share is just as personal then I will reveal more of mine."

A tense beat of silence followed. Her heart raced.

And then he smirked.

"Very well, Ms. Granger. I suppose that's only fair."

She deflated in relief.

"As I'm sure you've surmised from the documents, my father was the physician for this establishment some thirty years ago."

His expression tensed, the darkness spreading, consuming his entire being until he stood before her in a haze of smoke and shadow.

"He was deeply involved in the human trafficking that still plagues the city today." His jaw ticked. "It was how I was conceived."

Hermione went deathly still, frozen in abject horror.

He watched her carefully, raising the hand clutching the stack of papers.

"In fact, my mother's name is on one of these very documents."

He released a slow, deep breath, as though making a concerted effort to remain calm.

"Do you feel comfortable sharing the rest of your tale now, Ms. Granger?"

The way he said her name grated at her nerves. She placed a hand at her throat, unconsciously mimicking his touch.

"I…" she blinked rapidly. "If I tell you, you'd have the grounds to institutionalize me."

His eyes flickered between hers, as though searching out the answers in her gaze alone.

"I find myself more enthralled with you by the second."

She flushed hotly, then shook her head. "That illusion will be shattered once you know the truth."

His thumb traced a pattern on the paper, similar to the one he traced along her skin mere moments ago.

"My mother managed to escape their clutches while pregnant. No thanks to my father who wanted her killed. Someone else stepped in, pulled her out, helped her set up on her own."

His back was frightfully straight, every muscle stretched taut. "My mother was long dead by the time I learned the full extent of my parents' relationship. The true nature of my existence." His hands flexed. "I've been working towards bringing the organization down ever since."

Hermione trembled, every word sending a chill down her spine and causing the fine hairs on her arms and nape to stand at attention. The air pressure surrounding them changed, as though another presence had entered the room, summoned by his dark tale.

He didn't seem to notice. Or perhaps he did and merely ignored the ghostly draft that stole past, electing to watch her in the pool of moonlight instead.

Hermione took a deep breath.

And came to a decision.

One she sensed would alter the course of her life forever. And yet, she felt her resolve strengthen as she finally made up her mind.

His confession had unleashed something wild and unrestrained within her. She pushed ahead before the uncertainty could wrap its thorny vines around her limbs, rendering her motionless once more.

"I was led here by a vision."

He didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't seem to breathe.

Her heart stuttered painfully.

"I know it sounds mad… it likely is. And yet, even I cannot deny the facts. I had no way of discovering this room on my own. I didn't even know this wing existed, little less to look for a hidden door."

He tilted his head, eyes roaming her face.

"Describe the vision."

His tone was calm, even. And commanding, spurring her to wring handfuls of her skirt.

"As I said earlier, it was a girl. I didn't recognize her. But she's appeared to me twice now. The only one to show up more than once. So I knew whatever she had to tell me was important."

"You've had others?"

She nodded quickly, nerves spent. "Yes. Several since the fire." She glanced away, studying the wood grain in the floor, doing her best to avoid the broken dolls and discarded toys.

"The majority have been quite… _gruesome_ , for lack of a better term. I won't plague you with the details, but that's exactly what they've felt like. A plague. A curse. A sickness of the mind."

Her eyes chanced an upward glance at last.

"Until now that is. This is the first time a vision has led me to something tangible. Something worthwhile." She swallowed. "Which makes it perhaps the most terrifying one of all. Because for the first time, I'm starting to question whether it's all real."

He stared at her for a very long time. So long, she began to grow light-headed, nauseous with fear.

But she managed to maintain his gleaming gaze through force of will alone.

Until at long last, he delivered her from the suffocating silence.

"I believe you, Hermione."

Hearing her first name on his lips was more of a relief than the words preceding it.

Her eyes burned suddenly. She blinked, desperate to keep her emotion at bay.

"Thank you," she whispered, throat constricting.

"And I won't have you committed."

She released a hysterical laugh, completely unbidden, clamping a hand to her mouth to smother the sound even as tears poured from the corner of her eyes, pooling along the edge of her palm.

She sucked in a deep breath to clear her airway and swiped her cheeks dry, body vibrating with the sudden flood of adrenaline-fueled relief.

"Though I strongly advise you to keep these… _episodes_ a secret. From everyone." His head tipped down, eyes pinning her in place. "Even those closest to you. They may feel reporting your experiences is in your best interest."

Her shoulders tensed. "Maybe it is."

"You aren't insane, Ms. Granger. Quite the opposite I'd say. I've rarely encountered such a well-organized mind as yours. Insanity tends to scramble things around quite a bit. In any case, mental asylums are ill-suited to the sane and insane alike."

His spine lengthened before her eyes, shadows dancing along the walls, playing out his words in a child's macabre puppet show.

"Their prescribed treatment methods are enough to break anyone's mind, regardless of its original state, and they certainly don't cure those with true afflictions." His eyes narrowed. "I would only wish such a fate upon my true enemies."

She was so fixated upon the morbid shadow play dancing across the wall it drew the Doctor's attention. But the moment he glanced over his shoulder the darkness melted away into normal, stationary shapes.

Hermione blinked.

He met her gaze once more, brow raised.

She shifted nervously. "If it's not insanity… what could it be?"

"I am not a trained alienist. But given that these episodes started around the time of the fire, I lean towards some sort of posttraumatic stress-induced hallucination."

She wasn't sure if such a diagnose was better or worse than being haunted.

"But, how did I find this room?"

His gaze slowly roamed her face and body. "That is the question, isn't it?"

He watched her silently a moment more before directing his eyes to the dollhouse. Hermione tensed, following his gaze, nails digging into her palms.

"Do you know what that means? What the dollmaker is?"

His eyes gleamed brightly in the shadows, fixated upon the message.

"Not a _what_ , Ms. Granger."

Her heart skipped a beat.

"A who." He faced her once more, the intensity radiating from his form shaking the floor and splintering the walls.

"And yes. I do."

Hermione was pulled violently from the vivid memory as the bedroom door opened and a slight figure slipped silently through.

She reared back, too late to hide, nowhere to go regardless.

Luna froze, hand still clutching the knob.

They stared at each other for a long beat before the blonde smile beautifully.

"Hermione. What a nice surprise! The eggs you made this morning were delicious. I enjoyed the biscuits as well. Why are you on the floor?"

Hermione blinked.

"Oh. Well…" She wet her lips, glancing around. "You see, I forgot something here the night I stayed in your room, and I was just searching for it."

Luna tipped her head, utterly still.

Like a doll.

Hermione swallowed, stomach turning.

And then her friend sprung to life once more, closing the door and crossing the room gracefully.

"How strange. I don't recall seeing anything unusual. Let me help you look."

Hermione pushed up to her feet, beating the dust from her skirt.

"Oh, that's alright, I don't want to disturb your privacy. I'll come back later."

"You're not disturbing me, Hermione. What is the item you're looking for?"

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, thoughts racing. Luna's watchful gaze was as blue and serene as a placid lake.

"It's something involving the Doctor isn't it?"

Hermione took a deep breath.

"Yes."

She cocked her head once more. "Alright then. How can I help?"

Hermione couldn't resist smiling, Luna's unencumbered tone causing her earlier trepidation to recede.

"Thank you, Luna, but I don't-" she stopped, blinking. "Actually… there is something you can help me with."

Luna nodded.

"Wonderful. It's been a rather boring day. The weather made it impossible to tend the garden. Though I love the rain. Will it involve going outside?"

Hermione shook her head, thoughts in motion.

"No. It involves staying in."

.   .   .

"The Dollmaker is at the head of it all. The one in charge."

His fingers tightened on the pages, the darkness of the attic a tangible weight pressing upon them.

"I only know them by their pseudonym. Most people do. But I'm getting closer to learning their true identity. I can feel it."

He took a measured step closer. She forced her feet to remain in place.

"There's no point to any of this if the Dollmaker is left alive. The evil must be stopped at its root. Do you understand, Hermione?"

Her name was a dark incantation on his lips, igniting the flames of hell within her, racing along each limb in a hungry blaze.

"The Dollmaker is responsible for Lavender's murder?"

He held her gaze.

"Yes."

The fire worked its way into her chest, incinerating her heart. "Then I want to help you find them." She breathed out black smoke. "I want to help you kill them."

His expression transformed, morphed, the angles of his face becoming sharper, more unearthly.

"It will not be an easy endeavor."

"Nothing worth having is easily obtained."

His eyes gleamed brightly. "You cannot tell your friends. If the organization catches onto us-"

"I understand. I won't tell anyone."

"Not even your Mr. Potter."

Her hands clenched.

"Not even Harry."

In the silence that followed his transformation reverted. He stood before her as a man once more.

And his earlier confession rang through her ears. The fires within her doused, hissing and snapping in their death throes.

"I'm sorry about your mother." She picked at the petals on her skirt. "I know what it is to lose someone you love." She wet her lips, steeling herself. "May I ask how she died?"

His chin tipped up, shoulders drawn back.

"She took her own life."

Hermione flinched, unable to quell the visceral reaction. It wasn't so much the words spoken as it was the tone in which they were delivered.

"She was not a victim like Ms. Brown." His eyes narrowed.

"My mother fancied herself in love with my father. She willing suffered his abuse and was happy to die at his hand if he so willed it. But she was forcibly removed by someone with far more sense."

He pulled his gaze away, staring at the writing on the wall.

"Unfortunately that good sense never worked its way into her head. She pined for my father for many years, trying to search him out, despite knowing the wrath it would bring down upon both our heads."

He met her gaze once more, a raging storm in his eyes.

"He finally tracked us down. And when he refused to be with her she hung herself from the rafters."

She swallowed, pulse thrumming.

"So please, Ms. Granger." He took another step towards her, closing the distance. "Save your prayers and mourning for those who truly deserve it. The women who are beaten and killed for trying to escape."

His words stole her breath away. She tipped her head back to maintain his diamond hard gaze. "They are far more deserving of your energy and emotion."

He slashed at her with the sharp edge of his voice, laying down a clear challenge.

A defensive wall.

Daring her to try and inflict any more damage upon him with something as lethal as sympathy.

She thought of his torn, marred back…

And felt herself leaning forward, hand raising of its own accord.

"Love is a form of madness."

She placed her palm on his chest, just beside his heart. She felt it jolt ad quicken.

He blinked, chaos exploding to life within his eyes before he schooled his features once more. He jaw ticked, breath blowing the loose strands of hair away from her face.

"So I remember you saying."

The warmth of his body radiated into her palm, racing along her arm.

But this wasn't the enraged hellflame of before, threatening to destroy her from the inside out.

No.

This was a liquid heat that ignited her molten core, creating enough frenetic energy to make her delirious, causing words to spill from her tongue unbidden.

"The Goddess Styx fell in love with Phlegethon, a fire deity, though he burned her with his flames every time they touched. She willingly allowed his fire to consume her, which the other Gods smote her for. As punishment, she was banished to Hades and transformed into a river. When her lover died he suffered the same fate, though his waters were filled by flame and ran parallel to hers. Forever out of each other's reach. Forever cursed by their desires."

She released a short breath, her own words finally processing.

And blushed hotly, pulling away-

But the Doctor placed his hand over hers on his chest, rendering her motionless.

He held her gaze for a short eternity, his pupils two dark pools of ink.

Her body pulsated.

And then his touch fell away.

She inhaled deeply, arm dropping as he drew back. He tore his gaze away, swallowing heavily. Her eyes tracked the motion of his throat.

"I am going to Amortentia tomorrow night. I believe the owners are involved. You are familiar with the Lestranges?"

She blinked, his words taking her off guard enough to reawaken her senses.

Her spine went rigid.

"Unfortunately, yes."

And suddenly another memory sprung to life within her mind, causing her pulse to race, her body to shift anxiously.

"What is it?"

She realized his eyes were upon her once more.

"Harry." She practically bounded on her heels. "His source told him that Lavender knew someone who works there. She might know what Lavender was wrapped up in."

She had no doubt her eyes were bright and hopeful as a child on Christmas morning. "Maybe she knows more about the Dollmaker."

"Do you know her name?"

She deflated instantly.

"No."

He nodded once, the wheels turning quickly behind his gleaming eyes.

"I won't have time to track the girl down and keep the Lestranges within my sights."

He tapped the papers against his thigh, lost to thought.

"You'll have to come as well."

She staggered in place.

_What?_

"What?"

He glanced over, expression void of the emotion painted across her own.

"You already ventured there once, on no more than a hunch. Now you have insight on a legitimate lead."

"I…" Her jaw snapped closed, mouth suddenly dry.

 _I can't go_ , she meant to say.

And yet…

_What's stopping me?_

Nothing was more important than finding Lavender's killer.

Than finding the elusive Dollmaker.

Steel infused her spine. She drew to her full height, so consumed by the inner workings of her mind she failed to notice the Doctor's gaze roam her figure carefully, her transformation causing his eyes to darken, his fists to tighten.

"Yes," she breathed, emboldened. "I'll find Lavender's friend."

.   .   .

"I'll take the outfit with me and change at the Club." She shuffled about the bottom of the wardrobe once more.

"I just need you to sleep in my bed tonight."

Luna nodded from her flattened position on the floor, arm sweeping beneath Hannah's bed.

"Of course. How large is this ribbon again?"

Hermione sighed.

"Small. It goes around the wrist."

She drew back from the wardrobe, pushing stray curls from her face.

"I don't know what happened to it. It must have broken at some point that evening. It could be anywhere."

Luna leaned up, brushing her palms together to clean away dust.

"Can you use Parvati's?"

"I don't know where she put hers. And if I ask her she'll know what I'm up to. I can't tell her about this." She glanced at Luna, guilt wrenching her chest apart. "Not yet at least."

Luna's answering smile was tinged with sadness.

"It will be alright, Hermione. All that matters is stopping the bad people. Parvati will understand."

Hermione nodded half-heartedly, glancing at the floor.

"I just feel like shite for keeping secrets from her."

She sighed, too nervous about this evening to add her burgeoning relationship woes to the pot.

She climbed to her feet, startled by the sudden emergence of her reflection in the mirror.

And then she studied her appearance, a blush staining her cheeks.

"Hermione?"

She glanced away, clearing her throat awkwardly.

"I should start getting ready." She offered Luna her hand, helping pull the girl upright. "I'm sure Angie or Alicia will have a spare ribbon for me to wear."

Luna didn't question who these people were. Instead, she tipped her head, placing a hand on Hermione's arm.

"Good luck tonight. I hope you find the person you're looking for."

Hermione nodded.

"Me too."

Luna's arm dropped. "I'll let you get ready in privacy."

"Thanks, Luna."

She watched her friend slip from the room on the same silent breeze she blew in on.

And then she was alone once more.

With only her pale reflection for company.

Hermione took a tentative step forward, stopping just before the mirror.

And released a long, measured breath.

She held her gaze steady as she brought her hands up, fingers tugging at the pins in her hair.

Her curls toppled free, spilling across her shoulders, gleaming in the sunlight.

Rendering her frozen.

And awash with heat.

.   .   .

"The hour is late, Ms. Granger. Or rather, early. You should return to your dorm in haste."

She glanced about the room, eyes lingering on the broken dolls.

"What about-"

"I'll seal the door behind us."

Her gaze snapped up, followed by a reluctant nod.

"Alright."

She turned on her heel, too fatigued to muster an argument.

"Ms. Granger."

His voice was a leash that snapped her back to attention.

She released a shallow breath as he walked towards her, towering above her once more.

"You make quite the vision in that dress."

Her pulse was deafening.

He tilted his head, moonlight striking his gaze in a bright strip.

"But I think I prefer you in your normal attire."

Her heart stuttered painfully as he raised his arm, hand hovering beside her face.

Only to move higher yet.

She swayed on her feet as his fingers swept through her hair, alighting across her sensitive scalp and sending chills down her spine.

"However..."

His eyes never strayed from hers as he pulled the last pin free, chestnut curls cascading down in a wild flourish across her shoulders and back.

"Tomorrow night, I want you to wear your hair down."


	16. All the Wicked Girls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you excited? ;)
> 
> I am! This update makes Wayward Girls my longest fic yet, and I'm commemorating the milestone with the longest chapter yet.
> 
> Enjoy all the kooky shenanigans, my loves. I’m going to crawl inside my cave and hibernate for a few years now. Air kisses ❤︎

_How fine you look when dressed in rage._  
.   .   .

The skies were draped in a thick blanket of clouds as Harry escorted Susan up the steps of the morgue.

He sighed as his eyes fell upon the equally grey building, recalling this was his second time to the macabre establishment in only a week.

The realization only compounded his guilt.

For Cormac McLaggen’s death plagued Harry in a way nothing had before.

He’d sent the drunken man home from the party alone knowing full well the state he was in, leaving him completely susceptible to the creatures lurking through London’s dark streets, feral beasts born of shadow.

Even more condemning, Harry had known the mess Cormac was at least adjacent to, had seen the aftermath of those dangers take another innocent life, and _still_ , he’d loaded the nearly unconscious man into the carriage and sent him on his way.

He took a deep breath as they reached the door.

_It’s like I killed him myself._

He felt a gentle hand squeeze his arm and glanced down.

“Harry, are you alright?”

He nodded.

“Yes. Just lost in thought.” He tipped his head, examining Susan’s waxen complexion. “What about you?”

Her jaw tensed as she averted her gaze.

“My mother died when I was young. My father refused to let me see her body, didn’t want my last memory of her to be… tainted.” She swallowed lightly. “I’m just a bit anxious.”

Harry grabbed the handle, pulling the door open and waiting for her to pass.

“You don’t have to-”

“I know.” She released his arm and gathered her skirts. “But I need to see for myself.”

She crossed the threshold, disappearing from his sight for the space of a heartbeat.

Harry used the temporary solitude to peer into the grey skies once more, feeling the electricity sizzle through the air, racing along his skin.

A storm was coming.

It would be upon them soon.

He steeled his nerves and followed her inside.

She waited beside the entrance, hands folded patiently at her front.

“I can’t give them my real name,” she whispered as he came to stand beside her. “If an officer sees me on the visitor log they’ll tell my father and-”

“I understand.” Harry glanced around the barren, sterile room. “Don’t worry. I’m an ace at bullshiting my way through most things in life.”

The corner of her lips flickered in a reluctant grin.

“So I’ve come to notice.”

Harry straightened his jacket and crossed the lobby, knocking on the door at the other end.

A few moments passed in eerie silence before a familiar face came into view.

He stepped back as the reedy employee from his last visit stepped out of the hall and glanced between the building’s newest occupants.

His gaze finally settled on Harry and then widened.

“It’s you again.”

Harry nodded.

“It is indeed.”

“The girl’s been cremated already.”

He fought back a cringe. “I’m not here for her. I’ve come to officially identify Cormac McLaggen.”

“Are you family?”

“His only family is on the continent. Even if they leave now they won’t be back in London for at least three more days.”

The man eyed him speculatively. “But you were close to the victim?”

His heart skipped a beat.

“Victim?”

The attendant started to respond, only for his eyes to drift past Harry’s shoulder. Susan shifted on her feet, wringing her hands together.

"I don't think this is a proper conversation to be had before a lady."

Harry’s brow flattened. “Yes, I remember you saying as much before. Perhaps you’ll recall how successful your dissent was then.”

The man drew back, glancing quickly around the lobby.

“Is… _he_ here with you?”

Harry’s jaw tensed. “Not today. However the circumstances this time around are no different than last. Both myself and Ms. St. Clair are close friends of Mr. McLaggen and will be able to make a positive identification right now.”

The man shook his head. “I’m sorry, I let you back last time because the girl had no known relatives. This is different. The McLaggens are a well-known family, powerful, I can't just let anyone see the body. It could compromise the investigation."

Susan walked up behind Harry, shoulders back and chin up as she stood beside him.

“If this _is_ , in fact, a homicide, the official investigation can't proceed until the victim is positively identified. That also means the body can't be properly autopsied in conjunction with investigational parameters until the case is created. The corpse's natural decomposition will destroy the majority of material evidence in the first twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Whatever is recovered after that will be deemed inconclusive in a court of law. Without discovery evidence, the chance at a successful prosecution drops nearly fifty percent.”

She raised a delicate brow, hands neatly folded.

"If you wait for Lord McLaggen to return to England you are all but ensuring his son's killer walks free. When he finds out you had the ability to allow identification to trigger the onset of investigation and _refused_ , what do you think his response will be?”

The man blinked, mouth opening and closing before swallowing tentatively.

“I… I don’t…” He cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose I can let you see the face, just to make _sure_ it’s Mr. McLaggen.”

Harry smirked, feeling immense gratitude and pride at being surrounded with such brilliant women in his life.

“I’ll have to put your name down on the log, for the police to add to their case file.”

Harry nodded. “Understood.”

The man reached for the door handle, glancing between them once more.

“You’d _both_ like to see the body?”

“Yes,” Harry supplied immediately, gesturing for Susan to enter the hall ahead of him.

She inclined her head politely as she strode forward, spine exuding confidence, the tremor in her limbs barely discernible.

As they drew near the door at the other end Harry recalled the pungent odors that assaulted his airways on the last visit.

“Su- ah, Sally...” He did his best to keep his expression neutral. “Here, cover your nose and mouth with this.” He reached into his jacket lining and withdrew a white kerchief.

She glanced over her shoulder, blinking once before taking the item with an appreciative nod.

Before covering the lower half of her face she mouthed _Sally St. Clair_? with a smirk and then faced forward once more.

Harry shrugged lightly in response, covering his own face with his bare palm, bracing his entire body as the door swung open and the attendant led them inside.

His eyes watered on contact with the chemical-filled air, but thanks to his preparation he didn't inhale lungfuls, sparing his stomach and gag reflex.

“The body is right this way.”

They walked the center of the room, passing several tables with sheet-covered bodies. One stood out considerably, the fabric stained with a pool of bright crimson over the chest.

Harry pulled his gaze away, eyes landing on Susan who glanced about the room with tight shoulders but an otherwise calm expression.

_I wonder how much blood and gore she sees working at the station._

London employed some of the most skilled crime scene artists in the world. With her father leading the helm of the CID there was no doubt gruesome sketches made their way through his office on a regular basis.

And yet Harry knew first hand that a picture, despite being worth a thousand words, couldn’t come close to capturing the experience of seeing a dead body with one’s own eyes.

He took a deep breath, preparing to offer her another out-

Only for Hermione’s face to materialize before him, her stern set glare as he tried to prevent her from entering this very room.

He ground his teeth, remaining silent.

Neither woman was a hothouse flower requiring round the clock tending and care, and trying to force it upon them would only create the problems he was attempting to curb.

“He was found in an alley in King Square-”

“Where?” Harry elongated his stride, placing a hand at Susan’s lower back to gently direct her to the side as he met the attendant’s eye.

“King Square, not far from the courtyard.”

Harry blinked.

The opposite side of town from Cormac’s final destination.

_I gave the driver clear instructions…_

_Unless McLaggen redirected him._

And yet Harry couldn’t begin to envision the man even being able to sit upright long enough to speak to the driver little less delivering an intelligible address.

“Was there a carriage nearby? Any other victims found?”

The man raised a brow. “Not that I’m aware. Though the police haven’t disclosed very much in my presence.”

The hand not covering his nose and mouth tightened to a fist at his side.

“How did he die?”

The man stopped at a table at the far end, walking around to the opposite side to face them.

“That’ll be easily discernible in a moment.”

Susan drew back at his ominous warning.

Harry started to reach out a hand but she drew away from his touch. He let his arm fall, though he continued to stare at her pale profile.

“Whenever you’re ready, Sally.”

She nodded mutely, eyes lingering on the white sheet for several moments before flickering up to meet the attendant’s gaze.

“Alright.”

The man’s jaw tensed as grasped the corners of the fabric and drew it down, folding it over to reveal the bloodless corpse hidden beneath from the shoulders up.

Harry swallowed. Susan swayed on her feet. He lowered the hand at his face to help steady her.

They both gazed down at the dead body of Cormac McLaggen.

Eyes transfixed upon the dark bullet hole in the center of his forehead.

* * *

“Hm. Looks like the rain has started.”

Tom flexed his hands on his thighs, his companion’s words drawing his gaze to the carriage window. He took a deep breath, relishing the smoke dampened air that invaded his lungs. Every city contained its own unique scent that carried through the streets and alleys and gardens, that clung to the skin of every man, woman, and child no matter their finery or lack thereof. The fragrance was inescapable, unmistakable, burrowing deeply within the subconscious.

Of all the places he’d lived, the many countries he’d taken up residence or passed through with barely a parting glance, every scent had stained his skin, seeped into his pores, drenched his olfactory.

Yet in all the sensory overload, one fragrance combination stood above the rest. The scent of London. The scent of home.

Smoke and rain.

His muscles eased into the luxurious upholstery, eyes hooded.

“It appears we left just in time.”

He allowed his gaze to linger on the passing scenery, the city transforming from day to night before his very eyes. It shed its fur and donned a dragonhide, the orange streetlights gleaming across every scale, in every shadow creature's eye.

Tom tipped his head, fingertip tracing the edge of the mask resting atop his knee. Solid black. The same as his outfit. The passenger seated across from him was in a far more ostentatious getup. Dolohov adorned himself in head to toe ivory, turning his olive complexion a deep gold, the same as the mask already strapped across his face. Albino peacock feathers graced the cowl of his cape, a splendiferous decoration no doubt meant to signify royalty, immortality, virility, traits men such as this valued above all else.

And yet the sight of the flashy plume reminded Tom of something much different. The locals of the Romanian village he treated for typhoid held a deep seeded superstition of the peacock, believing the magnificent tail feathers foretold but one thing.

Death.

Which made the solicitor’s choice of costume all the more satisfying to Tom’s keen gaze, for though the dark omen could be interpreted in many ways, Tom had only one in mind.

“Ah, here we are!”

His eyes darted to the outside world once more, vision filled by the brightly burning torches lining the outside of the sprawling structure.

The red carpet lining the steps was most reminiscent of blood. The stone lions guarding the main staircase were caught in an eternal battle of dominance, fang and claw fully extended, slitted eyes boring down upon every sinner to pass through the massive doors.

_Devils through the front, angels through the back._

He blinked, the random musing jarring the careful order of his mind.

 _Don’t even_ think _about it…_

His fingers flexed, desperate to curl into fists.

He'd made it this far. Received an invitation to the snake pit from the head viper itself. There was no margin for error now. No room for any slip-ups.

No distractions.

His jaw set as the carriage pulled along the circular drive, shaking to a slow stop. Dolohov bounced excitedly in his seat, hands tightening on the head of the ivory bone cane situated between his knees.

“You’re in for a real treat, Riddle. This is the place to be, nothing can compare, not even the dens of the East End. The girls here are clean, blemish free. And they know how to take care of Roddy's friends. Anything goes, if you know what I mean."

Tom met his gaze, lips curling into a slow grin, revealing the straight row of teeth beneath.

“You certainly know how to stir the blood, Dolohov.”

The man laughed loudly, eyes gleaming in clear anticipation. A footman opened their door and bowed. Tom gestured for Dolohov to lead the way, which he happily accepted, practically leaping from the carriage like a pouncing jaguar.

Tom unfurled the long line of his body from the interior of the car, his heel striking the cobblestone with a deafening click.

He stood to his full height, buttoning the front of his pitch jacket and taking in the extravagant sight before him.

“Ready?” His companion asked, then gasped lightly as a bolt of lightning split the sky directly above.

The crash of thunder was quick to follow, so intense it shook the ground and vibrated every bone in his body.

Tom drew in a slow breath, senses sharpening.

“More than ready.”

And then they both started up the blood red steps.

* * *

Hermione huffed in annoyance as the rain started.

She pulled the hood of her cloak further down, stuffing a stray curl back inside the shelter of the heavy fabric. Her thick curtain of hair was stifling on her neck and back.

_I must be daft for wearing it down._

And yet the very thought sent a wild thrill along her spine.

_“I want you to wear your hair down.”_

She swallowed thickly, navigating around the lamp post, clutching her bundle tighter to her chest as she headed up the narrow walkway to the Club’s back entrance.

 _Surely he wanted me to wear it down to further my disguise. Very few have seen me with my curls_ loose _._

Yes, it was merely strategic.

Nothing more.

She inhaled sharply as the large set doorman came into view.

_Shite… what the hell was his name?_

She desperately tried to recall the memory of Angie speaking to the man but her frazzled nerves prevented the memory from taking full form.

She wet her lips as his eyes fell upon her.

“Hello there, dove. You working tonight?”

She came to a halt, fighting to keep her shoulders relaxed.

“Yes.”

He tipped his head.

“I remember you, you’re the new girl, right?”

She nodded, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“What’s your name again?”

She swallowed lightly.

“Penelope.”

He raised a brow. “ _Penelope_ … I like it. Exotic, but still classy. Good choice.”

She blinked.

_He thinks it’s my Club name._

For some reason that rumpled her feathers. Which made no sense, considering the name was merely a ruse to begin with. But it was perfectly respectable nonetheless, it’s not like she’d chosen _Caramel_ or _Aphrodite_ -

_Get a grip, Hermione._

She smiled pleasantly. "I'm glad you approve. But unfortunately, I'm running a bit late."

“Oh, sure, here,” he opened the door, stepping aside. “Have a good night, dove.”

Her face felt like it was cracking in half with the strain of her smile.

“I’ll try.”

He laughed lightly, staring blatantly at her backside as she slipped inside.

As she crossed the threshold the sky exploded with light, a booming explosion of thunder making her jolt and gasp.

The man winked, seemingly unaffected by the chaos. “Got here just in time.”

She stared at him with wide eyes as he closed the door between them, leaving her at the mercy of the beasts within.

She spun on her heel as the sound of feminine laughter danced up the hall. She pressed into the wall as two uniform-clad employees swung around the corner.

“You shoulda seen the cock on this one, tiny as a baby’s- oh, ello, poppet.”

Hermione blinked, frozen to the spot.

“Um. Hello.”

“You lost or somefin?”

She quickly shook her head, glancing between them as they studied her carefully.

“No. I just… need to change.”

One of the girls tipped her head.

“What’s your name?”

She wet her lips. “Penelope.”

They exchanged a loaded look.

“I don’t know any Penelope,” one declared while the other placed her hands on her hips.

_Oh god._

“Oh, well, I’m new, see-”

“Is you now?”

“Yes. I just started actually. Tonight is my first night-”

“Who hired you?”

She swallowed tentatively. “Lord Lestrange.”

One of them arched a brow, eyes gleaming in victory.

Hermione quickly scrambled.

“Of course, Mistress Lestrange gave final approval.”

They deflated.

“Actually, I was told to look for Angie. She’s going to be training me.”

The first girl sighed, stepping closer. “Sorry bout the questions, luv. Can never be too careful in this line of work, you understand?”

Hermione nodded, slowly peeling off the wall. “Of course. I take no offense.”

“Angie will be finishing up a private booking, you can change clothes and wait for her in the main salon,” the second girl offered. “We’re heading that way now, follow us.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

She could hear the explosion of rain against the side of the building as they progressed down the hall, the noise finally falling away as they turned a corner and plunged deeper inside the fray.

Hermione pulled her cloak tight to her body, knuckles turning white around her bundle as they emerged into the common room, half dressed women occupying every corner, laughing and shouting to each other across the large space.

Her two guides dispersed without a parting glance, one sliding into a vanity chair and powdering her nose while the other began unlacing her black corset.

Hermione took a steadying breath, spinning in a slow circle, pulse echoing through her ears.

_Alright._

_I made it in._

_Mission accomplished._

She glanced away from a bare-breasted woman who slid past, expression harried as she wrapped a feathered boa around her neck.

_Dear Lord in Heaven._

_Get me through this evening without having a stroke or seizure._

She glanced down at the package in her hands.

_The mission isn’t accomplished yet…_

She wet her lips, inspecting the room more carefully and spotting a partition near the back wall.

She quickly made her way across, politely excusing herself every time she bumped into a person or object, too overwhelmed to discern the difference.

As she slid behind the barrier she breathed a sigh of relief. No one else sought the privacy the thin wood wall provided, the other girls stripping nude in the middle of the floor without hesitation or shame.

Hermione’s fingers trembled as she unfastened her heavy cloak, letting the fabric drop and pool at her feet. She slowly withdrew the wrapped uniform from her bag, gazing upon it for a full minute before tugging the stays at her back, loosening her dress until she was able to slide her arms out and push it down to her hips.

She tried to distract herself by thinking about the task ahead, but the prospect of entering the main Club without Parvati’s company was a daunting one.

_You aren’t alone._

_The Doctor is here._

And yet that fact only rattled her further.

The mere notion that he’d be in the company of Dolohov and the Lestranges twisted her stomach to knots.

Even more frightening was the idea of him seeing her adorned in the scant uniform.

_He’s already seen me in it…_

She swallowed, gazing down at her body as she fastened the front lacing corset into place.

_This is insanity._

She imagined what else she might be doing with her evening if she wasn’t hunting a human trafficking ring through London.

What her life would be like if she’d never met Lavender. Never set foot in the home.

Never lost her parents.

Her eyes burned. She blinked quickly, stepping into the half skirt.

_No use thinking on such things._

_This is the hand you’ve been dealt, Hermione Granger._

_You must make the most of it._

And if she were being completely honest with herself, deep down, she derived a perverse pleasure from straying so far from the social norms prescribed to her.

If only innocent women didn’t have to die for Hermione to be valued for more than her dowry.

The majority of men in her life had always recognized and respected her intelligence to be certain, but they rarely let her flex it.

And they certainly never allowed her to express her daring.

_Harry begged me to drop the investigation._

_While the Doctor told me to sneak into the Club and obtain the most pivotal piece of information yet…_

His trust in her capabilities emboldened her. She fastened the garters and stood to her full, if limited height, shoulders back.

_I can do this._

She stepped out from the partition, a mirror image of the seasoned employees filling the parlor.

 _I_ have _to do this._

She swept her tamed curls over one shoulder, gazing around with careful focus, trying to work out the next phase of her plan.

And suddenly a familiar face came into view.

She took a deep breath and closed in on her target standing near the clothes rack.

“Alicia.”

The girl’s head snapped up.

“Yes?” She blinked. “Oh, hi, Hermione.” And then her gaze widened. “Hermione!”

“Shh!” Hermione drew in close, glancing around. “I’m Penelope tonight.”

Alicia blinked once more.

“Um… okay…”

“I came back to try and-” she stopped short, realization setting in.

“You came for what?”

She wet her lips. “Lavender was found murdered.”

Alicia’s expression fell, olive complexion paling.

“I’m so sorry, Hermione. That’s…” she shook her head. “I was really hoping she’d turn up alive.”

Hermione nodded shortly, the innate sadness in the young woman’s gaze making her eyes burn anew.

"Me, too." She pushed on. "The police aren't doing shite to pursue her killer. So I'm trying to find out what happened."

Alicia glanced around the room tentatively, then grasped Hermione by the elbow and led her to the far corner of the room.

“That’s really dangerous, Hermione. Are you working alone?”

She thought of Dr. Riddle.

“No. I have help. But I’m here alone.”

“That’s the dangerous part. At least when your friend was with you there was someone to look out for you. I’m booked tonight and can’t-”

“It’s alright. I didn’t expect you to keep an eye on me. I just need to ask you a question.”

Alicia tipped her head. “Me?”

“Yes. Lavender was apparently friends with an employee here. A blonde. I don’t know her name. But I need to find her. I need to ask her about Lavender, see if she knows anything that could shed light on her last days alive.”

Alicia sighed, shaking her head lightly.

“I don’t know anything, Hermione. I mean, there’s lots of blondes who work here. I remember seeing Lavender a few times but I don’t know who she-”

She broke off suddenly, eyes widening.

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat.

“What?”

“I just had an idea… but it’s… it’s a really _bad_ idea.”

“Those are all I’ve been making the last few days. Try me.”

Alicia chewed on her bottom lip for a moment before relenting.

“Well, if Lavender talked to this girl at any length when she came in she’d probably use a back room for privacy. We keep logs of all bookings, make sure everyone gets a fair cut if they’re pulled into a party.”

Hermione nodded.

“So you’re saying there may be a written account of who booked a room with Lavender?”

“Yes.”

She practically bounced on her heels. “That’s great! Where do you keep the records?”

Alicia’s gaze darkened, causing Hermione’s spirits to plummet rapidly before she even spoke.

“ _We_ don’t. The managers keep the records in their office.”

Hermione swallowed.

“Shite.”

Alicia nodded. “Precisely. And the office is locked.”

“Let me guess, only managers have a key?”

“I’m sorry, Hermione. I told you it was a bad idea.”

Hermione took a deep breath, wheels spinning rapidly in her mind.

_I can’t fail._

_Lavender is counting on me._

Parvati. Luna. Hannah.

The Doctor.

Her hands curled at her sides.

“It’s not a bad idea, Alicia.” She licked her lips, eyes gleaming in the gaslights. “But what I plan on doing may be the dumbest thing ever attempted.”

* * *

Tom gazed about the bustling floor, the venue nearly bursting at the seams with costume-clad guests.

“More crowded than a Church at Mass!” Dolohov called over the chaos.

Tom’s jaw tensed, eyes flickering over everything rapidly, taking in every detail with careful precision.

And then a booming voice met his ears.

“Ah! Here at last! I was beginning to worry you’d changed your mind.”

Tom gazed upon the elder Lestrange, the crowd easily giving way for his hulking frame to cut through the center of the floor.

“This is quite the establishment you have here.”

Lestrange smiled, clapping him on the shoulder. Tom’s spine went rigid.

“We’re doing well for ourselves, I’ll admit. Come, let me spare you from the lemmings and take you somewhere a bit more civilized.”

Tom smirked beneath his onyx mask.

“That is much appreciated.”

Dolohov pouted dramatically at their side.

“Aren’t you going to give him a tour first, Rod?”

Lestrange shook his head, still gazing upon Tom.

“He’s just eager to see and be seen. Dressed like a bloody Renaissance pimp.”

Tom couldn’t tamp the laughter that erupted from his lips, relishing the dark flush that stained the solicitor's cheeks even as his eyes narrowed.

"This cape cost me twenty godforsaken pounds!"

“What is the life of a dozen innocent peacocks worth, Dolly?”

The comment was meant to elicit another laugh from Tom, Rodolphus was clearly pleased with his ability to inspire amusement in the Doctor.

But his words had the opposite effect, smothering all traces of humor in the space of a heartbeat.

As though either of these men valued innocence or life.

It took a great deal of effort to keep his easy grin in place.

The struggle increased ten fold as another body parted the red sea.

Cat eyes gleamed through a black lace mask, fixated upon him with feral intensity.

“Hello, Doctor. How marvelous for you to join us.”

Tom’s hands flexed at his sides before he swept into a pristine bow.

“Mistress Lestrange.” He drew to his full height, holding her gaze with the same intensity. “You look breathtaking.”

She smirked, lips stained the same shade of blood as her extravagant gown.

“And yet you continue to breathe.”

She wrapped a delicate hand around her husband’s arm, dark eyes carefully roaming Tom from top to bottom.

“All black. I’m beginning to think you don’t own anything of color, Doctor.”

“Now, Bella,” her husband covered her hand with his own. “You mustn’t tease the man. We’ll scare him off.”

Her eyes flashed.

“I haven’t begun to tease him, my darling.”

Lestrange laughed, directing his gaze around the room. His eyes immediately became fixated on something in the distance, expression tensing.

“Bella, be a dear and escort the men to the back. I have something to take care of.”

She didn’t miss a beat, releasing his broad arm and sliding to Tom’s side as though floating on air.

“Of course, my love.”

She licked her lips.

“This way, Doctor.” She wrapped both hands around his arm, body pressing into his side. His pupils expanded rapidly, triggering the same reaction in her wild gaze.

Dolohov hovered forgotten at their backs as she led Tom through the throng of guests, her husband slipping away without a word, eyes narrowed.

“I hope everything is alright.”

She tilted her head.

“Not to worry, darling. There is little my husband can’t handle.”

Tom raised a dark brow beneath his mask.

“He leaves those tasks to you, I imagine.”

The sound of tinkling bells poured from her mouth as she tipped her head back and released a delighted laugh. She squeezed his arm, long nails digging into the soft material of his jacket, indenting his skin.

And just as suddenly, her expression sobered, eyes no less intense as she peered up at him.

“When I was a girl I often wished I had been born a boy.”

He tilted his head, so fixated upon her face he barely registered the frightful glances of nearby patrons and employees as they scrambled out of their path.

“I am the youngest of three girls. The baby. Yet instead of being grateful for his large brood, our father openly longed for a son. He made it no secret my sisters and I were unworthy of our wealth and good fortune due to our great infraction of being born the wrong gender. He wasted no time trading us away into marriage contracts before we were old enough to bear children... or think for ourselves."

He saw the fire ignite in the pits of her black gaze even through the lace obscuring her eyes.

“I did everything in my power to please my father, everything I could to bring pride to our family name. I was superbly behaved in those days.” Her smile was as wicked as her gaze. “But I eventually realized I would never win his affection, for I would never spring a cock from my loins and sire the next generation of Black heirs.”

Tom didn’t flinch at her crass language. She didn’t expect him to.

“Once I learned to accept the limitation of my father’s love, I was free like never before. In fact, I was born anew. I embraced my true nature and feminine wiles to their full extent, and haven’t looked back since.”

His eyes narrowed as he studied her sharp profile. He didn’t ponder why she’d chosen to share this story with him on their second encounter.

Tom understood her quite perfectly.

She was far more stunning than any others he had encountered before. The perfect predator…

For like Tom, she had once been prey.

And thus possessed an understanding and intellect born hunters could never hope to acquire.

She had methodically unlaced her corset before his steady gaze and bared the scars decorating her ribs and back, her badges of honor. Her proof of survival. Of outwitting her attacker.

A declaration that she was more than a pretty face and noble title.

She was a player with a seat at the table.

Tom wet his lips.

They were preparing him for something.

He could hardly contain the storm raging within his chest at the excruciating anticipation.

“Rodolphus wasn’t your father’s choice, was he?”

She blinked, expression caught for the space of a heartbeat.

And then she grinned from ear to ear, teeth white and lethal.

“No. He wasn’t.”

A slow smile curved his own face.

Yes, he understood her perfectly.

She tipped her head, eyes roaming his face as though seeing him for the first time.

“I was to wed my first cousin. If my father couldn’t have a son, he would ensure our wealth stayed within the bloodline one way or another. Luckily my betrothed was just as eager to break the contract as I.”

“Family is both a gift and a curse.”

She licked her lips.

“Do you speak from experience, Doctor?”

His eyes flickered between hers. He started to open his mouth when a new voice joined the fold, a massive body appearing before them, stopping them in their tracks.

“There you are!”

Her expression flashed murderous, unforgiving lines etching her pale skin. The younger Lestrange blanched.

“Er- sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt-”

“Nonsense.” Her complexion was smooth once more, red lips curving into a seductive grin. “You’re timing is perfect, Rab. Would you mind showing the Doctor to the champagne room? I have to check something on the floor.”

Rabastan blinked, swallowing lightly as his stance eased. “Yeah, sure.”

He looked to Tom, who was doing his best to suppress his own scowl of aggravation and laugh of amusement at seeing the huge man cower before her heels.

“Good to see you again, Doc, follow me.”

“Am I invisible?”

Rabastan raised a brow, peering beyond Tom’s shoulder.

“We should only be so lucky. That getup is horrific, Dolly.”

Dolohov rolled his eyes. “That’s the last time I make an effort.”

“If you were trying to look like a pompous arse you did a great job.”

“Boys, do focus.”

They all looked to her. Her eyes were on Tom.

“My husband and I will join you shortly. In the meantime, please enjoy our hospitality. It is a pleasure to have you here, Doctor Riddle.”

He grasped the fingers still clinging to his arm and gently extracted them. She held her breath as he drew them to his lips, letting his mouth hover above her knuckles as he whispered into her skin.

“The pleasure is mine.”

He pressed her hand into his lips, holding her gaze all the while.

She inhaled deeply, blinking slowly as she lowered her arm.

The men at their sides glanced at each other.

And then Tom stepped back, releasing her from his thrall.

She blinked once more, tearing her gaze away, cheeks coloring faintly.

“I’ll leave you boys to it then.”

Her voice was slightly uneven, words clipped. She spun on her heel without a backward glance, the crowd melting away at her every step.

Tom faced the other two men.

They watched him with open wonderment.

He smiled.

“So, where’s this champagne room?”

* * *

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat when the water closet door flew open, only to thud painfully in relief when Alicia slipped into the narrow room, quickly closing the door behind her.

“I got it.”

Hermione released a sharp breath.

“Great! Thank you so much, you can put it in the sink. Did anyone see you?”

Alicia crossed over and opened her arm, allowing the short bottle and rectangular box fall into the basin.

“Yes, but the kitchen staff minds their own, no one will ask any questions.”

She stepped back, brow raised.

"But how are cornstarch and soap going to help you get the keys?"

Hermione smirked, pulling up the drain stopper and opening the lid to the box.

“I’m not going after the keys. It’s too risky, all the managers know me and would recognize my face if I got that close.”

She wet her lips, shaking a pile of cornstarch into the bottom of the porcelain.

“I recently learned how to pry open a door. But I don’t want them to know anyone was in the office.”

She set the box aside and unscrewed the lid to the bottle, tipping it gently and allowing a thick dollop of dish soap to ooze atop the starch.

“So… I’m going to bypass the lock instead.”

Alicia blinked. “Bypass the lock? Like, break it?”

Hermione shook her head. “These substances aren’t corrosive.”

She turned the faucet handle gently, capturing a small pool of water in her palm before shutting off the stream.

“And damaging the lock would have the same effect as breaking the door.”

She stirred the water into the mixture, working it with her fingers as the mass congealed and thickened.

“So I’m using putty.”

Alicia drew in close, tilting her head.

“ _That’s_ putty?”

“It will be soon. I used to make this with my father. We’d press it to newspaper articles to absorb the ink and then transfer it to other surfaces.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m going to use it for a different purpose tonight.”

Hermione bit her lip, glancing up and meeting the girl’s curious gaze.

“Or rather… _we_ are.”

.   .   .

“Hermione, I can’t do this.”

“I’m so sorry to ask this of you, Alicia, but I don’t know where Angie is and I can’t speak to him myself.”

“If he catches me-”

“He _won’t_. He won’t even know what to look for. But even if by some miracle he sees it he won’t suspect you anyway since I’m going to be the one-”

A male voice rounded the corner at the other end of the hall.

“That’s him!” Alicia hissed, eyes wide.

“I know,” Hermione swallowed thickly, clutching the ball of putty tight in her palm. “It’s going to be alright, you can do this.”

Alicia nodded quickly, spinning around as Hermione ducked around the adjoining wall, disappearing from sight.

“I’m _not_ going to tell him again, the next time that idiot tries to-” Rodolphus stopped short, glancing up from the jittery man taking avid notes at his side to the girl hovering outside the office door.

“Alicia.” He smiled, teeth gleaming. “Hello, luv. What are you doing up here?”

She interlaced her fingers behind her back.

“I wondered if I could switch my shift next week. I spoke with Mellie and she said she was fine taking over Wednesday in exchange for Friday.”

He raised a brow. “You wanted to discuss this now?”

“Before I forget. But I can come back later if-”

"No, now is fine." He glanced to the fidgeting man at his side. "Come back in five minutes, Quirrel."

Hermione’s heart jolted at the name.

“Er… yes, Sir.”

She glanced around quickly, slipping deep into the shadows a moment before the man rounded the corner and came twitching into view, walking past without a glance in her direction.

She held her breath as she heard the heavy echo of footsteps, followed by the unmistakable jingle of keys.

“Come on in, luv. How are you tonight?”

“Quite well. It’s a busy evening.”

“Yes, it is.” The door opened, Hermione’s pulse thrummed wildly.

_Please don’t close the door. Please don’t close the door._

She sagged in relief when the voices became distant but not muffled.

“Actually, I’m hosting a private party in the champagne room for a special VIP. Swing by later. Yaxley is there.”

“Alright.”

Hermione closed her eyes, steeling her nerves and stepping out of the shadows.

She averted her face down, allowing her hair to fall in a curtain over her shoulder, blocking the part of her face visible beneath the half mask.

And strode quickly past the office. The door was left ajar.

Perfection.

Hermione gave the putty one last squeeze before cramming it into the latch cut out.

She pressed it flat with the pad of her thumb before resuming her quick pace down the hall, turning into the next corridor and flattening her back into the wall, gasping for breath, adrenaline surging.

A moment later the voices grew louder, footsteps emerging.

“Thank you, Lord Lest-”

“Rodolphus.”

A brief pause.

“Thank you, _Rodolphus_.”

Hermione’s chest clenched at the faint tremor in Alicia’s voice.

“I better get back to the floor.”

“Good girl. And don’t forget to swing by later.”

“I won’t!” She called over her shoulder, heading for the stairwell.

Hermione stood frozen in abject terror as deafening silence filled the hall.

_What the hell is he doing?_

_Can he see me?_

She shook her head at the paranoid thought.

Unless he’d developed the ability to look through walls, she was well concealed.

Her shoulders lowered as his steady tread finally started down the corridor, fading away after several seconds.

She had to physically pry her palms from the wood panel, her entire body drawn taut as a bow and arrow.

She peeked around the corner.

And gazed upon an empty hall.

_Now or never!_

She kept close to the shadows as she scurried along the wood floor, grasping the handle with her heart in her throat. The knob wouldn’t budge.

Locked.

She pushed her shoulder into the door. Hard.

And gasped when it jolted open.

She stumbled inside, glancing back with wide eyes.

_Bloody hell… it actually worked._

She wasted no time celebrating, spinning in a tight circle to sweep her frantic gaze over every surface of the lavishly decorated office.

She did a double take as she spotted a leather-bound journal sitting front and center of the ornate desk.

And immediately dashed over, opening the cover and scanning the pages.

They contained several hand-drawn columns filled with dates, names and currency denotations.

She flipped through quickly, reading the dates, flipping further back-

She saw no mention of Lavender.

Then she blinked, shaking her head.

_Of course not, idiot! She wasn’t here on her own pence._

Instead, Hermione searched out Cormac's name.

And sure enough, she found him listed several times.

And he’d booked a private room on the majority of his visits.

Many girls were listed in the column beside it. He was joined by up to five employees at a time.

She bit her lip, pulling the journal closer and focusing upon the names carefully.

_Someone has to be listed more than the others…_

Her gaze sparked when she found the common denominator.

.   .   .

Alicia gasped as the water closet door opened and Hermione slipped inside.

“Oh thank god!”

She threw herself forward, embracing her tightly.

“I was so worried you were caught!”

Hermione returned the hug, careful to avoid touching her putty filled palm to the girl’s hair.

“No, it worked.”

She stepped back and peeled the substance from her fingers, wrapping it in tissue and tossing it in the wastebasket.

Alicia watched her carefully, rubbing her hands together.

“Well? Did you find what you were looking for?”

“I think so.”

Hermione glanced up, eyes bright in the dim light.

“Who is Katie?”

* * *

Theo lowered his arm after the second knock, tucking his hands into his trouser pockets and waiting patiently.

After several minutes of gazing aimlessly at the tulips lining the walkway the door opened.

“Oh. It’s you.”

He smirked.

“You sound relieved. That’s a first.”

“The first time someone was relieved to see you at their door? Somehow I believe that.”

He tipped his head, roaming her robe-clad figure from bottom to top, eyes lingering on her rumpled braid.

“Late night?”

“As late as yours, I imagine.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Can I come in?”

She sighed, pulling the door open the rest of the way.

"Fine. God forbid someone walks by and sees us conversing. Might start a rumor we're _engaged_ or something equally ridiculous.”

He shook his head as she closed the door behind him.

“I’d hoped you’d have a slightly less hostile disposition if I visited you in the evening.”

“Hope is for Church, Theo.”

“I thought prayer was for Church.”

“It is. What did I say?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes.

“Pans-”

“I’m fucking with you, no need to get your garters in a bind.” She crossed her arms, tilting her head. “What’s wrong?”

He opened his eyes, jaw tensing.

“Can we sit?”

She drew back.

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Let’s sit.”

She dropped her arms, holding his gaze as she led him down the hall.

“Whatever you want, husband dear. This house will be yours soon enough.”

He cringed as he followed in her wake, eyes focused upon the billowing silk of her robe.

“I’ll leave you your privacy. You can have your own estate on the continent as well.”

She glanced over her shoulder.

“That’s…” she blinked, gazing ahead once more. “Whatever.”

He sighed.

They emerged inside the drawing room. Empty champagne bottles and flutes littered the tabletops and floor.

He raised a dark brow.

“Took the party home with you, I see.”

She gathered her robe and collapsed atop the sofa, folding her bare legs beneath her as she leaned back casually.

Theo took the chair facing her, sitting down with easy grace, hands resting atop his knees. Her eyes narrowed, fingers playing idly with her dark braid.

“Alright. Talk.”

He wet his lips tentatively.

“The announcement goes out on Tuesday.”

She froze. His own blood slowed in his veins, making his head spin and vision fog until he blinked it clear once more.

“I found out yesterday morning. I was going to tell you at the party but-” he swallowed lightly, emerald eyes materializing from the ether, watching him with burning intensity.

He blinked again.

The phantom gaze disappeared, leaving only his grey pallor fiance seated before him.

“Pans?”

She drew in a sharp breath, seeming to awake from whatever stupor held her transfixed.

“This…” Her arms dropped lifeless at her sides. “This is really happening.”

He clenched his knees, fingertips turning white.

“This is really happening.”

She glanced away, eyes gleaming wet. He looked down, affording her privacy while she wiped quickly at her cheeks. His chest wrenched open.

His own misery was bearable. Morbidly comforting in its familiarity. He’d been suffering at his father’s hands in one way or another since he was a boy.

But seeing the acute misery on _her_ face was a pain he’d never experienced. Sharp and unforgiving, unrelenting.

“I’m sorry, Pansy.” His voice was thick, raspy.

She blinked, more tears falling silently, dropping onto the pale silk adorning her chest, darkening the fabric.

“Sorry? For what? This isn’t your doing.”

His jaw flexed, tongue pressing the roof of his mouth.

She raised a brow.

“Theo?”

“Actually… it is my fault.”

She wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, shaking her head.

“Stop playing the martyr, idiot. You’re just as much of a pawn in this as I am.”

He took a slow, deep breath, forcing his eyes up.

“I requested your hand.”

Silence.

Heavy and oppressive.

He braced himself for the inevitable explosion, the rage, the confusion-

And jolted when she erupted into a fit a wild, hysterical laughter.

She grasped her side, tears streaming down her cheeks anew as an unrestrained grin split her face in half, doubling over atop the cushions, braid falling over the edge.

He watched her in bemusement, afraid to move, to speak.

After a short eternity she finally settled down, her chest jolting with wet hiccups, complexion beat red from her loud outburst.

She gazed at the ceiling unblinking while Theo watched her in much the same manner.

“You requested my hand…” she said, voice thin and strained. She swallowed. “Of course you did.”

He sat forward, heart racing.

“I only did it because-”

“I know why you did it.”

His mouth clamped shut, eyes tracing her expression carefully.

She tilted her face, meeting his gaze.

“I know why, Theo.”

His jaw tensed. He leaned back.

“And I hate you for it.” She wet her lips. “And I’m glad you did it.”

His throat tightened. He swallowed thickly, trying to push past the sudden obstruction.

She blinked slowly, still sprawled across the cushions.

“If you hadn’t requested me, we’d still be having this conversation with our betrothed.” Her eyes searched his. “But we’d be lying to them and ourselves.”

He tore his eyes away, running a hand over his mouth, blinking quickly to abate the stinging ache.

“We’re damaged goods. Best we keep that damage contained.”

The emotionless words cut a deep path through his chest.

“We aren’t damaged.”

She slowly sat up, braid falling loose.

“No? I think the majority of society would beg to differ.”

He shook his head, still avoiding her keen gaze.

“We aren’t damaged. We’re _something_ … but not damaged.”

“We will be.” She smiled sadly. “After this marriage… we will be.”

Floorboards creaked, jolting him. He glanced to the open doorway with wide eyes. Pansy didn’t flinch, speaking without a backward glance.

“I thought I told you to stay upstairs.”

A slight figure appeared, wrapped in a pale sheet.

“Sorry…” she began softly, eyes darting between Theo and the back of Pansy’s head. “I thought I heard you crying.”

Theo raised a dark brow, finally meeting Pansy’s eye.

She sighed.

“I was laughing, luv. No matter. Come in, meet my future husband.”

The girl blinked.

And then smiled.

"Oh, hello. A pleasure to meet you."

Theo bit the inside of his cheek, giving a fleeting once over to the bare shoulders and ample cleavage pushing against the sheer fabric.

But his eyes lingered on the river of deep red hair cascading down her back.

“Hello, luv. What's your name?”

“Mindy.”

“ _Mindy_.”

Pansy glared at the smirk curving his lips. He ignored her.

“The pleasure is all mine. Please, join us.”

She shook her head quickly. “Oh, thank you, but I should go put on some clothes-”

“Don’t bother.” Pansy examined her nails. “I’ll be back up soon enough. Go grab something to eat in the meantime.”

The girl didn’t seem phased by the command. She glanced at him once more.

“It was nice to meet you…”

“Theo.”

She nodded and then backed out of the room as quickly as she’d entered it.

Theo shook his head, the smirk growing to a full-fledged grin.

Pansy continued to feign interest in her cuticles.

“Don’t even think about-”

“I’m allowed to make at least one comment.”

She groaned, folding her arms tightly across her chest, pinning him with the full force of her scowl.

“Fine. One comment. Choose wisely.”

He wet his lips.

“Mindy looks remarkably familiar.” He rubbed his chin. “I wonder why that is?”

Her jaw flexed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course not.”

She rolled her eyes. “Like you're one to judge.”

“I’m not judg-” he blinked. “Wait, what the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Not all of us can fuck the object of our desire, Nott. We have to make due with the next best thing.”

His shoulders tensed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She grinned wickedly.

_“Of course not.”_

He scrubbed a hand over his face.

_Fucking hell._

“Look, I just came to warn you about the announcement, not start a row.”

“I’m not starting anything.”

He shook his head, rising to his feet.

“I’ll leave you to your evening then.”

He was halfway to the door when he heard her shift on the sofa.

“Theo.”

He came to a reluctant halt, slowing turning to face her.

She took a deep breath, hands clutching the cushion.

“Thank you for telling me. My father doesn’t-” she bit her bottom lip. “You’re the only one who talks to me about… about much of anything these days.”

He blinked, shoulders lowering.

“Of course.”

She nodded, glancing away.

He started to turn back, only to tighten his fists and peer at her once more.

“We aren’t enemies in this, Pans. We’ve been friends since we could walk. I don’t want to lose that.” He swallowed, the next words expelling his mouth unbidden. “I care about you.”

She glanced up in obvious surprise.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

She opened her mouth-

And something dropped in the kitchen, followed by a low curse.

They both leaned away from the other, eyes averting.

“I should-”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll talk to you-”

“Sure.”

He cleared his throat, darting from the room, so intent on fleeing he missed the fresh blossom of tears in her gaze.

* * *

“Raise.”

Tom tossed another chip into the center pile. Avery whistled low under his breath, dropping his cards face down on the table and shaking his head.

“Too rich for my blood.” His eyes tracked the movement of the girl standing beside the drink cart refilling their glasses. "I'd like to conserve my money for other endeavors this evening."

Rabastan rolled his eyes, thumbing the edge of his cards.

“I nearly forgot, the birds charge double before they’ll lay their hands on you.”

“Fuck off! They practically line up to get it from me-”

“Let’s remember our guest, gents.” Dolohov leaned into the chair, his feather lined cape draped over the back.

Tom raised a brow, eyes fixed to his cards. "Please, don't stop on my account."

“See, Riddle is perfectly fine with our discussion. Loosen the corset, Dolly.”

Dolohov shook his head, reaching for his low ball glass and glancing up at Tom.

“I apologize for these heathens.”

Tom smirked. “Not at all. I find it immensely stimulating.”

“You know what else is immensely stimulating?”

“Jesus, Yaxley, I’d prefer you remain silent if you’re just going to reach for such low hanging fruit.”

“I didn’t-”

“Who’s bloody turn is it?”

"Hell if I can keep track. What are we doing playing cards anyway? What’s the point of coming here if we aren’t partaking in the goods and services offered?”

Rabastan pinned Yaxley and Avery with a narrowed gaze. “Rod wants us to wait for him.”

Avery scoffed. "Well, where the hell is he?"

“He has a fucking business to run, something you wouldn’t know anything about.”

Avery scowled but remained silent, seething over his half-empty glass.

Rabastan glanced at Tom.

“You must think we’re a real group of arseholes.”

Tom smirked anew, turning a chip end over end with agile fingers. “When men gather that tends to be the case regardless of solitary dispositions.”

Lestrange and Dolohov erupted into laughter while the other two exchanged looks of candid confusion.

“Bet you miss the Home, eh?” Dolohov gazed at his cards, eyes unnaturally still. “Being surrounded by all those women. A lot better company than us.”

Tom suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. These idiots had the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. Still, he could hardly complain. They were making his job exceedingly easy after all.

“They’ll still be there when I return.” He traced the line of his teeth with the tip of his tongue. “That’s the beauty of it. They have nowhere else to go. No matter what happens, they’re as dependant on me as they are that place.”

His lips curved in a wicked grin as he met Lestrange’s gleaming gaze. “They’d never speak a word against me for fear of being thrown on the streets.”

Rabastan’s eyes cut quickly to Dolohov before alighting to a spot beyond Tom’s shoulder.

“Ang, baby, come here.”

A dark-skinned beauty hovering near the wall stepped forward, golden eyes bright. As soon as she stepped beside his chair Lestrange snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her into his lap. She settled gracefully, crossing her bare legs and lacing her arms around his neck.

“Yes, my Lord?”

Tom’s stomach clenched, hands tightening on his cards.

“I want you to give me and the boys a little privacy for the next few minutes.” He lifted a hand to her face, tracing her full lips. “Take the other girls with you and round up some more friends. When Rod gets back I want this place filled with pretty faces.”

She nodded, nibbling on his fingertip and earning a satisfied rumble from his chest. She slid to her feet a moment later, gesturing to the other two girls to follow her out of the room.

“Wait a minute,” Lestrange said over his shoulder, halting them in their tracks. He glanced at Tom. “What’s your poison, mate?”

Tom blinked.

Lestrange smiled wickedly.

"Don't be shy, Riddle. We certainly aren't." His eyes cut to the other men seated around the table. "Avery and Yax like the sugary sweet, doe-eyed lambs. Though Jon prefers em blonde while Martin takes the brunettes."

His gaze flickered to Dolohov, who leaned back in his chair with supreme smugness.

"Antonin has a rather specialized fetish. His preference is for wild-haired minxes with sharp tongues. Though he usually puts their mouths to other uses."

Tom’s spine straightened to impossible heights. Fire exploded in his chest, blazing a mean path up his esophagus, filling his mouth and nose and eyes with black, billowing smoke.

“While my tastes lean towards the exotic. I like the dark ones, especially with accents. Makes it all the sweeter when they call out my name.”

His teeth gleamed. “So, what’s your type, Riddle?”

Tom wet his lips, mind firing rapidly. Dolohov leaned towards him.

“Come on, chap, you work around dozens of young women every single day, surely you’ve seen a fair share of variety.” He winked. “Every man has his preference. No shame in embracing it.”

Tom’s jaw flexed.

“My type…”

The door on the opposite wall opened. The girls jumped, spinning around to face the new entrant.

Tom’s eyes darted across the room.

And locked with the feline gaze burning in the darkness.

Mistress Lestrange slowly sauntered in, watching him in tense silence.

The men glanced between them. And then Dolohov chuckled under his breath, glancing to Rabastan.

“I think we got it.”

Rabastan's expression fell, glancing to his sister in law with narrowed eyes, and then turned to face the house girl.

“Angie, you know our tastes. Go round them up.”

She nodded, moving quickly out of her Mistress’s way with a deeper nod of deference.

“Bella, how nice of you to join us.” Dolohov raised his glass in her direction. “Come have a seat, luv, play a round.”

“I appreciate the offer, darling, but cards aren’t my game of choice.” She tilted her head, eyes never straying from Tom. “But I do love to watch.”

She sidled around the table, hand glancing off their shoulders one by one until she came to a slow stop behind her target.

Tom drew in a slow, measured breath as her fingertips skirted along his bicep, nails scratching along the fabric before tracing the black silk of his lapels.

She leaned into his back.

“Please, do continue.” Her hand slid beneath the opening of his jacket, pressing to the center of his chest. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

The other men exchanged loaded glances before slowly picking up their cards.

Tom’s jaw ticked.

Her message received loud and clear.

She didn’t just have a seat at the table.

She _owned_ the table. And the entire goddamn building it was situated in.

The warmth of her palm centered over his heart. He cursed himself when it skipped a beat. She purred low in her throat, gazing down at his hand.

“What a marvelous player you are,” she whispered in his ear.

Tom maintained his casual posture, kept his muscles loose, unaffected.

While a turbulent war raged within him.

For the hand at his center instantly transported him from the lavishly decorated champagne room to a dusty, barren attic filled with nightmares and shadows.

And a haunted girl adorned in cherry blossoms and misery.

And yet she hadn’t run. Hadn’t shied away. Hadn’t condemned or judged or pitied.

No.

She’d stepped closer. Placed her hand against his heart willingly.

And spoken words that delivered him from the dark prison of his own mind.

If only temporarily.

When she made to pull away it had been his natural instinct to ensnare. Trap. Keep.

And the dawning realization that followed had been more explosive than any of the confessions they’d shared aloud that night.

So he’d pulled back.

And the delicate hand had fallen away.

He’d tried his best to banish the occurrence from his mind. Since his youth, suppression came as naturally as violence.

But he’d been plagued by a new obsession since their fateful trip to the attic. More damning than the blasted, fucking ribbon. For this nuisance couldn’t be tucked into a pocket and ignored.

No. The lingering sensation of her hand was not so easily forgotten. The phantom warmth against his skin was a permanent brand against his flesh, searing all the way down to the muscle and bone no matter how hard and furiously he scrubbed the skin raw.

Worse yet was the perverse pleasure he derived from the ghost touch. The constant presence at his front.

But the hand touching him now didn’t fit. Wasn’t the right size. The right shape. The right burning heat.

It was all wrong.

The femme fatale at his back chuckled lowly, her venom sweet scent invading his airways and clouding his mind, slowing the rapid pace of his thoughts.

He called Yaxley’s bluff in the next round, earning a sigh of frustration from the man before he pushed back from the table and stormed away to the drink cart.

“You are masterful at reading others, Doctor.” Her fingertips pressed into his shirt, nails digging into his flesh. “There is no more useful skill to have.”

He traced his bottom lip with his tongue, eyes carefully averted to his cards.

“It’s a hazard of the trade, I’m afraid.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “Do you enjoy your work?”

His thumb ran along the edge of the Ace of Clubs. “Medicine is my greatest passion.”

“Your _greatest_ passion?”

He raised a dark brow, the corner of his mouth tipping up. “I have many to be certain, but it has long topped the list.”

Her fingertips drummed idly against hard muscle.

“Then it is fortunate we have made your acquaintance, Doctor. Perhaps we can show you pleasures beyond those extended to a public servant.”

He slowly tipped his head and met her hooded gaze, their masks long removed.

“I would be most fascinated, Madam.”

Her answering smile lit her beautiful face with sinister glee.

Before she could respond the door opened once more. The others glanced across the room. Neither he or she looked away from each other.

“Alright.” The elder Lestrange’s voice boomed off the walls. “What did I miss?”

She licked her lips. “The boys were playing a little game, darling.” She winked at Tom, finally glancing up. Her hand remained affixed to his chest as she addresses her husband. “But I think they’re finished now.” She tipped her head. “Perhaps we should all get to know each other a little better.”

Rodolphus’s eyes narrowed, some silent message transpiring between them. His eyes briefly flickered to her hand. Then he met Tom’s gaze.

And smiled.

“The lady has spoken. Who am I to argue?”

Tom smirked, fighting to keep his heart rate calm and steady.

“As they say, happy wife, happy life.”

Rodolphus laughed, approaching the table, keeping Tom carefully in his sights.

“I think it’s time we had a little discussion, Riddle.”

Tom traced the backs of his teeth with his tongue before grinning broadly.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

* * *

Hermione carefully stepped through the tightly pressed bodies, making a concerted effort to avoid physical contact.

And failing miserably.

Amortentia was nearly twice as crowded as her weekday visit. The guests were loud and drunk, pawing at customers and employees alike. Hermione had been accosted at least a dozen times in as many minutes, maintaining her quick pace and rigid stance to try and deter the grasping hands.

And yet guests continued to pull and pinch unhindered. One particularly zealous patron wrapped his arms around her from behind and lifted her off the ground entirely, walking her towards a lounge pit strewn with half-naked bodies.

She’d thrashed and clawed like a woman possessed, earning only laughter from her jailer and his friends as they watched and cheered.

Hermione forced herself to think through her rising panic. It wouldn’t do to cause a scene, drawing attention to herself and risking exposure.

So she’d kept her screams at bay, electing to drive her head back into his face instead, channeling her inner Parvati and relishing the satisfying crunch of bone against her skull.

He’d released her at once, clutching his face, blood dripping from beneath his mask and between his gloved fingers.

She’d ducked low and slipped back into the surging crowd before his friends even had a chance to make it to his side.

But the man had been livid, eyes narrowed dangerously as he pointed in the general direction of her escape. She was a fugitive now, on the run as much as she was on the hunt.

She swept another glance around the endless sea of bodies.

Alicia had described Hermione’s target before they parted company, telling her the area Katie was most likely to be at this hour.

Hermione could only hope to find the girl soon. The longer she lingered in this place the more wretched she felt. A festering rot rising to the surface, threatening to expel through her pores and drench her entire being in the dark stain of lust and gluttony.

At long last, she made it to the stage at the other end. The pianist played a song that seemed far too somber for the setting.

And yet it reflected her inner musings quite brilliantly.

She sidled next to the stage, examining the house girls on the raised platform, some dancing, others… inciting the crowd with lustful antics.

Hermione narrowed her eyes on the two blondes. One was engaged in a passionate kiss with a brunette while the other was slowing swaying to the music with her corset half unlaced, eyes vacantly drifting over the faces below.

_Please let it be the second one…_

Hermione weaved between the onlookers to the other side of the platform and tried to call the girl’s attention.

“Um, excuse me?” The girl didn’t so much as blink in her direction. “Excuse me!”

Someone spilled their drink beside her, exploding into a chorus of hyper laughter that drowned out the sound of her own thoughts.

She sighed, stepping closer yet and placing her hands on the raised surface, using every ounce of strength in her thin arms to hoist herself. She slid her backside on the stage and quickly pulled her legs up, carefully arranging the half skirt for maximum coverage before rising to her feet.

A drunken man cheered, clearly thinking another strip tease was about to begin. Hermione scowled at him through her mask, causing him to flush lightly and clamp his hefty jaw shut.

She directed her focus on the blonde once more.

“Excuse me? Are you Katie?”

The girl jolted, blinking quickly, as though waking from a trance.

She turned to face Hermione, taking a quick step back and nearly falling from the stage. Hermione leaped forward and captured her arm, helping steady her, putting them face to face.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The girl blinked, the vacancy in her eyes slowly clearing away.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Her-” she stopped, wetting her lips. “Penelope.” She cringed at the abysmal cover up. “And you’re Katie I take it?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Because I need to speak with Katie.”

She wasn’t trying to deadpan, just as she suspected the girl wasn’t trying to be difficult. Her voice was too dulcet. Too hollow.

Hermione searched her gaze, wondering if she was tipsy or high.

_Not that I would blame her, having to dance on stage for these animals._

“May we go somewhere private to speak for a few minutes?”

The girl that Hermione was now positively certain was Katie blinked again.

“There’s no such thing as privacy here.”

Her words weren’t slurred. But they were slow, measured.

Hermione nodded. "I can see that. Maybe somewhere less obvious then." She swept a glance over the crowd. Many faces watched them eagerly. One man was very vocal with his requests.

Hermione sighed, leaning close to be heard over the commotion.

“I’m a friend of Lavender.”

She swallowed heavily as she drew back to watch the girl’s reaction. But she felt it first. The arm still in her grasp jerked hard as Katie reared back, eyes wide.

“Lav…” she shook her head, expression frantic. “Who are you?”

“I’m someone that cared for her a great deal. From what I’ve heard, so did you.”

Katie opened and closed her mouth, still struggling. Hermione released her, raising her hands in a gesture of peace.

“I’m not here to upset or get you into trouble. I’m just trying to find out what happened to my friend.”

Katie wrapped her arms protectively across her middle.

“I’m not- I don’t know anything.”

“But you know she’s dead?”

Katie nodded sadly, eyes gleaming wet.

Hermione took a deep breath.

“The news of her death was never made public.”

The girl swallowed thickly. “You tricked me.”

“I assure you, I’m far too distracted to exert any sort of mental prowess tonight.” She lowered her hands. “I’m just trying to piece together the puzzle. And whether you like it or not, you’re a part of it.”

Katie held her gaze for another loaded moment before glancing warily over her shoulder.

“I shouldn’t...”

She bit her lip, looking at Hermione once more.

“Talking about this is dangerous for us both.”

Hermione tipped her head, a deep ache settling into her chest.

“Talking to me will be your final gift to Lavender.”

It was an underhanded tactic, but effective. Katie's shoulder’s dropped, head hanging forward in defeat.

“Alright,” she whispered, barely audible over the crowd. “Follow me.”

.   .   .

Hermione crossed her legs carefully on the narrow settee, doing her best to avoid staring at the restraints and chains nailed to the wall at her side.

Instead, she focused upon the girl seated across from her, posture tight and rigid.

“We can’t stay here long, the flogging rooms always get booked out fast.”

Hermione blinked.

Then cleared her throat.

“Right. Of course. Thank you for speaking with me-”

“I’m doing this for Lav.”

She nodded. “I understand.” She clasped her hands on her lap. “How did you know her?”

“We grew up together on the South Side.”

Hermione wet her lips slowly. “I never knew where Lavender was from.”

“All Hallows.” Katie averted her gaze downward, picking at the hem of her garter. “It’s mostly projects. Really rough. We both ran away when we were young. Life on the streets was no worse than being stuck there.”

“You ran away together?”

“No. I’m a couple years older. I got out first. Lavender stuck around to help her mum. Her stepdad at the time was a real piece of work. But when it finally got to be too much Lav took off, too. Though I didn’t know what happened until I ran into her years later.”

“Working here?”

Katie nodded, still staring into her lap.

Hermione leaned forward.

“Katie… what do you know? What has you so nervous?”

The blonde rubbed at her arms.

“I’ve survived this long by keeping my nose out of trouble.”

“Is that what happened to Lavender? She got involved with something dangerous?”

“She didn’t mean to. She barely talked to them.”

Hermione blinked, heart skipping a beat.

“Talked to who?”

Katie was silent for several minutes before finally meeting her gaze.

“The girls in All Hallows are brought up on stories meant to scare us, keep us in line. They say he comes for all the wicked girls. But it seems our behavior has little to do with it in the end. One in four girls goes missing each year regardless."

Hermione’s brows drew together. “Missing?”

“That’s why so many of us run away. Poverty and violence aren't the only dangers we face in the slums.”

Hermione watched her carefully, her entire body throbbing with the force of her heartbeat.

“They call him the Boogeyman. A few girls claim to have seen him and lived to tell the tale. I don’t know how many of those stories I believe, since he's supposed to be as tall as a building and as wide as one, too. Able to reach into second and third story windows while standing in an alley, snatching little girls right out of their beds, blanket and all.”

Katie shivered, squeezing her arms.

"A lot of girls in the neighborhood disappeared without a trace. It was hard to know which ones were runaways and which weren't. In the end, no one looked for any of them so it didn't really matter."

Hermione’s hands clenched at her sides. “I don’t understand, what does this have to do with Lavender?”

Katie swallowed.

“She got invited to some fancy party in the West End. One of the guys she was going round with-”

“Cormac?”

Katie blinked. “You know him?”

“Vaguely.”

“Well, he took her with him to extravagant parties. She said he did it to shock people. Liked rebelling against his rank and title. She didn’t mind though. She loved dressing up and turning heads. Any attention was good attention to Lav. She always said it was better to be seen than not. The moment people stopped seeing you was the moment you stopped existing.”

Hermione took a deep breath, eyes burning.

“What happened at the party?”

“She saw girls there from All Hallows. Girls we grew up with.” Her shoulders drew in. “Girls that went missing.”

“But you said yourself it was hard to tell who was a runaway.”

“That’s what she thought at first. That maybe the girls took off on their own after all, only to end up at the party just like she did. So she tried talking to them, catching up on old times.”

Hermione swayed in her seat, pulse thudding manically.

“But they weren’t…” Katie licked her lips, eyes darting away.

“They weren’t what?”

She shook her head. “She said they weren’t… _normal_.”

Hermione swallowed.

“Normal?”

"They were acting strangely. Said their eyes were empty. Lifeless. They only provided vague, basic responses, and didn't seem to have any memory of All Hallows. A couple didn't even seem to know their own name."

Hermione drew back, blood running cold.

“She said it was like they were-”

“Dolls.”

Katie blinked.

“Yeah. Dolls.”

Hermione’s chest constricted, air evading her lungs.

“But one of them was different,” Katie continued, leaning forward. “She was more animated than the others, even pulled Lavender upstairs alone. Seemed intent on telling her something.”

Hermione’s eyes widened hopefully.

“What did she say?”

Katie shook her head. “Nothing. She was missing her tongue.”

Hermione gasped.

“But someone walked in and caught them. Ordered the girl to leave, took Lavender downstairs like nothing was wrong. She was really freaked out by the whole thing.”

Hermione pressed a hand to her chest.

_Why didn’t she confide any of this in me or Parvati? Did she not trust us? Was she afraid of endangering us?_

“What happened after that?”

“Lord Lestrange caught wind of the incident. Pulled Lavender aside in the Club a few nights later to assure her there was nothing to worry about. Apologized if the girl upset her. He tried telling her the girl was from some poor village in Eastern Europe, that one of the men at the party saved her from being killed and brought her to London and was taking care of her.” She shook her head. “Lavender didn’t tell him she grew up with her, or that she recognized the others.”

Hermione released a sharp breath.

“And then he offered her a job.”

She blinked.

“ _What_?”

Katie nodded. “He said she was beautiful and would pull in good tips. He even offered to set her up with a private flat downtown.”

“What did she say?”

“She turned him down. Said she couldn't leave the Home. She considered the girls there her family and wouldn’t leave them.”

Hermione’s chest wrenched open, ribs breaking cleanly down the center.

“Was he upset?”

“He told her he was impressed. That he admired her character and the offer was still open if she changed her mind.”

Hermione ran a hand over her face, the mask discarded at her side.

“Bloody hell.”

There was so much to unpackage…

_Where to even begin?_

“Is that the last time you talked to her?”

Katie bit her lip. Hermione narrowed her eyes.

“Katie-”

“She told me Mistress Lestrange invited her to a party at her Estate. Personally.”

The blood drained rapidly from her face. Katie raised a brow.

“That was the exact reaction we had.”

“Did she go?”

Katie shrugged. “I don't know. She didn’t want to but she was afraid to offend her by not accepting.”

“When was it?”

Katie shrugged again, eyes sad. “I don’t know. I don’t remember if she told me.”

Hermione sighed.

“Thank you, Katie. This has been very enlightening.”

Katie rubbed her palms along her thighs.

“Will it help you find out what happened to her?”

Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. “I think so.”

“Good. I hope Lavender gets justice. She deserved better.”

As the blonde started to rise from her chair Hermione thought of one last thing.

“Katie?”

The girl halted, glancing over her shoulder.

“Why were you afraid to speak to me? You didn’t want the Lestranges knowing you were close with her?”

“I’m not like Lav, I don’t want to be noticed by powerful people.”

Hermione blinked. “But they hired you directly, didn’t they?”

She nodded. “Yes. But it’s the other family I’m worried about.”

Hermione tipped her head. “What other family?”

“The people who hosted the party with the missing girls.”

Her heart lurched in her chest as she sat forward.

“ _Who_ , Katie?”

The blonde wet her lips.

“The Malfoys.”

* * *

Every muscle in Tom’s body clenched at once as Madam Lestrange’s hand traced a slow trail up his chest and across his shoulder before falling away entirely. She walked a measured path around the table, her heels striking an even beat along the tile floor.

Her husband took a chair directly opposite Tom, forearms resting on the wood, eyes gleaming with predatory intent.

The others seemed transfixed, looking to the large man in obvious deference.

His wife finally made her way around, coming to a stop at his right side and leaning into his broad frame. He drew back and wrapped an arm around her waist, idly tracing patterns along the silk adorning her hip.

“Tell me, Riddle,” he began slowly, gaze unwavering. “Do you enjoy your work?”

Tom leaned back into his chair and took a deep breath.

_Let the real game begin._

“We were just discussing said topic moments before your arrival. I informed your lovely wife that my work is most fulfilling.”

Lestrange hummed low in his throat, sharing a brief look with his brother before glancing back.

“But surely a man of your repute, your impressive background, finds working in a crown funded girls’ home to be… _lackluster_.”

“It is not the most exciting location I have worked in to be certain. But there is no glamour in medicine. The most demanding cases are often the most horrific. The most volatile. I spent many years elbow deep in the muck and grime of third world healthcare. Though it is fulfilling work, it is draining. Every patient, every death, takes something from you.”

Tom blinked, fist tightening on the table.

 _Careful_.

He was skirting the line of reality and illusion a bit too closely now.

He quickly backtracked.

"I found myself in need of a brief reprieve. Working at the Home allows me to continue to work in the field I love without the threat of death and dismemberment hanging overhead."

Avery leaned forward. “You mean your patient’s death and dismemberment.”

“Theirs as well.” The intensity of his gaze drove the man back into his chair. “I was among the limited medical staff assigned to Ghana soon after the British Empire took control. The acquisition inspired great civil unrest, many bloody battles were waged. The doctors and nurses were specifically targeted by opposing forces. Many of my associates were badly injured, some even executed.”

Yaxley swallowed audibly, drawing his gaze.

"Why the bloody hell did you stay, mate? There are enough things that can kill a man at home. No need to put yourself in the path of a bullet."

Tom raised a brow. “I’m certain the vast majority of the Queen's militia and their families would disagree with you. The soldiers stationed on the island believed there was no more noble way to die.”

Avery scoffed, turning his glass in a slow circle, the ice melting along the bottom.

“Bloody idiots, the lot of em.”

“As you can see, neither Jon or Martin have any military service in their past. Too weak chinned to man a weapon. Which is fortunate, as they’d only succeed in shooting their fellow soldiers. Or themselves.”

Both men scowled but said no word against their leader.

Avery pushed away from the table. “I’m gonna take a piss.”

Rabastan rolled his eyes.

“Thanks for announcing it, idiot.”

Tom ignored the man’s departure, his gaze fixated ahead.

“So you’ve seen the armpit of society and decided it was time for more pleasant pastures,” Rodolphus continued leisurely. “Well, you certainly selected a most scenic venue.”

Tom drummed his fingers along the tabletop.

“I admit, the patients are far more pleasant this time around.”

“But you keep a professional distance,” Madam Lestrange spoke suddenly, causing her husband to glance up sharply. She paid him no mind. “I can tell you are not a man so easily distracted. In fact, I dare say you are one of the most focused individuals I’ve ever encountered.” She licked her lips. “And observant. You see things that others do not, don’t you Doctor?”

“Bella, luv-”

“There’s no need to beat around the bush any longer, darling.” Her gaze never wavered from Tom. “Doctor Riddle isn’t like the last. He isn’t like the others, either.” She tipped her head, the light catching off her ebony hair. “He’s a formidable ally to have. We shouldn’t insult him any further with our doublespeak.”

Her husband’s jaw flexed, but he remained silent, bringing his gaze forward. The other men at the table tensed, glancing at each other.

Tom fought back a grin, the thrill of victory racing along his skin, surging within his veins.

He’d placed his bet correctly.

Lord Lestrange may have control over the table.

But Mistress Lestrange had control over him.

And she liked Tom.

He’d managed to clear the largest hurdle. The one that had been hidden in plain sight. Most men would have disregarded her for her gender alone. Sought her husband’s approval instead, his money and title making him the brightest beacon in the room.

But Tom saw her. Saw the _real_ her. The creature dwelling beneath the metallic skin and razor claws.

And she saw her true self-reflected back in his dark gaze.

He imagined he was among the few, if not the very first, to accomplish such a Herculean task. Either way, he’d earned her attention. Her interest. She’d no doubt seek to wrap him as tightly around her finger as every other male in the room.

Tom welcomed the attempt. For the closer the drew him in, the closer she drew him into the fortress as well.

And the closer he got to his true target.

Tom wet his lips.

“I would be most grateful if we could drop this charade as well, Madam.”

Her teeth gleamed in the dim light.

“We like you, Doctor. But we did not invite you here for the sole pleasure of your company. Though I assure you, your company has been _most_ pleasurable.”

She winked, smile widening.

“The truth of the matter is the people in this room have a vested interest in the operations of the Girls’ Home you find yourself currently employed. We like to keep apprised of the day to day runnings of the facility, as well as the welfare of the residents themselves. The previous physician in your post worked closely with us, keeping us up to date on the matters most pertinent to our business.”

Tom tipped his head, muscles relaxed as a cat basking in the midday sun, a stark contrast to the men at his sides.

“And what business would that be exactly?”

She opened her mouth once more but was promptly silenced by her husband's hand squeezing her hip. Her ruby lips pressed into a thin line, agitation clear in her gaze.

"A philanthropic endeavor," he began, his other hand reaching into his jacket and extracting a cigar. "There is a great social injustice in this city. The orphanages are overrun, the slums grow more and more populated every year, homelessness is at an all-time high. Not only does this contribute to the spread of disease, poverty, and violence, it is a severe burden on our nation's financial resources. Our position of power is tenuous in light of social and economic advancements in the east, and even among our cousins in the west. It is only a matter of time before Great Britain is dethroned as the most powerful nation in the world. The fallout will be catastrophic. War. Murder in the streets. Utter chaos."

Tom blinked.

A beat.

He blinked again.

_You’ve got to be fucking kidding me._

Of all the contrived excuses and justifications he’d imagined hearing tonight, this certainly took the bullshite cake.

He opened his mouth, but it took a solid three seconds before his mind constructed something free of derision.

"It sounds like the end of the world as we know it." He had to pause to fight back an incredulous laugh. "Though it would seem you're working to prevent such a catastrophic event from occurring."

Rodolphus released his wife in order to clip the end of his cigar and light a match. She stood idly at his side, seemingly at ease, but her eyes glowed brightly with focused intent.

"We are helping eradicate the infestation at its source." He puffed the end of the cigar, smoke billowing proudly from his nose and mouth. "We're helping improve the circumstances of the most impoverished while securing prosperous relationships with international powers across the globe." Another puff. "We're protecting our great nation, doing our part to ensure she continues to thrive and prosper. It's not a medical hut in Ghana, but one may argue we are not able to help others until first helping ourselves."

Tom continued to blink, at a loss for words.

_Jesus Christ._

He cleared his throat, seamlessly finding his footing despite his utter disbelief.

"I would agree with that sentiment. There are plenty of issues plaguing our very city that have yet to be properly addressed. I am excited to learn more about your plight to alleviate the stress caused by this so-called… _infestation_.”

“Marvelous.” She sparked to life once more. “We would love to bring you into the fold, darling, however before we can go into details regarding our mission, we must obtain approval from our main investor.”

Tom froze in place, heart skipping a beat.

“Of course. May I ask who that would be?”

"You may ask anything you like of me, luv, for I am an open book. But unfortunately, our silent partner is quite the opposite. But don't worry, he insists on meeting all new associates in person. I have no doubt he'll be eager to speak with you very soon."

A powerful tremor raced along his spine. He disguised it by adjusting in his seat.

“I look forward to it.”

As if on cue, the door opened at the Lestranges’ backs. She spun around, brow raised.

“I see we have company.”

A sea of girls in black corsets and half masks hovered in the doorway.

“Hello, Mistress. Would you like for us to return?”

“Not at all, Mellie. Do come in.”

She spun on her heal as the women started to filter inside, gaze sweeping across the men seated around the table.

“I’ll leave you boys to your fun.” Her eyes alighted on Tom. “Do enjoy your evening, Doctor.”

He smiled. “I already am.”

She held his gaze a moment longer before stepping away, intent on departing the room before her husband pulled her back by the wrist. A scowl transformed her face before melting into a seductive grin as he brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles.

“Don’t stray too far, my love.”

She tipped her head. “I never do.”

Girls started crowding the vast room, obscuring Rodolphus from sight.

Before Tom lost visual of his wife her dark gaze flickered up and locked onto his.

Fire ignited in their depths.

His fists tightened on the table.

And then she was swallowed by the surging crowd.

* * *

“ _Who_ , Katie?”

A deafening beat.

“The Malfoys.”

And then the bottom dropped out of Hermione’s world.

She reared back, nearly toppling out of her seat.

“ _What_?”

Katie blinked.

“Do you know-”

“Are you certain?”

The blonde closed her mouth, nodding.

Hermione shook her head, eyes flickering around the room frantically, rendered blind in her rising panic.

_No._

_No…_

Suddenly the door swung open and both girls jolted, eyes wide and muscles tensed.

“Christ, there you are!” A familiar voice erupted.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief at the new entrant.

“You busy, Katie? I need to gather girls for-”

The speaker broke off, golden gaze expanding to comical proportions as it fastened to the room’s other occupant.

“Jesus Bloody Christ… _Hermione_?”

She tried to force a smile but the revelation from moments ago still had her reeling.

“Hello, Angie.”

The girl stepped fully into the room, closing the door part way before quickly crossing over.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” She glanced around the space. “Where’s Parv?”

“It’s just me tonight.”

Angie pinned her with the full intensity of her glare. “Are you _daft_?”

“Closer to insane, really.”

“This isn’t a joke!” She grabbed Hermione’s arm, starting to pull her towards the exit. “You have _got_ to get out of here right fucking now, before-”

The door opened once more.

They all froze.

A man stood in the frame, smiling widely as his gaze darted between them.

"Well, what sort of party is this, and why isn't it occurring in our room?"

Angie went rigid beside her even as her lips curved into an easy grin.

“Jon, darling, I was just rounding up some treats for you and the boys.”

He licked his lips. “I can see that.”

His eyes roamed Hermione from bottom to top with such slow calculation it made her skin crawl as though fingers were trailing along her flesh.

“Excellent choice. She’ll be perfect for Dolohov.”

Hermione swayed precariously on her feet, spots appearing before her vision. The man was oblivious to her visceral reaction, eyes already fastened to Katie.

“Catrina, my luv. You look absolutely stunning tonight. You’re coming to the private party, aren't you?”

Katie swallowed lightly before smiling.

“Of course, Jon.”

“Superb.” He held out a hand, prompting Katie to step forward and place her dainty hand in his.

His fingers slid up, ensnaring her wrist.

Hermione blinked, the phantom sensation of the Doctor’s hand around her own wrist causing her arm to jolt.

And yet the image before her was completely different.

Completely sinister.

She gasped lightly when Angie squeezed her arm.

"Go out the back," she whispered lowly, barely audible over the blood pounding through her ears. Hermione started to nod, only for the well-dressed stranger to draw their focus once more.

“What’s your name, precious?”

Hermione wet her lips, chest vibrating with mounting hysteria.

“Penelope.”

He flashed a wicked grin.

“Oh, yes, he’ll love you for sure.”

His eyes flickered to her companion.

“Come along, Angie, luv. We’ve been waiting far too long.”

Angie released a pained breath as he led Katie from the room. The blonde glanced over her shoulder just before they turned the corner, her eyes meeting Hermione’s.

The message was clear.

Run.

But it was too late.

“Hermione, you need to go, I’ll find a way to cover for-”

“No.”

She took a deep, steadying breath, hands fisting at her sides.

“If I don’t attend he’ll send someone to look for me. I can hardly jump into a carriage wearing nothing but this. There won’t be time to change back. Not going will only cause a bigger stir, potentially alerting the Lestranges to my presence.”

Angie shook her head. “You don’t know the type of men in that group-”

“I do actually.”

She met the girl's surprised gaze head-on.

“I came here with one of them.”

She gently pulled her arm free of the young woman’s clutches.

“And I need to speak with him. Immediately.”

Angie stepped back. “This is a terrible idea.”

Hermione released a sharp laughed, edged in steel and laced with poison.

“It would seem my life is comprised of nothing but these last few days.”

She gestured to the open door.

“Lead the way.”

* * *

Parvati flicked her cigarette with added gusto, body drawn tight, eyes narrowed ahead at a barren patch of brick.

She’d spent the better part of the last hour seething in the courtyard, burning through half a dozen cloves and billowing smoke like a chimney set to burst.

Hermione had gone behind her back _again_ , after making the explicit promise to keep Parvati apprised of everything after she’d identified Lavender’s body without her.

She swallowed thickly, flicking more ashes to the side, shaking her head.

Worse yet, she’d confided in Luna about her plan to sneak out, without leaving so much as a note behind.

Lavender had been Parvati’s best friend long before any of them came along. Certainly before their third roommate joined the fold.

If anyone should be traipsing about the city hunting down the bastard killer, it should be _her_. Hermione was denying Parvati her due justice. Pushing her to the side like she was an errant little sister, nagging and in the way.

“Fucking ridiculous.”

She threw the cigarette down on the pavement, grinding it with her heel.

Parvati had grown up in one of the roughest neighborhoods in all of London. She's wandered and worked the streets with no protection beyond her own wit and survival instinct, doing everything in her power to earn money for her sister’s treatment. She’d tasted the stale sweat of desperation on the back of her tongue and swallowed too many bitter pills to count.

And then she’d lost everything. Her entire family in the space of a few months.

By the time she entered the doors of the Home, she'd been a shell of a person. Hollowed out by grief, misery, and loss. Immune to most everything, including kindness and empathy. She didn't trust such things. People always expected something in return. Nothing in this life was free. Least of all love.

She’d been suited in armor, wielding sharp claws and snapping teeth.

The other residents had been terrified of her, afraid to so much as meet her eye little less bump into her in the hallway.

So they’d all steered clear.

All of them except for Lavender.

The energetic blonde had harbored no reservations about plopping down into the booth across from Parvati during breakfast on her first official day as a resident. She'd stuck her hand out across the table and introduced herself with a proud flick of her blonde hair, eyes bright and smile wide. She hadn't been phased by Parvati's tight-lipped countenance, nor rebuffed by her refusal to shake her hand.

Instead, she'd chatted on endlessly about the most trivial of topics while munching away at her eggs and toast, making scandalous jokes all the while, as though they were the oldest of friends.

As though they were sisters.

Parvati had leaped from the table and stormed out of the dining hall halfway through the meal, unable to stomach the girl's radiant presence for a second more.

Unable to pretend everything was fine. Everything was normal. As though she didn’t have a gaping hole in her heart that caused her pulse to quicken and knees to weaken at the mere _thought_ of her lost twin. As though the other half of her very soul hadn’t been stripped away and thrown into a heap of naked bodies and burned in a pit without so much as God for a witness.

No. Lavender had been nothing but a beam of sunlight strewn across a dying, decayed garden. The warmth she provided served no purpose, made no difference.

And then they’d become roommates.

Parvati had been livid, storming into the Toad’s office with clenched fists and bared teeth demanding her privacy back.

She’d never been so thankful for their Matron’s chronic disregard and neglect.

For her demands and pleas had been met by deaf, uncaring ears, and Lavender had moved into the room that very same day.

And steadily worked her way under Parvati’s skin.

Within a few short months Parvati was no longer cringing at the sound of the girl’s singing voice as she got ready each morning, or the smell of the perfume she dabbed on her pulse points before slipping out of the dorm. She no longer threw a fit over finding long blonde hairs clinging to her bedding, her clothes, mixing with the dust on their countertops.

She found herself taking comfort in all those things. The gentle reminder that she wasn’t alone. That someone else was there. Someone who cared. Though Parvati couldn’t for the life of her figure out why. She was not an easy person to get along with, and she certainly never made it easy for the perpetually cheery girl to get to know her.

But Lavender had kept at it, her easy and bright demeanor covering her hard as nails, determined core. She never gave up on Parvati. She had fought for the right to become her friend. Her confidante.

Her sister.

And then when she needed Parvati the most, when it had finally been time for Parvati to repay all the debts she owed the girl, she hadn’t been there to protect her.

Someone had snuffed out the brightest lights in the known universe like it was nothing. Like Lavender was nothing.

And everyone in the outside world seemed just fine with letting them get away with it.

Her knuckles cracked as she clenched her fists at her sides.

Lavender was _her_ friend, _her_ responsibility, _hers_ to take care of and _hers_ to protect.

Not Hermione’s.

And yet here it was, the dead of night and Parvati was imprisoned within the Home with no clue what was going on beyond these dark, oppressive walls.

While Hermione went and played detective.

It was a betrayal of the highest order.

Parvati spun on her heel, muscles clenched tight as she stormed back into the building, only masking the sound of her footsteps once she reached the upper landing leading to the dorms.

A part of her welcomed Filch catching her. She was certainly worked up for a fight, desperate for an outlet, and feared reaching the dorms in this state. Luna didn’t deserve her ire.

And yet when she saw the male figure at the end of the hall all thoughts of picking a row evaded her mind as quickly as her breath.

She slid into the shadows, ducking low, waiting for the crippled, embittered caretaker to pass.

Only the footfalls that met her ears weren’t the right sound. Weren’t broken or dragging.

Parvati blinked, eyes narrowing as she strained to make out the figure in the darkness.

She gasped lightly as she realized the male was much larger than Filch. Much, much larger.

And he was heading straight for the dorms with a determined step, pace quick and certain.

Adrenaline surged through her veins as the hulking figure turned the corner.

She didn’t think, didn’t hesitate.

Instead, she sprung from her hiding spot.

And gave chase.

* * *

It was a small blessing the man who walked in on their impromptu gathering wasn’t someone who had previously laid eyes on Hermione in person.

If Dolohov had been the one to find her without a mask on, holed up in the _flogging room_ , half dressed and in the company of two other women no less, her evening would be taking a _much_ different turn.

As it stood, she once again had her mask firmly affixed to the top half of her face, gleaming hair gathered over one shoulder to allow the thick curtain of curls to hide her profile from view.

If she could stay out of the Lestranges' direct line of sight she was confident they wouldn’t recognize her. It had been many years since they’d gazed upon her, and never with her hair down.

_Never half naked, either._

She smothered a groan, hands clenched at her sides as she followed Angie down a dark, narrow hallway to the sole door at the other end.

Her heart thudded painfully as she realized Dolohov would be an entirely different story.

He’d never seen her with her hair down either… well, not fully down, anyway. He’d certainly pulled her bun loose as he threw her into the wall. But if he glimpsed her for even a moment he was certain to recognize her by her lips and chin alone.

She gazed at Angie.

“There’s a man I need to avoid. If he sees me… it’ll be bad.”

The girl’s expression tensed.

“Which one?”

She wet her lips tentatively. “Dolohov.”

Angie closed her eyes briefly.

“Fan-fucking-tastic. You’re just his type. The entire reason Avery insisted you come in the first place.”

Hermione felt a wave of nausea seize her. Angie’s keen gaze watched her carefully.

“Wait… you aren’t his type…” she cocked her head. “You’re the one, aren’t you?”

Hermione blinked, heart lurching. “The one?”

“Every bloke has a _one_.”

Hermione continued to stare at her in bemusement.

“Every guy has a type, which stems from his obsession with _the one_ … the first bird who turned his head. Or stole his heart.”

She arched a dark brow. “The dame who got away. So he mends the wound by laying claim to birds who remind him of her.”

Hermione swallowed the rising lump in her throat.

“If I’m his one, I’ll fill my pockets with stones and throw myself into the Thames this very evening.”

Angie smirked.

“Definitely the one. Men love a challenge. You probably drive blokes up the wall and back.”

Hermione averted her gaze forward once more.

“I just need to avoid him.”

Angie nodded. “I’ll try and help. But you need to get in and out as fast as you can.”

“Trust me, I have no desire to linger.”

They stopped before the door, sitting ajar from Avery and Katie’s recent entrance. A chorus of voices could be heard within, a collection of boisterous male dialogue and distinctly feminine laughter.

_Please let there be enough people to hide among…_

Angie pulled the door open.

And down the rabbit hole they fell.

* * *

A seemingly endless stream of scantily clad young women flooded the room, filling every corner, taking up every inch of space, filling Tom’s lungs with a cloud of stale sweat and toxic floral perfume.

He groaned in annoyance as a pretty redhead tried to seat herself upon his lap.

He gently pushed her aside, taking to his feet and buttoning his jacket, striding quickly for the drink cart at the opposite end of the room.

His mind was still spinning, nerves stretched tight.

The last thing he wanted to worry about now was fending off the advancements of tip hungry brothel workers.

He had nothing against their chosen profession. He was practically raised by the prostitutes in the slums, most of them more attentive to him than his own mother. He understood that women had few options when fallen on hard times. He detested the Johns more than the workers.

But he had an aversion to being touched, least of all pawed at. And his quota for play acting was reaching its limit. He could only feign congenial indifference for so long before his true nature unleashed itself on some hapless young woman just trying to make a living.

He filled his glass to the brim with a dark brown whiskey, teeth clenching as the door opened again and even more girls piled in, eager eyes darting around the walls before quickly saddling themselves to one of the men in the room.

Tom was the only one who stood alone.

They quickly descended.

 _Fuck_.

He turned around, a polite dismissal primed on his lips when the door opened a third time. His eyes were drawn to the newest additions by some invisible force.

A familiar warmth pressing into the center of his chest.

He swallowed thickly, dread sinking to the pit of his stomach before his eyes even found her.

But the moment he had her within his sights he could see nothing else.

The rest of the crowd fell away. Fire burst to life within him.

But he was too far away to intercept...

For Ms. Granger had just joined the party.

And she was about to be devoured alive by circling beasts.

* * *

Hermione had never felt herself teeter so close to a complete and total nervous breakdown.

The only thing that kept her upright was Angie’s strong hand at her arm pulling her along and through the fray.

There were girls everywhere. A small comfort, as she felt she blended in quite well with her disguise.

But there were also men everywhere. More than she’d been expecting. She’d hoped the Lestranges would be out on the floor, that perhaps she’d strike it lucky and Dolohov would already be shacked up in a private room.

But of course, she wasn't afforded such good fortune.

Not since the fire.

“Stay away from Dolohov’s side of the room and I’ll try and keep his gaze averted.”

Hermione nodded quickly, heart lodged in her throat, rendering her effectively mute.

“Which bloke are you trying to talk to?”

She swallowed thickly, trying to glance around the room while keeping her face tipped down and her hair swept forward.

She didn’t see the Doctor.

_Shite!_

Perhaps he wasn't here. The Club was massive, how was she supposed to find him now?

“I don’t-”

She stopped short as a booming voice echoed from behind them.

“There’s my girl!”

Hermione went rigid as a board as Angie released her spun gracefully on her heal.

“Hello, my Lord.”

Hermione’s stomach clenched.

“You did a fantastic job, sweetheart.” Rabastan weaved his arm around Angie’s narrow waist and drew her flush against him, hungry mouth quickly descending on her. Hermione swayed on her feet, placing a hand at her abdomen and another at her lower back to keep herself steady.

Draco’s uncle was standing mere feet away from her.

A mere head turn from exposing her to the room and all of its bloodthirsty predators.

_God help me._

She took an instinctive step away, intent on fleeing to anywhere but here- only to be drawn back by the powerful leash of his voice.

“Where are you going, beautiful?”

She halted, frozen as marble.

_Maybe he’s talking to someone else._

“You, with the curls and tight arse, what’s your name, luv?”

She flushed hotly, face still averted.

“She’s new, my Lord.” Angie’s voice was sugary sweet at her back. “This is her first night. Let’s give her some time to gain her footing and grab another girl.”

Rabastan scoffed. “The only way to learn is to dive in head first. Besides, you know I like them fresh.” She heard him drawn near, her body pulsating in time to her rapid heart. “I don’t recognize you, did my brother hire you?”

She nodded, dipping her head down further and allowing her hair to blanket her face entirely. He chuckled, leather boots coming into view of her downcast gaze.

“Shy. No wonder he wanted you. He likes em demure.” A large hand reached for her face, intent on tipping her chin up. Spots appeared before her vision.

_This is it._

She braced herself for her imminent demise.

“You _do_ seem familiar though…”

She felt her knees start to give out-

Another hand intercepted, clasping Rabastan’s wrist and halting it less than an inch from her trembling chin.

Rabastan drew back, spine rigid.

“What the- oh, Doc, didn’t see you there.”

Her heart exploded inside her chest, blood surging through her limbs so rapidly she felt dizzy with it.

“Didn’t mean to startle you, Lestrange.”

The hand released his thick wrist. She averted her eyes to the ground once more, hoping beyond hope if she remained completely motionless she’d fade from sight entirely.

"You having a good time?" Rabastan stepped back further, facing the other man head-on. "Why don't you have a bird yet? There are over thirty girls here, mate, surely there's at least one to your liking."

A heavy pause.

“One that you can have that is.”

Hermione blinked.

Dark boots came into view, taking a measured step in her direction.

“Funny you should mention that.”

Another step towards her.

"I had my eyes on this very one. But I see you were intent on taking her for yourself. Please, don't let me interrupt."

Pale hands came into view next, peeking through black sleeves, purple veins stretched taut across clenched fists.

She recognized those hands as well as she recognized the voice.

She unconsciously swayed towards him, drawn by the shelter and safety he represented.

“I think she likes you.”

Rabastan’s voice held a note of unmistakable bitterness.

“Seems you have that effect on most women.”

The blood surging through her ears muffled their words. She fought the urge to flee to the Doctor’s side outright.

“I assure you, my effect on women is usually quite the opposite. I’m told I have a rather abrupt bedside manner.”

Rabastan puffed his chest out, stepping back and sliding his arm around Angie’s waist once more.

“Be my guest. Take her. She’s too tame for my liking anyhow.” He leaned down, nipping playfully at the slender column of Angie’s throat. “I just wanted to see the kittens play together. No matter.” He drew to his full height. “We’ll grab another one.” He nodded once. “Have fun, Doctor.”

The fists slowly relaxed.

“I intend to.”

And then the oppressive presence at her side dissipated. She glanced up at the last second, not at the Doctor, but at Rabastan’s retreating figure. Angie glanced over his broad shoulder with wide eyes, golden gaze flickering between Hermione and the man beside her, expression wrought.

Hermione nodded quickly in assurance. Angie breathed a sigh of obvious relief before facing forward once more, allowing her patron to lead her towards the back of the room where heavy partitions surrounded beds and chaise lounges.

Hermione released a long, tenuous breath, finally turning to face her savior.

And felt a chill lace her spine.

He was clad in pitch, the gleaming onyx of his mask reflecting her own pale visage.

She looked more ghostly than the floating apparition.

She wet her lips, the rigid line of his tall body and unforgiving set of his sharp jaw making him far more sinister than the male she’d just evaded.

“I-”

“Quiet.”

She gasped as his hand shot up and ensnared her naked bicep with lightning reflexes. She barely had time to gape before he was hauling her across the room.

She released a string of broken sounds before he shot a lethal glare over his shoulder, rendering her fully mute.

Only to choke on her gasp as Dolohov appeared from the ether, materializing before their path with a girl on each arm.

“Shite,” she heard him hiss under his breath, blinking in numb panic as he halted his tracks immediately and spun to face her.

Heat tore through her entire body as his hands grasped her hips and pushed her back. She shuffled blindly over the tiles before her spine hit the wall. She stared up at him in shock, Dolohov long forgotten in the wake of this new chaos unleashing within and around her.

The Doctor pressed his body into hers, flattening her against the wall and effectively shielding her from sight. He dipped his head down, lips hovering at her ear.

"You are exceedingly idiotic, Ms. Granger," he whispered harshly, whiskey-scented breath cascading over her bare shoulder and decolletage. "I take back any and every compliment I've ever paid regarding your intellect."

She stiffened in outrage, which only pressed her more firmly into his frame. He, in turn, leaned his weight into her, causing the breath to expel from her lungs while his warmth permeated her limbs to feverish proportions.

“If you knew even _half_ of what I’ve been through tonight-”

“Nothing could justify the stupidity of knowingly entering a room filled with men who can identify you by your voice alone.”

She flushed even hotter as embarrassment set in.

"I didn't think I had much choice! Avery found me and demanded I come to the party. I didn't realize I was walking into Caligula's den or I would have run in the opposite direction!"

“Keep your bloody voice down!” He drew his head back just enough to meet her eyes. Their masks collided.

“You’re going to leave this room immediately. It’s far more important you find-”

“I already found her.”

He blinked. The hands still clutching her hips squeezed. She swallowed lightly, breaking his intense gaze to gather her bearings.

She couldn’t see anything beyond the dark wall of his body. She felt claustrophobic, overheated-

“Did you find out anything pertinent?”

She blinked again. Silver eyes and pale blonde hair flashed before her mind’s eye unbidden. She cringed away from the phantom image, pain alighting in her chest. The Doctor raised a dark brow, one hand releasing her hip to gently clasp her chin, tipping her head up and forcing their eyes to meet.

“Hermione?”

She sagged into the wall.

“Did you find out anything useful?”

She nodded mutely.

He sighed, releasing her face and peering over his shoulder.

“Good. That means you can leave.”

Her shoulders drew back by their own accord.

“Wait, I-”

“You came here for one purpose and you’ve accomplished that task.” He gazed at her anew, wearing more than one mask. “The longer you linger the more you put yourself and this entire mission at risk.”

Her jaw clenched.

“Fine.”

Yet he made no move to release her.

“There’s too many of Lestrange’s guests swarming the floor. They’ll notice anyone trying to slip out.”

She swallowed, pulse thumping faster than a war drum, fear quickly replacing the anger.

“What should I do?”

A scowl twisted his features for a half beat, though she suspected it wasn’t in response to her question as much as it was to his coming response.

“You need to hide.” He glanced over his other shoulder, muscles tensing against her as he spotted something of interest. “We’re going to lie low behind a partition until more of the men retire for the evening.”

She blinked rapidly, mouth opening and closing. But before she could even think of what to say he stepped back, taking all of his warmth with him and leaving her trembling in its wake. He grasped her wrist and wrapped the other arm around her waist, pulling her fully into his side while he marched them along the wall and towards the other end of the room.

She gasped lightly as she spotted Dolohov not far off. She buried her face in the Doctor’s side, overcome by his heady scent. It filled her lungs and constricted the blood vessels, the pressure building within her maddening.

The wall of partitions was within sight. Silhouettes could be seen through the off-white barriers, the sordid acts playing out leaving her vibrating in her skin, the fear and anxiety overwhelming.

But his arm tightened around her, as though he heard the moment her resolve snapped. He kept her upright with the strength in his forearm alone, half dragging her behind an open space at the end of the row.

The moment they turned the corner inside he released her. She choked on a sob as she started to fall, impact with the hard floor imminent- only to land in a graceless heap atop a plush chaise, bouncing once as her hair flew across her face and lodged itself halfway down her throat.

She swiped manically, clearing her airway and brushing the errant locks aside.

Only to meet his fiery gaze.

He towered above her, the line of his body blocking out the dim gaslights, casting them into shadow, only his gleaming, wild gaze visible in the sentient darkness.

“You risked _everything_ by setting foot in this room tonight.”

Her nails dug into the velvet upholstery beneath her bare thighs.

“I risked _everything_ by setting foot inside this _Club_.” She leaned forward, voice as venomous as the blood surging through her veins. “My reputation, my inheritance, my chance at medical school, my _life_.”

He blinked. She pushed ahead, the air crackling around her as though charged by her fury.

“It’s so easy for you, isn’t it? Being born a male in the world’s most powerful nation. You’ll never know what it is to truly be powerless. To truly be at another’s mercy for simply being born the wrong gender. To be denied even the chance at an opportunity because you are viewed as inherently weak, inherently worthless.”

She lurched to her feet, closing the distance between them with a wide step. He continued to gaze down at her, unmoved. She tamped down a feral scream. “If you were exposed tonight the worst that could happen is a slap on the wrist, perhaps you’d have to find a new post. At worse move to a new city and begin again. They’d never risk killing a man of title. A man of connections.” She swallowed heavily, settling back on her heels.

“If I were caught- if I _am_ caught- they’d have absolutely no qualms about slitting my throat as well. I’m just as expendable as Lavender was, as all the residents are. I’m an unmarried orphan with no dowry, so therefore I’m useless, useless to them and to society at large. They could dump my body in the river and business would continue on as usual. They’d fill my bed with a new cast off and the cycle would continue on and on and-”

“Hermione.”

She jolted as he grasped both her arms, falling silent at once.

“You’ve made your point. Quite passionately. Now keep your voice down while I lick my wounds.”

She blinked.

Then scowled.

“You hardly appear wounded.”

“As you learned the other night, I’m quite skilled at hiding my scars.”

She blinked again, expression softening rapidly. “That isn’t fair. I’m still angry.”

He smirked, hands continuing to brace her at either side.

“I can see that. And if we weren’t in the heart of the snake pit trying to avoid detection, I would unabashedly provoke you further if only to hear you speak with such vibrant conviction.”

Heat burst at her center, racing a smoldering path across her chest and along her neck. She swallowed thickly.

“I become quite animated when under duress.”

He raised a brow, smirk lifting higher. “Is that so? How fascinating.”

She ground her teeth. “Don’t tease.”

His smirk fell, eyes glowing from within with a bright intensity that hypnotized her on the spot. She swayed precariously on her feet, pressing her hands to his chest to steady herself. The moment her palm flattened against his shirt he reared back as though burned by her touch.

She gaped in confusion and scorching humiliation as he released her arms and stepped out of her reach. His chest heaved for several stuttered heartbeats, as though he'd lost his breath.

She shook her head dazedly, running a hand over the lower half of her face, wishing desperately the mask covered her entirely, that she had a private wall to hide behind, even from him.

Especially from him.

She suddenly became hyper-aware of her outfit.

She gazed down at her exposed flesh, trembling anew with rising panic.

_This is madness… what am I doing?_

She started to back away quickly, only to bump into the chaise and topple sideways onto it, bouncing off the cushions and toppling to the hard ground.

_Fucking hell!_

He was at her side in an instant, extending his hand without a word. She glared at the offering and averted her face, scrambling on her hands and knees to gain her footing. She heard him release a sharp breath, his annoyance nearly as palpable as her own before he leaned over and slid his arm around her middle, hoisting her up as though she weighed nothing. The moment her heels made contact with the ground she twisted away from his grasp.

He set his jaw, watching her from his side of the chaise with seething calculation.

She raised her chin.

Good.

_Let him know how it feels to have his touch denied._

And then she blinked.

The burning sentiment was obscene.

Their entire argument was obscene.

This entire _night_ was obscene.

She shook her head, muscles relaxing, shoulders dropping, and ran her hands through her hair, pulling at the roots with a frustrated sigh.

He obviously detected the change in her posture, the surrender in her gaze, for a moment later he too transformed before her eyes, his gaze no longer lethal, the onyx mask far less sinister.

She held his unwavering stare for another series of racing heartbeats before collapsing onto the chaise in a more controlled manner, weary down to her bones.

When he finally broke the silence his voice seemed to echo off every wall, filling her head entirely, driving away the sounds of the party and passionate couplings occurring mere feet away.

“We need a drink.”

She blinked, head snapping up. “What?”

He nodded towards the table in the corner. It was adorned with a miniature decanter and a single low ball glass.

She shook her head.

“I don’t drink.”

“Doctor’s orders.”

He crossed the small space and picked up the crystal vessel, unstopping the cork and bringing the spout under his nose.

“I believe this is Scotch.”

She tilted her head, examining his masked profile.

“You can tell just by the scent?”

“One of Scotch’s most recognizable flavors is derived from phenols, which happen to carry a very distinctive aroma.” He flashed a wry smirk. “You’ll recognize the scent as well. It’s quite medicinal.”

She rubbed her palms along her thighs. She felt cold now that she wasn’t running around the Club or fearing for her life.

He poured two fingers into the glass and walked slowly to her side. He held the drink out, hand steady, eyes gleaming.

“Tell me what you smell.”

She wet her lips, taking the glass without argument. She swallowed tentatively before finally tearing her gaze away and bringing the liquid to her nose.

She closed her eyes and inhaled.

And then promptly averted her face, nostrils and eyes stinging.

His deep chuckle was slow, endearing, causing her skin to flush rather than her hackles to rise.

“It smells like disinfectant. Mixed with wood stain. Mixed with gasoline.”

She opened her eyes, vision hazy with tears brought forth by the irritant. He tipped his head, grin revealing a perfect row of white teeth.

“That about sums it up. Take a sip.”

She scoffed, holding the glass back out.

“I think not.”

He moved as though to take the glass, but the moment his hand met hers his fingers slid higher, encasing her wrist and gently pushing her arm in.

His smile fell, eyes shimmering like moonlight on water.

“Taste it, Hermione.”

She swallowed desperately, throat tightening.

And brought the glass to her lips with a trembling hand. Her bottom teeth clanked against the crystal before her lips pillowed the rim, tipping the bottom up just enough for a small portion of liquor to pool on her tongue.

He continued to hold her gaze steady as his hand held firmly to her wrist, thumb pressing against her pounding pulse.

The liquid burned, setting her tongue aflame. She swallowed the mouthful on instinct, desperate to expel it from her taste buds.

The path it burned down her throat was even more torturous. She barely stifled a gag, coughing into the back of her hand instead.

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t smile.

He edged closer, thigh brushing her shoulder, the warmth of his body washing over her in luxurious waves.

“The first taste always burns.” His thumb stroked the inside of her wrist. “The second is meant to be savoured.”

She blinked rapidly, a tear streaming from the corner of her eye. He reached out with his other hand and wiped it away. Her breath caught in her throat, gaze caught by his eyes.

And then he was pulling her wrist up, the glass inching towards her mouth yet again. She offered no resistance, lips clasping over the rim and she took a second convulsive swallow.

This time she was able to hold his gaze the entire time. Fire ignited in the pit of her stomach.

But instead of racing its way up her esophagus, it flooded the lower half of her body.

Her thighs clenched.

“Drink the rest.”

His voice was barely above a whisper. Barely discernible for the gravel lacing every word.

She did as bade, closing her eyes to tip the glass back entirely, finding perverse pleasure in the scorching flame that consumed her from the inside out.

She lowered the glass to her lap, arms falling limp, her entire body feeling wonderfully pliant, the crushing weight of her evening evaporating in the rising steam.

“Good girl.”

It sounded more purr than spoken word and served to relax her further.

She licked her lips, gazing ahead unseeing, tasting the bitter tang of the alcohol lingering in her mouth. A drop had pooled at the corner and started to fall.

His hand lowered again, thumb swiping across her bottom lip and catching the bead of amber liquid. Her eyes snapped up, gaze hooded, focusing upon the steady rise and fall of his chest as he brought his hand up and licked the moisture from his thumb.

She released a sharp breath, vision hazing. She told herself it was the alcohol.

But feared it wasn’t.

He released her from his thrall as he stepped back, crossing to the side table and pouring another measure of Scotch, nearly double the amount of before. She bit her lip as he brought the glass to his own mouth and tipped it back, lips covering the imprint of her own on the crystal. She watched his throat bob as he swallowed the contents without hesitation, lowering the glass as though he’d just downed water.

He held the crystal before his eyes, turning it over carefully, examining the etchings with idle detachment.

She gripped handfuls of velvet, writhing lightly in her seat. Liquid warmth pooled low in her stomach, turning her molten, terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.

His head slowly turned, turbulent gaze meeting hers before starting a slow descent down her body. Her skin burned with phantom sensation, nerve endings firing to life as though fingertips traced the same path of his gaze.

And then his eyes lingered on her legs. Bare but for the see-through stockings, the dark line of her garters disappearing beneath the shortened bloomers. Her thighs were crossed tightly. She squirmed against the cushion, trying desperately to alleviate the insurmountable pressure building within.

He swallowed heavily.

And started to take a step in her direction.

Only to halt abruptly, as though colliding with an invisible barrier.

His cheeks were flushed, eyes gleaming otherworldly as he met her gaze with an almost pained expression.

“We need to get you out of here.”

She inhaled sharply, lungs starved for oxygen, and nodded quickly.

He set the empty glass aside and strode for the partition, glancing around the other side. A moment later he drew back in.

“It’s safe for you to leave.”

She blinked. His back was still facing her. She rose to her feet on shaky legs.

“I-”

“Go now. Hurry. Remember to keep your face down. You’re not free until you’re free, do you understand?”

She blinked again, noticing the hard line of his shoulders, the rigidness of his stance.

Her chest ached something terrible. She pressed her hand to the center, nodding mutely. He seemed to interpret her silence as acquiescence. She started to exit the space, only to glance at him over her shoulder once more, hoping for something, anything, more.

“Change clothes and grab a carriage around back,” he continued, gaze still averted. “I’ll meet you in twenty minutes.”

She swallowed heavily, tears brimming in her eyes.

She shook her head at her own foolishness, her childish reaction. She’d accomplished so much this night, been so proud of herself, only to have it all ripped away in the space of a heartbeat.

The Scotch turned to vitriol in her stomach.

She turned away, awash with heat, and darted into the main room.

So focused on her escape, she failed to notice the keen set of eyes watching from the corner, hellfire alighting in their depths.

* * *

Parvati held her breath as she tiptoed down the dark corridor, hot in pursuit of the mysterious visitor.

It wasn't unheard of for men to wander about the Home at night. Cormac had certainly broken in enough times. And before that, a random string of would-be beaus had made the adventurous journey through an open window or under a loose post in the gate, all eager to vie for the vivacious Lavender's interest.

Only a handful of other residents were likely candidates for sneaking in an evening caller.

But for some reason, the situation didn't feel right. This wasn't some bumbling, nervous young man who glanced anxiously over his shoulder or stumbled down the wrong hall.

This was a full grown man, massive shoulders confidently set back and large fists clenched at his sides as he strode through the building like he owned the place.

The stranger knew exactly where he was going, which route to take.

And more terrifying yet, he was heading for the same floor as Parvati’s dorm.

She swallowed thickly.

_It can’t be._

She kept waiting for him to change course, to double back, but he gave no indication of turning around.

He hit the final staircase and her heart leaped into her throat.

She waited until he rounded the steps and then sprung from the shadows, clutching the banister tightly as she jotted up the steps as quietly as she could. She knew exactly which floorboards to avoid, which frayed patch of carpet caught on the soles of shoes, tiny details that only a resident would have garnered.

The man knew which route to take, but clearly, he'd never stepped foot inside the building before, for he kept knocking into tables and portraits as he tried to fit his massive frame through the narrow hall.

Parvati barely stifled a scream as the lightning crashed outside, illuminating the stranger in bright light as he stood before the window directly across from her room.

Her back collided with the wall as she began to shake uncontrollably.

No…

It couldn’t be.

_How did he find me?_

Terror seized her by the throat, rendering her limp and lifeless, a doll held aloft by strings, dangling at the joints.

The Boogeyman was back.

And he was hunting for her.

His haunting, scarred visage fell into utter darkness as the sky plunged into a black abyss once more, the booming thunder vibrating the walls and rattling her chest.

His massive paw clutched the handle-

And turned.

As he stepped into her bedroom only one thought came to mind.

 _Luna_.

She tore down the hall with a feral scream, gaining his attention as he crossed the threshold. He blinked in confusion, her slight form barely discernible in the shadows until she leaped forward like a cat, claws extended, nails scratching down his face and along his ham hock arms.

He shouted in surprise, staggering, wide back colliding with the dresser and knocking over perfume bottles and hairbrushes.

Parvati was in a wild trance, kicking and swinging with all her might, snarling like a feral beast, only distantly aware of the girl stirring at her back, sitting up in bed and gasping at the sight playing out in the center of the room.

The intruder finally caught his bearings, lunging forward with an annoyed grunt, muscled arm sweeping a wide arc and knocking Parvati clear off her feet.

She flew through the air, braid whipping past her face, and collided hard with the footboard of Lavender’s bed. She gasped in pain, crumpling to the floor, trying to get her hands under her to rise.

But he reached her in a single stride, mud-caked boots filling her watery vision before a hand grabbed the back of her neck and wrenched her to her feet.

He snarled in her face. She hissed back.

He blinked, tilting his head, grip tightening painfully against the top of her spine.

“Well aren’t you a feisty little thing?”

He smirked, sharp, yellow teeth gleaming in the candlelight.

“Too bad you’re not the one I came for.”

Parvati blinked, tears streaming down her face as her eyes darted frantically to the room’s third occupant.

She opened her mouth, meeting Luna’s wide, terrified gaze, and screamed with the full force of her lungs-

“Run!”

Luna scrambled from the bed, pale legs tangled in the white sheets, losing her balance in her mad dash.

The man groaned, shaking his head.

“Little cunts. More trouble than you’re worth.”

And then a massive fist collided with Parvati’s stomach, pushing the wind from her in a violent whoosh and filling her vision with explosive red.

His hand released her neck and she fell like a ton of bricks, curling in on herself, clutching her battered abdomen with a keening cry.

Luna found her footing.

But she didn’t flee for safety.

_Of course not._

Parvati watched in abject misery as Luna picked up one of Hermione’s many books and launched it at the giant’s head. He easily dodged the projectile, laughing deep in his throat, clearly intrigued by the night’s turn of events.

“He didn’t tell me you’d be so fun to play with.” He licked his lips. “Unfortunately, I was given strict instructions not to harm you.”

He walked to Parvati’s side, crouching down and stroking her sweat dampened hair in an obscenely loving gesture.

“However, I was given no such order when it comes to your pretty little friend.” He wound her dark braid around his hand like a leash, pulling her tear stained face off the ground, shaking her head for emphasis. “I can do whatever the fuck I want to _her_.”

Luna covered her face with her hands, tears glistening in the candle flame.

“Please!” Her voice cracked. “I’ll do whatever you want, please don’t hurt her!”

He hummed. “I thought that would quiet you down.”

And then smirked, brow arching as he gazed more closely at Parvati's pain crumpled visage.

“You look mighty familiar, pretty one. Have we met before?”

She attempted to spit at him but had a poor angle, her saliva hit the ground and strung across her chin instead.

He laughed.

“I like you a lot. Maybe I’ll come back round later. What do you say?”

“Fuck you!"

“That’s the plan.”

She started to scream anew, only for his fist to collide with the side of her head. This hit wasn’t as hard as the first, but it dazed her enough to render her mute, vision fading in and out as stars appeared before her eyes.

“Please!” Luna sobbed, stepping closer. “I’ll go with you!”

_Luna, no!_

But Parvati couldn’t speak, her teeth had cut the inside of her cheek and her mouth was filling with blood. It ran down the back of her throat, choking her. She could barely make out Luna’s shape in the dimming haze.

“Please leave her alone! I’ll come!”

“That’s a good girl.”

The monster released Parvati’s braid. She heard him stand, felt the vibration of his heavy boots against the wood floor.

Luna was trembling so hard she was practically spastic. He seized her thin arm and pulled her into his body.

“He told me you were a clever one. But you can’t be that smart, or you’d have run.”

She wept silently, eyes fixed on Parvati, who was attempting to crawl across the floor to get to them.

“Goddamn, look at that.” He licked his lips. “Christ, I like this one. I’m definitely coming back for her.”

But she was too dizzy to continue moving in a straight line. She tipped to the side, winded and dazed, reaching out a shaking arm. Luna reached forward at the same moment, their fingers colliding for the space of a fragile heartbeat, clinging desperately.

And then the blonde was wrenched away, lifted off the ground and thrown over his massive shoulder like a sack of grain.

He strode casually to the door, patting the trembling girl on the back as though soothing an errant toddler.

“Shh, it’s alright, Hermione. I promise, meeting me will be the easiest part of your night.”

And then he rounded the corner, Luna’s terror-filled blue eyes vanishing from sight.

Parvati screamed bloody murder, the shrill cries of a dying animal.

But the sound was trapped inside her head.

All consuming darkness answered her call.


	17. Where the Wild Things Are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that hibernation didn't last long...
> 
> I'm so excited you're still along for the ride! We're finally getting to the good stuff, aka the scenes I've been dying to write since I dreamed this monster up. And thank you so much to everyone who takes the time to review, your words are the entire reason I write ❤︎

_Only a few find the way,_  
_Some don't recognize it when they do,_  
_Some don't ever want to._  
.   .   .

Tom watched her flee the room as though the devil himself was chasing at her heels.

He ground his teeth.

_Act less obvious._

But it seemed the effect of the Scotch had already burned its way through her system, her slight form once more filled to the brim with churning adrenaline.

He forced his own hands to relax in their braced position against the partition as she slipped through the door and disappeared from sight.

He deeply sympathized with her disposition.

He'd nearly lost control no less than thrice since her disruptful appearance in the body-strewn room. First when Lestrange attempted to lay a filthy hand upon her, then when the lech Dolohov nearly collided with them…

And lastly, behind the partition.

The _fucking_ partition.

He shook his head at his own stupidity, pushing away from the barrier with a scowl, tearing off the dark mask and throwing it on the chaise.

He blinked, gaze settling on the faint impression of her thighs on the velvet.

 _Christ_.

Her scent still lingered in the air and along the back of his tongue, headier than the finely aged Scotch he'd just downed.

Willow sap, orange flower, and watercress.

Not a perfume.

Not a cosmetic bid at beauty, a bottled attempt at attraction.

No…

It was a derivative of the tonics she brewed. Ingredients she meticulously handled with the utmost care and precision and reverence.

The smell of her work. Her passion.

Her skin.

The combination burrowed its way deep behind his eyes and into the darkest recesses of his mind, stored away for all eternity beside the smoke and rain of London herself.

He ran a hand over his face, tearing his eyes away from the chaise, heart beating a war cry against his ribcage.

Only to watch the Huntress slip through the partition opening.

Her movements were liquid, her crimson dress flowing like blood.

“Hello, Doctor.”

He desperately tried to recalibrate his mind and body.

“Madam.”

She moved closer, each click of her heal a measured calculation.

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

Her voice was deeper than he’d ever heard it before, eyes bright, face flush.

He took a deep, steadying breath.

It did little good.

“I find your establishment most-”

“Come now, darling. You’ve already removed one mask this evening, why bother wearing the other?”

His jaw clenched.

Her smile turned feral, revealing a full row of white teeth.

“If we are to be friends we must be honest with each other.”

His eyes slowly roamed her face and body. She stopped directly before him, her overtly sweet scent surrounding him from all sides and driving out the lingering notes of the last occupant.

Restoring part of his sanity.

He leveled her with the full force of his gaze.

“Are we friends, Madam?”

She licked her lips.

“No. We aren’t.”

He studied her mouth, relishing the flush of warmth that spread across her neck and decolletage.

“Do you want to be friends?”

She swayed forward, no doubt drawn in by the huskiness of his voice.

“No. I don’t.”

A heavy beat.

She placed a hand against his chest.

His entire body seized.

And before he could even process his own actions, he took hold of her wrists and pushed her into the wall.

She hit it with a delicate gasp, body jolting, cleavage bouncing before he pressed himself along her front, pinning her arms high above her head.

Her eyes turned black, reflecting the gaslights like pools of ink.

_Enjoys being dominated._

_She runs the world and most everyone in it, rarely met with a challenge._

He tilted his head, examining her with a cool detachment that made her squirm anew.

He was certain her husband didn’t know the first thing about handling such a woman.

Tom harbored no doubt he could have her eating in hand within a day.

Which could prove quite useful in the task ahead.

A way into enemy territory undetected.

At the side of his opponent’s very own Red Queen.

His own musings jarred him.

There was nothing subtle about his mind’s comparison of the two women infiltrating his life. They stood as polar opposites…

_Perhaps not._

_My White Queen has darkness in her yet._

_She wouldn’t have been able to slice open the knave’s face otherwise._

His grip tightened on his captive’s wrists, causing her to gasp and thrash, drawing his focus back to the present moment.

The body pressing against and the face hovering beneath was all wrong.

Which made her _just right_.

“You would have me speak frankly, so allow me to act in accordance with my true nature as well.”

She licked her lips, continuing her farce of a struggle.

“Incredible nerve you have, Doctor, apprehending me in my own place of business, with my husband mere feet away no less.”

Tom drove his knee forward, pressing into the thick plume of her skirts and pinning her legs in place as well.

“I think you enjoy a bit of nerve. I highly doubt you encounter much of it given the company you keep.”

She blinked, falling still.

And then she tipped her head back and laughed, high and melodious chimes ringing through his ears.

His expression remained unmoved.

“What is it you want from me, Madam?”

“I love hearing you call me that.” Her voice was mostly breath, strained and rasping. “If only you were on your knees when uttering it.”

He smirked.

“You want to see me crawl, then?”

“Among other things.”

“Such as?”

She licked her lips again, eyes flickering between his.

“I’ve never met a man such as you. I didn't know men such as you were even real.” Her arms twisted weakly in his hold, making no real attempt to break free. “I thought such creatures existed merely in erotic fantasy and romance novels.”

He laughed deep in his throat, chest rumbling against her.

“I assure you, I am not born from either such place. I am a creature of nightmare. Of horror. You would be wise to steer clear of me.”

She swallowed thickly.

“I beg to differ. I’ve most definitely had this fantasy before.”

Her face remained placid but her pulse gave her away, thrumming madly against his fingers.

“And do you think it wise to seduce your newest business associate, before he’s even been properly vetted or indoctrinated?”

“I admit, my mind is not what led me to you this night, Doctor.”

“I can see that.”

His thumbs pressed into her wrists, making her release a rapturous moan even as she winced in obvious discomfort.

“But I am not completely without scruples. I did not intend to seduce you here.”

“No?” He arched a brow. “Where was said seduction to take place then?”

“At my private estate in Bath.”

"Hm." He pressed into her harder, expelling the air from her lungs bit by bit, sweet wine-scented breath hitting his face in a gentle gust. "You plan to invite me on holiday? Whatever will your husband think?"

Her eyes flashed, something sinister lighting her expression before she was able to school her visage.

“Roddy and I have an understanding. Given our place of business it’s only natural we have a bit a fun. Our only rule is to never take anyone home.” A heavy pause. “And to never get attached.”

His eyes darted to her mouth as she wet her lips.

“We’re open about our lovers. He knows every man, and _woman_ , I’ve ever been with.” She became pliant in his hold. “You would be my first secret.”

He tilted his head.

“Why is that?”

“Don’t fish for compliments, luv, it’s as unbecoming for men as it is for women.”

“He doesn’t want you sleeping with a potential business partner?”

“Hardly. I’ve lied with his own brother countless times.”

He examined her closely, pieces clicking into place.

The Lestranges were more twisted than he ever imagined.

 _Impressive_.

“Explains your brother-in-law’s possessiveness towards you.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Rab’s been plagued by chronic jealousy his entire life. I’m merely another symptom of the deep seeded rivalry between brothers.”

“And yet your husband doesn’t mind you being with him?”

“Have you never used sex as a weapon, Doctor? Roddy and I keep Rab underfoot by keeping him under _me_.”

Tom smiled. “Revealing your hand so soon?”

“You _aren’t_ Rab. I harbor no illusions of controlling you… though it is certainly fun to imagine.” She gazed up through her tinted lashes. “I want to fuck you merely to fuck you. And _that_ is why I wouldn’t tell my husband.”

Tom raised a dark brow.

“And what if I told him?”

Her smile widened, as though delighted by the mere notion.

"I harbor no illusions of that occurring either. You claim to be a creature of the dark, which means you act in your own self-interest. There's nothing to be gained by exposing my offer."

His hands tightened, squeezing the bone, bruising the skin.

“I could blackmail you.”

She tipped her head up, whispering against his mouth.

“You won't do that either…” her tongue darted out, tracing the tight seam of his lips. “ _Doctor_.”

She rested her head against the wall once more.

“Because you're intrigued. I can see it in your eyes. One of the few emotions I’m able to discern in your mysterious gaze.”

His jaw tensed, fire burning within his chest.

“Spend the weekend with me in Bath, and I assure you, your life will be full of passion once more. A man like you needs a real woman to hold your interest, challenge your mind, not the uneducated slum trash we employ here. They’re perfectly suitable for the majority of our clientele, but not for you.” She writhed against him. “That’s why you sent that girl running after only a few minutes, wasn’t it? She bored you.”

He jolted, releasing her wrists and stepping back.

She moved forward.

“Admit it.”

“You saw the girl?”

"A glimpse of her. Skinny and young, likely as addle-brained as the rest of them."

His fists clenched at his sides, searching her dark gaze for any signs of duplicity. But her eyes held only the familiar heat of passion and jealousy and the merest hint of uncertainty, try as she might to keep it concealed.

She feared she was wrong, she wasn’t what he craved, what he needed.

But she had no idea who the girl was.

_Fucking hell._

He inhaled sharply, relief flooding his veins and filling his mouth with words unbidden.

“I’ll clear my schedule.”

She settled back on her heels, smile genuine, uncalculated.

“I’ll have the house prepared.”

She winked, beginning a slow sashay to the partition, pausing to glimpse over her shoulder.

“I assure you, Doctor, it will be a weekend you shall never forget.”

The flames burning in his chest surged through his limbs, erupting in his eyes.

"Of that, I am certain, Madam."

* * *

Hermione twisted her hair haphazardly into a bun for the seventh time in as many minutes.

It tumbled down the moment she drew her hands away.

She groaned, stomping her boot against the floor of the car in frustration.

“Everything alright, Miss?”

She peered through the narrow gap in the wall.

“Yes, everything is quite fine.”

The driver chuckled lightly, resuming his perusal of the newspaper as they continued to wait for the Doctor.

She busied herself with plaiting her hair in the meantime, anything to distract from the oppressive silence and utter chaos of her own mind.

Besides...

 _He_ told her to wear it down in the first place.

She wanted, _needed_ , to get it back up immediately.

But as usual, the mess had an agenda of its own, the bottom of the braid unraveling faster than she plaited the damned thing without a tie to bind it in place.

She gazed at her wrist.

And rolled her eyes at her own stupidity.

_I managed to break into a locked office with nothing but pantry supplies but I can’t overcome my own bloody hair._

She pulled the ribbon from her arm and quickly wrapped it around the base of the braid, securing it in place.

She’d forgotten to ask for a replacement ribbon, not that it seemed to matter.

She was pulled from her task by the door wrenching open so violently it shook the entire carriage.

“Good evening, Sir.”

“Do you know our destination?”

“Your lady gave me the address.”

Hermione blinked twice, mouth opening at once.

The Doctor spoke before she could even think of a suitable response.

“Very good. Carry on.”

He took the bench across from her and slammed the door with nearly as much force as he used to open it, prompting her silence as she pressed back into the seat, his intensity palpable.

His mask was removed but the darkness of the interior hid his face just as well.

However, his lilting tone told her all she needed to know about his mood.

“Don’t look so scandalized, Ms. Granger. We’re both exiting a pleasure house, he could have used far worse descriptors.”

Her lips pressed a thin line as the horses started along the paved drive.

Light streamed through the window in waves, the torches lining the building growing distant until the orange glow faded entirely and only moonlight reflected in his gaze.

“You tied your hair back.”

She blinked, agitation forgotten.

“I… yes.”

A strange, tense beat.

“What did you learn tonight?”

Her shoulders dropped.

_How ludicrous the subject of my hair should be more overwhelming than the horrors Katie revealed._

She cleared her throat lightly while trying to banish the troubling thought.

“Lavender attended a party where she encountered several girls who went missing from her neighborhood when they were young. They were acting quite bizarrely, one even tried to warn her about something.”

She shook her head, briefly closing her eyes. “I’m adding my own spin. The girl tried to speak with her about something- or rather, _communicate_ something, as she had no tongue. I only assume she was trying to impart a warning of some sort.”

She opened her eyes. The Doctor watched her carefully, missing nothing. She took a deep breath, pushing on.

“Rodolphus pulled Lavender aside at Amortentia and fed her some farce about the girl’s identity. And then he offered her a job at the club, which she refused.”

Her nails scraped along the fabric of the cushion.

“Bellatrix invited her to a party at her estate. But Lavender’s friend was unsure whether she attended. That was the last communication they had.”

She bit her bottom lip, chest quaking in the wake of these renewed revelations. Yet in all the chaos that had been unleashed this night, it was Katie’s final piece of information that haunted her the most.

And she wasn’t prepared to share it with anyone.

Least of all him.

Not until she had a chance to speak with Draco.

She would find out the extent of his family’s involvement one way or another, but she already knew in her heart he had nothing to do with such evil.

_It’s possible his father doesn’t either… just because he hosted the party doesn’t mean he’s privy to everything occurring under his roof._

She clutched the seat tighter.

_Do you really believe that, Hermione? Lucius Malfoy is a vile human being who detests the poor and destitute. The perfect candidate for such an operation._

And yet…

_He also puts great pride in his family’s image and reputation, avoiding scandal at all costs. Would he really risk it all just to traffic in young women? He’s already richer than God._

_What does he stand to gain?_

It didn’t add up.

And until it did, this particular secret would remain hers alone.

The Doctor’s eyes gleamed bright and sinister, as though reading each thought across the lines on her face.

“Is there something else, Hermione?”

She shook her head.

Perhaps a bit too emphatically.

He raised a brow.

“Are you certain?”

She sat up straighter, eyes narrowing.

“I’m sure I would remember.” She tipped her chin up. “What about you? Did you find out anything about the Doll-”

She stopped short, cringing as he raised a staying hand, grey eyes darting to the gap in the wall.

“Though it is doubtful the driver can hear us, you must be careful saying his name aloud.”

She nodded, a faint blush staining her cheeks. Then a sudden thought struck.

“Are you so certain it’s a man?”

He leaned back, the shadows swallowing him whole. She could barely make out the sharp line of his jaw as he spoke.

“I am not. But given the nature of their crimes, I find it difficult to imagine a woman inflicting such injury upon her own gender. Factoring in traditional power roles of the past and present day, a man seems the more likely candidate for leading such an organization.”

Hermione leaned forward, drawn by the lure of spirited debate.

“Women are just as capable of great evil. As well as inciting loyalty in powerful men. Look at Bellatrix. I know we’re looking for someone much older, but I don’t think it’s completely outside the realm of possibility that a woman could be at the head of it all.”

He watched her with a quiet intensity that left her rethinking her words, searching for whatever transfixed him so.

“Bellatrix.”

A chill ran up her spine, skin crawling at the sound of the curse upon his lips.

“You don’t refer to her as Madam Lestrange.”

She leaned back once more, catching the fatal mistake a moment too late. He had her cornered and looked all too pleased with himself.

“How is it you know the Lestranges so well?”

She glanced away, staring at the dark and ominous trees lining the south end of Hyde Park to buy herself time.

“I grew up adjacent to the Peerage. I’ve encountered them on several occasions through functions my father attended, the same way we met the Potters and Weasleys.”

“Hm.”

She pushed forward, daring to peer into the darkness of the carriage.

“What about you, did you learn anything valuable?”

She heard him release a slow breath, followed by the faint rustle of fabric before he spoke.

“I have earned their trust. At least to an extent. They’d like to introduce me to a silent partner, someone with enough controlling interest to meet all new associates in person.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

“Do you think it could be… _Them_?”

Moonlight streamed in, glancing off his face for half a pulse. His eyes were fastened to the window, posture eased.

“It’s very likely. But even if not, someone of this importance to the organization will no doubt be closely associated with its leader, and therefore serve as a valuable resource regardless.”

She nodded.

And then a thought struck her at random, almost crippling in its magnitude.

_What if the silent partner was Lucius?_

She swallowed thickly, eyes darting around the carriage in time to her rapid-fire thoughts.

Lucius couldn’t be the Dollmaker, he was too young.

But he was among the most powerful men in all of Britain. Surely if he were involved in such a ring, he'd be the leader's right-hand man.

“Hermione.”

She met his gaze.

“What’s wrong?”

And blinked.

_Should I tell him?_

_Warn him of the possibility at least?_

She pictured Lucius's smug face, heard his scathing voice in her ear as though he was seated directly beside her, warning her once more to stay away from his son…

And then the face softened, morphed and transformed.

She felt the phantom sensation of Draco’s arms around her, his plea to run away together glancing off her lips.

She blinked again.

“I think this evening is just finally catching up with me.”

She knew he didn’t believe her, bracing herself for the inquisition that was sure to follow.

And couldn’t mask her surprise when she was met with something else entirely.

“You did very well tonight.” Her heart swelled. “I expected no less from you, yet I remain impressed by your adaptability.”

She smiled, holding his gaze in the fading moonlight before they both looked away at the same moment, eyes fixed to the blur of scenery beyond the window as the carriage turned a corner.

As they headed down the uneven road Hermione shifted closer to the door, eager to leap out at the first opportunity, desperate to escape the insanity of this night for the solitude of Luna’s twin bed.

But as she leaned over the satin ribbon slid from her hair, braid rapidly unraveling, curls eager to spring from their orderly confines and wreak chaos and disaster upon her life.

She groaned, reaching down into the dark pool of the floorboards, scrambling blindly for the fallen item.

“Shite…” she hissed, hair falling across her face and further obscuring her vision.

“Here.”

She glanced up.

And drew back.

The Doctor held the ribbon in his open palm.

She hadn’t even seen him search for it…

_Maybe it fell on the ground near his feet?_

She quickly took it from his hand.

“Thank you.”

She pulled her hair over one shoulder and threaded her fingers through the tresses in a vain attempt to tame them once more.

Her ministrations slowed as she noticed his eyes upon her, gaze hooded as he focused on her hands, watching her perform her task.

She held her breath and continued to braid the thick locks into an equally thick plait.

His eyes slowly drifted down her hair, following the path of her hands until she reached the very end. She started to wrap the ribbon around the braid when she noticed it looked more worn than it had moments ago.

She inspected the frayed ends.

_How in the hell did that happen?_

She glanced up, questions brimming on the tip of her tongue-

But all thought evaded her instantly as she met his turbulent gaze head-on. He pinned her to the spot with only a look.

She couldn’t breathe.

“I meant what I said before. About your adaptability.”

Her heartbeat echoed loudly in her ears.

“You are a survivor, Hermione. An instinct we are all born with, but very few ever have cause to truly exercise.”

She wet her lips, the ribbon still clutched tightly between her fingers.

“My hardships are few compared to many. True survival is coming out the other side with the same appreciation for life you had going in.” Pain alighted in her chest. “Sometimes I wonder if a part of me burned away in the fire.”

The ache grew, sharpening by her own admission.

He tilted his head.

“Perhaps it is your close relationship with Death which accounts for your ghostly visions.”

Her shoulders tensed.

“Surely you don’t truly believe that?”

The carriage turned another corner, the moonlight streaming in clear across his face, illuminating the full splendor of his feral gaze.

“It is more important what you believe, Hermione.”

She stroked the ribbon with the pad of her thumb, her hair a gleaming river flowing over her shoulder.

“I’m not sure what I believe anymore, Doctor.”

A suffocating beat.

“When we are alone in each other’s presence, you may call me Tom.”

She swallowed thickly, her entire body throbbing, eyes going wide.

His laughter was deep and rich.

“It is merely an offer, not a command. I just thought it appropriate given the nature of our… working relationship.”

His words summoned forth a fever, staining her face every shade of scarlet.

The carriage turned again, the moonlight faded instantly, plunging them both into darkness once more.

“I….” she cleared her throat. “I shall keep that in mind.”

The horses started through the familiar set of rod iron gates, wheels slowly rolling to a stop.

Hermione tilted her head as she stared at the entryway.

“Why are the lights still on?”

The Doctor- _Tom_ \- reached for the door handle.

“That’s an excellent question.”

His voice was weighted with quiet intensity, all traces of previous amusement erased.

The carriage had barely pulled to a stop before the front door of the Home flew open and a flash of white came darting down the steps.

“Doctor!”

Hermione's heart leaped into her throat at the familiar voice, though she'd never heard it laced with such distress.

Hannah came skidding to a stop just as the Doctor leaped from the car.

“Ms. Abbott? What’s wrong?”

“You have to-” she blinked, eyes drifting past his shoulder. “Hermione?”

She exited the carriage at his back, steadying herself against the open door as she found her footing.

“Focus, Ms. Abbott.” His voice brokered no room for dissent. Hannah did as bade.

“Please, Doctor, you have to come quick, Parvati’s hurt-”

“ _What_?” Hermione gasped, then took off at a dead run for the stairs, Hannah tight at her heels while the Doctor followed closely behind.

They burst into the main hall, the room filled with pajama-clad residents milling about in varying states of unease.

The sea of girls parted cleanly down the center as Hannah led them to the main staircase. As they reached the first landing the Doctor outpaced them, following the path of whispers and gasps until they reached the dormitory.

Hermione’s entire body trembled as she struggled to keep up with him, clutching Hannah’s arm on instinct as they rounded the hallway leading to her and Parvati’s room. The blonde met her frightened gaze with a deeply troubling look. Hermione released her and charged through the open doorway, nearly colliding with the Doctor as he came to standstill just beyond the threshold.

“ _There_ you are!”

Umbridge stood by the window, clad in a thick robe that covered her from foot to chin, eyes fixed firmly upon the Doctor.

“Where on earth have you-”

She cut off abruptly, eyes flickering past his broad shoulder as Hermione came into view.

Her gaze widened.

“Ms. Granger?”

Hermione ignored her, eyes drawn to the body sprawled across the center of the floor. The Doctor was already lowering to his haunches beside Parvati's unconscious form. Hermione gathered her skirts and darted across the room, dropping to her knees with a shocked gasp.

“ _What_ happened?” He asked, eyes scanning the unnatural angles of her friend’s limbs.

Umbridge continued to stare at Hermione with a slack jaw, eyes clouded.

“What happened?” He repeated with force.

“I- I don’t…”

Hermione could barely hear over the blood rushing through her ears. She reached out to stroke Parvati’s hair back, tears brimming in her eyes, only for her wrist to be captured in an iron grip.

“Don’t touch her.” He drew her hand back. “Let me examine her injuries first.”

Hermione swallowed, drawing back.

“Ms. Granger...” Umbridge seemed to have finally found her voice, and it was filled with hatred. “ _Where_ have you been this evening?”

“That doesn’t matter,” he responded in her stead, words clipped. “The most pressing concern is learning what occurred in this room tonight.”

He gently took Parvati’s wrist in his hand and pressed his fingers to her pulse.

The Matron’s eyes narrowed as her nose turned up. “I have no idea, though it appears Ms. Patil destroyed her room before injuring herself, probably while intoxicated. She has always been particularly high spirited.”

“ _What_?” Hermione’s face twisted in rage as she spun around. “That’s beyond ridiculous!”

“Perhaps you can shed some light on the matter then, Ms. Granger. Oh, that’s right. _You weren’t here_.” The Matron stepped forward menacingly. “I have ground to expel-”

“Enough!”

The Doctor’s booming command caused both women to rear back as the residents hovering in the hall scattered.

“Our only concern right now is getting Ms. Patil downstairs to the clinic.”

Hermione nodded quickly. “I’ll help.”

Umbridge scoffed. “I think _not_ , you will come with me at once.”

“I will need Ms. Granger’s medical assistance. She’s coming with me.” His gaze openly challenged the Matron as he slid his arms beneath Parvati’s back and knees. “The rest of the residents are to stay clear of the clinic unless it’s a medical emergency, do I make myself clear?”

Umbridge opened and closed her mouth, color rising in her cheeks. “I-”

“Perfect.” He stood swiftly, Parvati cradled in his arms effortlessly. “I suggest you send the rest of the Home to their dorms, except for the girls with rooms adjacent to Ms. Patil's."

Umbridge blinked. “Why?”

“To question them of course. Surely someone heard something. The dresser is clear across the room.”

“Several girls heard Ms. Patil running amok-”

“That’s a lie and you know it!”

“Hermione.”

The Doctor pinned her with the full intensity of his stare. She immediately fell silent, eyes fixating on Parvati, a storm raging in her heart. Umbridge’s scowl deepened.

“I’ll have _both_ you and Ms. Patil evicted come morning-”

“There was someone else here.”

Everyone’s eyes flickered to Hannah, pressed up against the wall, skin pale and eyes downcast.

“I heard their footsteps, but I didn’t leave my room until I heard Parvati scream. I should have come sooner. I might have been able to-”

“That’s _enough_ , Ms. Abbott!” A vein pulsated in the Matron’s forehead. “I will not have you adding your juvenile theatrics to this incident to garner attention!”

Hermione jolted, a chilling realization seizing her.

“Hannah…” Her hands clenched at her sides. “Where’s Luna?”

Hannah opened her mouth, tears spilling from her eyes, only to shake her head in silent misery.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat, then rioted painfully against her breastbone.

 _No_ …

She staggered back, nearly colliding with the bed.

“What does Ms. Lovegood have to do with any of this?” Umbridge demanded, narrow gaze darting between her charges. “ _Well_?”

Hermione glanced to the Doctor with terror clearly sketched across her face. She drew in a breath to speak but hesitated as he shook his head, a silent warning in his dark gaze.

“Help me get Ms. Patil to the clinic.”

She swayed on her feet, overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught of fear and panic.

“Hermione.”

She broke through the ice shelf, walking forward on numb legs.

Umbridge tried to cut them off at the door. “Now wait just a moment-”

“I’m afraid time is of the essence, Madam.”

He strode past the gaping Matron without a backward glance, Hermione trailing in his wake, shoulders trembling as she stared upon Parvati’s slack visage.

As they entered the narrow corridor lingering residents fled, whispers thick on the air.

“This is madness!” Umbridge shouted down the hall, fury radiating from her tiny form in waves, prompting Hermione to glance over her shoulder just before they rounded the corner, meeting the woman's hostile gaze head-on.

She’d never seen Umbridge so incensed.

But even more unsettling was the deeply seeded hatred brewing in her eyes, lashing heat, smoldering ash.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed in response, her own words echoing through her head, now a haunting omen.

_“Sometimes I wonder if a part of me burned away in the fire.”_

It was in that moment her greatest epiphany struck, clarity setting in at long last.

The flames may not have touched her skin that fateful evening, but they had consumed her all the same.

Filled every square inch of her being, breathing life into her anew.

Until Hermione no longer feared the fiery blaze…

She became it.

.   .   .

The Doctor laid Parvati across a cot with careful precision, movements slow and gentle, while Hermione vibrated in her skin, hands trembling.

“Strip her down to her shift while I fetch my case.”

As he crossed the long room Hermione set to work unlacing her friend’s dress, mindful of her touch, unsure of the damage inflicted.

“Does she normally sleep in her day attire?” He asked from the opposite end of the clinic.

“No. But she probably went to bed late. I didn’t tell her I was leaving.” She blinked, tears falling from her eyes onto Parvati’s neck and running down to the white sheet. “She was waiting up for me.”

The last part was merely a whisper, but he heard it all the same.

“And Ms. Lovegood?”

Hermione loosened the front of the garment and began gently tugging it down her shoulders.

“She sleeps in my bed when I sneak out.” The tremor in he hands migrated up to her arms. “Something terrible has happened -”

“Calm down, Hermione. I need you focused. We must help Ms. Patil in order to help Ms. Lovegood.”

Hermione wiped at her cheeks before resuming her task. Suddenly, Parvati grimaced in her sleep. Hermione removed her hands instantly.

“It’s her ribs.”

He made his way back to their side of the room with his medical bag in hand. Hermione gazed up, eyes red-rimmed.

“Her ribs. They may be broken.”

Darkness spread across his face in tendrils, black ink filling his veins.

“I need to inspect her head injury first.”

Hermione nodded, stepping back to allow him access to the top of the bed.

“What can I do?”

"Be quiet."

She bit her tongue but took no offense, his tone free of any derision.

He gently prodded his fingertips across Parvati’s scalp, sweeping her loose hair back as he went.

“There’s swelling on the left side. The blow to her skull is undoubtedly what knocked her unconscious.”

Hermione’s hands clenched with the unbearable need to go to do something, _anything_ , but stand around uselessly.

“Who would do this?”

“Let’s hope Ms. Patil will be able to shed light on the subject when she awakens.”

“It has to be connected to Lavender. There’s no way it’s not.”

He continued to gaze upon the injury, turning her chin either way as he inspected the rest of her face and neck.

“Unless Ms. Patil has other enemies who may wish to do her harm?”

Hermione swallowed. “No. She doesn’t have anyone.” She brought a hand to her throat, pulse thrumming wildly. “No one but us.”

His eyes flickered up, something knowing and familiar alighting in their depths.

And then his expression tensed.

“Hold her arms. I’m going to inspect her side. If she starts to wake she could injure herself further.”

Hermione strode forward, eager to be of assistance, leaning over the bed and bracing Parvati’s forearms on either side as he probed her ribs through the thin material of her shift.

“No breaks. But a likely fracture. When she comes to I’ll do a more thorough examination.”

Hermione watched his profile, studied the intense concentration on his face.

“How long do you think she’ll be unconscious for?”

“There’s no telling. She must be closely monitored in the meantime. Her concussion is far more dangerous than her ribs.”

She wet her lips. “Alright. I’ll stay here with her while you go.”

He blinked, grey eyes meeting hers.

“And where am I going, Ms. Granger?”

She released her hold on Parvati, standing to her full height beside the bed.

“Back to the Club of course. To find Luna.”

He tipped his head, spine straightening as well until he towered above her.

“Assuming it even was the Lestranges behind the incident, surely you don’t think they’d be foolish enough to bring her to their primary place of business?”

Her shoulders drew back, warmth flooding her chest in an explosive burst.

“What do you mean _assuming_? Of course they took her! Who else would it be?”

“We have no idea what happened, Hermione-”

“What else could it have possibly been?” Her voice filled the enormous room, echoing off the stone and circling their rigid forms in a violent cyclone. "Who else would have cause to attack and kidnap the residents except for the people who have _already_ been attacking and kidnapping the residents?”

Her hair flowed wildly in an invisible current, charged particles in the air inducing gooseflesh along her arms and neck. “You have to go back now, get them to tell you where she is-”

“And you expect them to hand her over to me, do you?”

The intensity of his voice silenced her immediately. He took a step around the side of the bed, slowly advancing as his words ate her up alive.

“You expect all of the pain and violence to end with one simple confrontation? One man storming the gates, undoing decades worth of organized crime?”

“You can take the police with you-”

“And how would I manage that? There’s absolutely no evidence linking the Lestranges to Ms. Lovegood’s disappearance. And even if there were, they’re one of the most powerful families in the realm. There’s a reason they’re able to flaunt their brothel in the same neighborhood as the bloody palace. They’re untouchable by the law.”

She trembled with every menacing step he took, the shadows on the walls morphing at his back, following steadily as though he were their master and them his loyal disciples.

“Which is why we’re operating outside of the law to bring them down.” Another step. “And if I go marching in and blow my cover, we lose the only bit of leverage we’ve been able to gain.”

She kept her feet firmly rooted in place, refusing to cower.

“ _Leverage_? What leverage? You received an unofficial, undated invitation to meet someone who may not even be connected to the Dollmaker, while they have yet another victim in their clutches! I’d say they have all the leverage here!”

“Calm-”

“If you tell me to calm down _one_ more time I’m going to scream so loud and so shrill the bloody windows shatter!”

She stepped forward, shoulders set, causing him to stop in his tracks, blinking down at her.

“Don’t lie to me and say this is all about strategy. I _know_ what this is really about.” Her eyes flickered between his, face set with steely determination. “This is about your mother. Getting revenge against your father and the people associated with him.”

His jaw tensed, something dangerous unfurling in his gaze.

“Be careful, Ms. Granger.”

“You don’t scare me.” She raised her chin. “Nothing in this world scares me more than the thought of those monsters hurting Luna.”

His gaze softened a fraction, the harsh angles of his face receding.

She swallowed lightly, guilt quickly chasing the anger.

“I’m sorry about your mother. What they did to her. What she became… and all that it prevented her from becoming.”

He stood eerily still, as though entranced.

“But she’s gone. You can avenge her, but it’s too late to save her.” Her heart fluttered faster than a hummingbird’s wings. “It's not too late for Luna. I _will_ find her. No one will stop me.”

Her hands curled at her sides, lungs expanding out as she adorned her chainmail and armor.

“Not them, not Umbridge, and certainly not you.”

His eyes searched hers, the wall of his body blocking out the meager light of the room, keeping her suspended above a dark abyss.

“I pity anyone who attempts to obstruct your path, Ms. Granger.” He took the final step forward, closing the distance between them. “And though I do not doubt your abilities in the slightest, you will not be made to journey that path alone.”

The staccato rhythm of her pulse made her light headed as the weight of his words sank into her bones, tipping her off balance.

She placed a steadying hand to his chest on instinct.

And felt him shudder violently. She gasped, braced for the retreat.

That never came.

He stood firm, slowly leaning into her touch.

“Thank you,” she whispered, the comforting thrum of his heart centered beneath her palm.

“ _Tom_.”

His eyes flickered down to her mouth.

She wet her lips, swaying forward, drawn by some invisible force, a sweltering heat igniting in the pit of her stomach and rushing through each limb, making her feverish.

A soft moan broke the silence, but it wasn’t their own.

They both spun to face the bed.

Parvati stirred.

Hermione rushed to her side, kneeling down and clutching the girl’s hand.

“Parv? Can you hear me?”

“Ugh…” She blinked slowly, face crumpling. “Shite.”

He walked up from behind, hovering just at Hermione's back.

“Ms. Patil. You are in the medical clinic. Can you hear my voice?”

Parvati swallowed, eyes squeezing shut once more as she groaned.

“Fucking hell.”

Hermione squeezed her hand, glancing over her shoulder. “Can we give her something for the pain?”

He shook his head. “Not until I know the full extent of her injuries.”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond but was abruptly cut short as Parvati bolted upright in the bed as though it were spring loaded.

“Luna!” She screamed, attempting to swing her legs over the side before curling in on herself, tugging her hand out of Hermione’s grip to clutch at her side. “Ow! Fuck!”

“Ms. Patil, you must stay still.” He strode to the other side of the bed and lifted her bare legs back to the center of the mattress.

She hissed through her teeth, tears running from the corners of her eyes. “Luna-”

“We know, Parvati.” Hermione squeezed her shoulder, brushing the dark hair from her face. “We’re going to find her.”

Parvati blinked against the light, staring at Hermione’s face in pure misery. “How long have I been out?”

Hermione shook her head, the same pain and desperation mirrored in her own eyes.

“We don’t know.”

“Ms. Patil.”

They both glanced up, meeting his intense gaze.

“It is very important you remain in bed. It is also important you recount every detail you can recall of this evening.”

Parvati tried to swallow again. Hermione jumped to her feet. “I’ll get you some water.” She glanced around the room, spotting no pitcher. “I’ll run to the kitchens-”

“No!” Parvati sat up once more, grasping Hermione’s wrist with surprising dexterity. “You can’t leave!”

Hermione blinked, falling still.

“Why not?”

Tears brimmed in Parvati’s dark gaze.

“He came for you.”

Hermione’s vision faded at the edges as her heart stuttered wildly in her chest. She saw the Doctor go rigid from the corner of her eye but couldn’t tear her focus away from the face below her.

“ _Who_ came for me?”

Parvati choked on a sob, grinding Hermione’s bones between her fingers.

“The Devil.”

* * *

Draco rubbed at his eyes, lids burning as though he were suffering from a particularly gnarly hangover.

“Hands down and shoulders back, Draco,” his father hissed over his shoulder as he led the way up the steps of Parliament.

Draco bit back a groan, fighting the urge to roll his eyes as they marched through the large double doors, his finely tailored suit swelteringly oppressive, weighing his limbs and choking his airway.

As they entered the main hall his ears rang with the sound of hundreds of voices speaking fervently at once, the heavy thrum of conversation echoing off the walls and overwhelming his senses.

“Draco, focus.”

His father directed him through the surging crowd towards the large arched corridor beyond.

“Bloody hell, the sun isn’t even up yet, what are all these arseholes doing here?”

“Watch your tongue!” His father adorned his signature scowl. “We aren’t in the bowels of the gambling halls you so often frequent. This is the highest court of the land, show it the respect it deserves.”

Draco swallowed lightly, spine straightening.

His father’s sharp gaze roamed his figure from top to bottom before nodding once.

“Better. Follow me.”

The crowd gave way to the formidable Lucius Malfoy as he cut a blazing trail through the heart of the massive building to a theatre with a dome ceiling, the noise projected within echoing on an endless loop. Circular benches lined all four walls, stacked all the way up, each set to burst with robe-clad figures seated upon them, shouting at the top of their lungs, desperate to be heard in the deafening chaos.

The volume lessened considerably as countless eyes darted to the doors, alighting upon Lucius. His party members stood, bowing and nodding in deference as he made his way to their corner, tables littered with documents and books.

Draco blinked, a generalized numbness setting in.

“About time you got here, Malfoy,” a voice spoke above the rest. And then- “Drake?”

His jaw ticked. The man laughed. “You wander into the wrong building?”

“Rabastan.” Draco acknowledged his presence with great reluctance, eyes narrowed. His uncle only laughed harder, tossing his head back and resting either arm across the wooden backing.

“What are you doing here, Lestrange?” His father asked, unloading his leather case onto the gleaming surface of the table. “Don’t you have a business to run?”

“I left Weasley in charge. As long as the bumbling idiot doesn’t set the building on fire he surely can’t fuck it up too badly.”

“You mock the man and yet you rely on him to run the practice more often than not.”

Rabastan’s smile faded. “He’s nothing but a numbers cruncher. I’m the face of the organization, the one who rakes in all the clients.”

“Whatever you say.”

Draco smirked. He knew the man would never speak against Lord Malfoy and relished his simmering ire.

Meanwhile, his father pushed forward without missing a beat.

"Everyone, you know my son and heir. Draco has decided to join our initiative and will no doubt become a great asset to our endeavors. His youth gives him a unique perspective we can use to combat the opposition's drivel about innovation and change. He represents the very future we are fighting so hard to protect.”

The men nodded avidly and bid him a hearty welcome, eager to dance to whatever tune their leader played.

“Draco, take a seat and get comfortable. I'm going to have you cross-check medical treatises while the opposition makes their opening arguments. I want you to take avid notes while keeping an ear and eye out for any weaknesses we can exploit."

Draco blinked slowly, walking around the table on stiff legs. He pulled out the chair directly in front of Rabastan, the only available opening besides the head chair his father occupied.

As he sat down his uncle leaned forward, clamping both hands on his shoulders and speaking low in his ear.

“Good to see you take your rightful seat, Drake. It’s about time.”

Draco ground his teeth, shrugging out of the man’s hold. Rabastan laughed anew, sprawling back without a care in the world.

He grabbed a stack of blank parchment and a pen, writing the date in the corner in his precise, elegant script.

_“You write prettier than I do.”_

He blinked, heart skipping a beat as he stared upon the date, unseeing.

_"I don't write pretty, Granger. I write precisely. And everyone's writing is precise compared to yours. I'm quite certain my feet could write more legibly than you."_

_“Hilarious.”_

Draco swallowed thickly, tugging at his tight cravat, desperate for air.

_“Don’t be angry, you’re the one who brought it up.”_

_“I’m not angry.”_

He set the pen aside, a tremor running through his hand.

_“Your writing is perfect, Granger.”_

_“You just said it was abysmal!”_

_“It is. But all Doctor’s writing is abysmal. So it’s perfect.”_

He pressed back into the chair, vision greying at the edges. He could scent her on the air as clearly as her laughter rang through his head.

_“I see what you did there. Very clever.”_

_"I'm quite brilliant, actually, but that's beside the point."_

He ran a hand over his face as the papers and books stacked along the table grew higher and higher, creating an impenetrable wall surrounding him at all sides, blocking out the sun and casting him into darkness.

_“I appreciate the backhanded compliment, but I’ll never be a Doctor.”_

He felt the phantom sensation of her hair gliding between his fingers as he relived the memory of drawing her in close, tipping her head back.

_“Yes. You will.”_

Draco closed his eyes, body pulsating with the force of his heartbeat. It echoed through his ears, drowning out all other sounds-

And then a hand seized his arm.

His eyes snapped open, body going rigid.

“Draco, are you listening?”

He met his father’s mercurial gaze, seeing his own face reflected back.

His fist tightened on the table.

“Yes.”

His father drew back, hand falling away.

“Good. Kingsley is about to take the floor. Get prepared.”

Draco watched the man who raised and molded him into his own image take his seat at the head of the table.

A sharp pain lanced through the center of his chest.

The crowd surged anew as Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped forward from the opposite side of the room, walking to the center of the floor with his shoulders back.

All eyes were fastened to him.

Except for Draco’s.

He continued to stare at his father’s regal profile, nodding once.

“I’m ready.”

* * *

Hermione blinked several times in the wake of Parvati’s outburst, fear quickly chasing the shock.

The Doctor broke the oppressive silence.

“Who is the Devil, Ms. Patil?”

Parvati glanced over her shoulder, meeting his gaze while maintaining her unbreakable grip on Hermione’s wrist.

“I don’t know his name. But I’ve met him before. In Haggerston. He trolled the streets at night, took girls right out of their houses.”

Hermione swayed on her feet, blood draining from her head, pooling at her feet. Parvati’s voice continued on, hard and steady.

“He broke into our flat one evening, tried taking Padma. I hit him over the head with a bloody brick but the mammoth wasn’t even phased. He only took off when our father came home early from work and brought half the building charging up the stairs with him.”

She swallowed, finally turning her head back around to face Hermione.

“He called Luna by your name. Someone sent him to take you.”

Hermione blinked rapidly, tears falling silently down her face as spots appeared across her vision.

“Ms. Granger.”

His voice sounded distant, muffled, as though she were underwater. The current was pushing her out to sea, rendering her helpless in the onslaught.

“Hermione!” Parvati shouted as her knees gave way.

She didn’t even see him circle the cot, but suddenly his arms were around her, catching her just before she hit the stone floor.

“None of that,” he muttered in her ear, lifting her up by the arms and steering her to the foot of the cot. “Sit down, breathe.”

It was then she realized she hadn’t inhaled since Parvati had unleashed hell upon her.

“He took…” she gasped, chest heaving as her hands shook furiously. Parvati reached for her. “He took her because of me. He’s hurting her because of me.”

"This isn't your fault, Hermione." Parvati was shaking just as badly. “He took her because of me. I was right there, and I let him get away.”

The Doctor tipped his head, gaze darting between their huddled figures, expression sharpening to a lethal point.

“You are both deeply mistaken. The only parties responsible are the man who kidnapped Ms. Lovegood and whoever hired him to do so.” His eyes fastening on Parvati. “Had you let him take Ms. Lovegood you would not be sitting here with a concussion and fractured rib.”

She blinked.

His gaze moved to Hermione, the grey of his irises turning molten. “And had you been Home tonight, Ms. Granger, it would be you who is missing, and circumstances would remain unchanged.”

She inhaled deeply. “It should have been me. Not Luna.”

His eyes flashed, but he remained otherwise silent.

“Why would someone pay to have you kidnapped?” Parvati asked, drawing back to gaze upon her, cringing in pain as she did so.

“Parvati, you’re hurt, we need to-”

“We need to search for Luna. The longer we wait…” she shook her head, closing her eyes, tears spilling free from the corners. “Unless they killed her outright when they realized their mistake.”

Hermione swallowed heavily, looking to the Doctor with naked terror in her eyes. He shook his head.

“They won’t kill her. She’s not who they intended for, but she is valuable nonetheless.” His eyes darkened considerably, a shadow casting across his visage. “Someone will want her.”

His ominous words sent a powerful shudder through her body.

She closed her eyes.

_This is all my fault…_

_If only I hadn’t asked her to sleep in my room._

_She would be safe._

_Instead of whatever evil is being forced upon her…._

She smothered a sob with her hands, horrifying images taking shape in her mind until the Doctor’s next words drew her focus.

“Once they realize their mistake, they will undoubtedly take corrective action.”

Her eyes snapped up. He held her gaze with burning intensity.

“You are not safe within these walls, Ms. Granger. You must leave at once.”

She shook her head. “I’m not leaving Parvati.”

“Yes, you are.” Parvati grabbed her arm with both hands. “You’re the one they’re after. If he comes back-”

“Surely he wouldn't strike again so soon?” She gazed at the row of windows, the faint glow of dawn breaking through the privacy bushes. “Not in broad daylight?”

The Doctor’s gaze was unwavering. “It depends on who hired him.” A meaningful pause. “And how desperate they are to obtain you.”

Her blood turned to ice in her veins as a sinister phantom whispered sweetly in her ear.

_“That’s it, luv, scream for me…”_

Bile filled her throat. She clamped her hands over her mouth, rearing back on the cot.

“Mione? What is it?”

Hermione's terror-filled gaze remained fastened to the Doctor.

“It was him.”

His eyes narrowed.

Parvati glanced between them.

“It was who?”

He nodded. “He is a likely candidate-”

“ _Who_ is a likely candidate? Someone talk to me!”

“My solicitor.” Hermione closed her eyes once more, memories of her assault and nightmare illusions of Luna’s plight colliding, molding, until it was Luna pinned against the wall, screaming, clawing, crying-

She sprang to her feet.

“We have to go to-”

“The only place you are going, Ms. Granger, is to Mr. Potter’s estate.”

“I am _not_ leaving Parvati!”

“Nor should you. Ms. Patil will accompany you, surely your friend will not mind.”

Hermione blinked, shoulders relaxing. Parvati swallowed heavily.

“And what about Luna? Someone has to look for her! If the two of you think you know who took her then-”

“You both will pack your things and leave the premises immediately.” His eyes fastened to Hermione. “You _will_ stay at Potter’s home. Every moment you are not behind the safety of his walls you are a walking target. Getting yourself kidnapped will _not_ help Ms. Lovegood.”

Her fists tightened at her sides. “Staying hidden away won’t help her either.”

“I assure you, Ms. Granger, I won’t be hiding.” His eyes gleamed brightly in the rising sun. “I will find who took her. And I will get her back.”

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. She leaned forward unconsciously, drawn by the conviction of his words.

Parvati glanced between them, brow raising even as her eyes narrowed.

“What about Umbridge? No way she’ll let us walk out of here without causing a riot.”

His gaze lingered on Hermione for several more beats before he shifted his focus to Parvati, the corner of his mouth lifting.

"Rest assured, Ms. Patil. I will take care of Umbridge."

* * *

Susan squirmed in her chair, hands hovering over the typewriter, a tremor running through her entire body.

She took a steadying breath, wiping the sweat from her temple with the back of a trembling hand.

_You can do this._

She swallowed, blinking several times to refocus her vision upon the document in the carriage. But the words remained a dark blur. She pushed on, attempting to finish the report without the use of her vision, only to press a series of incorrect keys.

“Shite!”

She pulled the release lever with a frustrated groan and tore the paper free, crumpling it into a tight ball and throwing it into the rubbish bin with a scowl.

_This is bollocks._

She closed her eyes, rubbing her neck to alleviate the throbbing tension.

_I can’t work like this. I’m utterly useless. I just need a little._

_Just enough to feel functional._

_Just a little._

She was halfway across the office before she realized she’d even stood in the first place.

She staggered back, tears brimming in her eyes.

_You can’t._

_You know what will happen if you set foot inside that place._

She backed up to the desk, leaning heavily against it, wrists and ankles bound by iron manacles. Imprisoned in a cage of her own making.

She wiped her eyes, utter despair and hopelessness weighing upon her even heavier than the crushing fatigue of withdrawal.

It had taken every ounce of willpower to avoid the opium den last night. Seeing Cormac’s body had been overwhelming. She’d been closed off from the majority of her emotions for well over a year, since she started smoking regularly.

And now she wasn’t equipped to handle such devastation. Such onslaught. She craved the drugs with every fiber of her being. It was as much a mental and emotional crutch as it was a physical dependence at this point.

She didn’t know who she was without the poppy coursing through her veins, without the white smoke filling her lungs and nose and mouth, clouding her eyes, clouding her world, smoothing down the sharp edges and dimming the lights.

Reality was too bright. Too painful and demanding. Too much.

She started to step away from the desk once more, eyes focused on the door with all-consuming intent.

_Just one hit. I won’t smoke the entire bowl. Just enough to get through today and then I’ll focus on getting better._

She darted to the door, clutching the knob so tightly it rattled in her trembling grip.

Her entire body shook with the force of her internal battle.

And then she gasped, the door swinging open of its own accord, the brass handle wrenched from her grip.

“Susan?”

She blinked, mouth still hanging open.

“Dad.”

“Were you heading out?” He stepped into the office, tilting his head, inspecting her close. “Are you ill, sweetheart? You look white as a sheet.”

She swallowed, forcing her hands into fists to hide the tremors.

“I’m-”

She stopped short.

_Tell him you’re sick. He’ll send you home._

_You can be at the den within the hour._

_Just tell him you’re sick._

_Say it._

_Say it!_

“I’m fine.”

She swayed on her feet, her internal musings nearly blowing her clear off her feet.

He raised a brow.

“You’re certain?”

She nodded quickly, forcing a weak smile, one heartbeat away from bursting into hysterical sobs.

“Yes. I was just heading to storage to grab a new ream.”

Officers passed by the open doorway, the loud clatter of the Scotland Yard in full swing, a familiar chaos that soothed her overwrought nerves.

He nodded slowly, astute eyes still roaming her face carefully.

“If you need to go home-”

“I’m fine, dad.” She forced her spine straight, shoulders back. “Honestly. You don’t have to always fuss over me.”

He shook his head.

“Sorry, luv. That will never change.”

She rolled her eyes, stepping aside to allow him to enter the office fully, gaze drifting to the file in his hand.

Her body seized anew.

“You’re working on the McLaggen case?”

He glanced at the stack with casual detachment.

“Seems that way.”

“But…” she wet her lips, eyes affixed to the name written across the front page in bold, black letters. “Does it qualify as a CID investigation?”

“Given his family’s influence, I wasn’t surprised it got pushed to the top, regardless of the cause of death.” His mustache twitched as he flipped open the cover, eyes scanning the coroner’s report. “However, I admit to being surprised by the details of the murder. It’s not a traditional case for our department, but perhaps not wholly out of place either.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”

“He was gunned down in an alley far from his home and last known whereabouts. His billfold was missing, yet his watch and gold plated cufflinks were left behind. Along with expensive Italian leather shoes. A traditional robbery usually finds the body all but nude, stripped of anything remotely valuable."

Susan swallowed, rubbing her clammy palms together. “You think it was a staged robbery?”

He flipped the page, continuing to read.

“I can’t say for sure right now. But what I find most peculiar is the coroner’s report.”

She leaned in, trying to glimpse the sheet.

“Why? What does it say?”

“Harry James Potter stopped by early yesterday morning to identify the body.”

She kept perfectly still, taking a deep, slow breath before carefully speaking.

“They were friends, surely. Everyone knows Lord McLaggen travels abroad throughout most of the year. Potter must have been doing a favor.”

His mustache twitched again.

"Perhaps. But it doesn't explain how he knew McLaggen was dead to begin with."

She reared back. His eyes flickered up.

“Susan?”

She inhaled shakily, stomach turning over.

“Actually, I think I am feeling a bit ill.”

He started to step towards her, hand outstretched. She quickly moved out of his reach.

“I’m going to visit the water closet.”

“Do you need-”

“It’s alright, I’ll be back in a moment.”

She flew out of the room, darting half blind down the hall, bumping shoulders with passing detectives and whispering half-formed apologies in her wake as she pushed open the water closet door and sank to her knees inside, upending the meager contents of her stomach within the porcelain bowl, skirts piled atop her lap.

Her nose and eyes streamed as she dry heaved, choking on broken sobs.

Finally, her stomach clenched into a tight knot, every bit of liquid expelled. She wiped her mouth with tissue and slumped into the wall, hiccuping, miserable.

_What have I done?_

_To Harry._

_To Ron._

_To myself._

She ran a hand over her face, tipping her head back, staring forlornly at the chipped ceiling tile.

_What a pathetic excuse for a human being you are._

She’d once been full of such life. Such hope. Such joy.

Only to throw it all away by her own choosing. Over a fleeting high that never seemed to last as long as it did the day before. Over white vapor and bitter air.

Her entire life was composed of smoke and mirrors.

That's what had first drawn her to Cormac. Not attraction of the body or mind. Simply the appeal of spiraling down the rabbit hole with another person.

Misery loves company.

And that’s what they had been to each other. A mirror image of their self-inflicted wounds. The true reflection of their withered souls, stripped bare of the glitz and glamour of their public lives. It was an intimacy that went deeper than love and hate. They shared more in the smoked filled haze of the den than two lovers sharing a bed.

And though they’d occasionally pawed one another in the heights of their euphoria driven madness, they’d never had sex. It had never been about that for either of them. Cormac had a string of lovers at his disposal to serve as his physical outlet.

But his true love was the same as hers.

The beauty of escape. The perfection of the poppy bloom.

Together, for just a little while, they laid beside each other and floated high above the earth, leaving behind their bodies and all mortal woes. He forgot about his deep seeded resentment towards his family, all the expectations thrust upon him that he feared he’d never amount to.

And Susan forgot about the pain in her father’s eyes whenever he stared upon her for too long, the strain in his voice as he told her she was quickly growing into the spitting image of her mother. She forgot about the limitations set against her because of her gender, all the things she’d never amount to because she’d never be given the opportunity to try.

She forgot what it felt like to be disappointed.

To care.

And the further they soared, the harder they plummeted. Reality crushed their bones, flayed their skin, scorched their throats and burned away their sight.

Then the smoke would clear and they’d pull their clothes back on and leave through opposite ends of the den without so much as a parting glance.

Their shared secret, their shared shame and obsession, kept them bonded. Kept them from drowning alone.

And kept them coming back to each other.

Until she’d met Ron.

And suddenly she saw another reflection. One from her past. One that was long forgotten. She saw everything she might be if she’d just get her bloody act together. Everything she might have been if she’d never strayed so far from the path to begin with.

She much preferred the reflection staring back at her in Ron’s blue, guileless gaze. So she abandoned Cormac’s company for her new companion. The man who saw her for what she might be, rather than what she currently was.

But it was a house built on quicksand. Ron didn't know about her addiction and choose to look past it. She'd omitted the truth, concealed it with great care, and was spinning web after web after web of lies until her every movement was constricted by silk netting.

And soon, it would strangle her.

Or him.

_Or Harry._

She swallowed thickly, running trembling fingers through her hair.

_I’m making Harry lie to his best mate, driving a wedge between them._

_Ron will never want anything to do with me once he knows the truth._

She shuddered, her skin fevered and her bones frozen stiff.

She’d never felt such guilt, such fear.

Not even when lying to her father.

_Of course, I always had the smoke to block it out._

She’d only been sober for a day, and already it felt like a lifetime of misery was crashing upon her, sweeping her out to the raging falls.

And this time, she would drown alone.

_Cormac is gone._

She blinked, tears falling unbidden.

She didn’t love him. She didn’t even like him all that much.

But she’d understood him.

And most significantly, he’d understood her. The _true_ her. All the sick, twisted parts of her, hidden beneath lavish gowns and bright smiles.

And he’d never made her feel ashamed.

_Christ._

_He was the closest thing I had to a friend, wasn’t he?_

The dawning realization only tore at her muscles further. She could hear her bones creak with every slight adjustment on the hard, unforgiving floor.

_He wasn’t a gentleman, and I’m no lady. He didn’t deserve to die. And certainly not by a bullet to the head._

Her father would get to the bottom of it, of that she was certain.

Unfortunately, he was so good at this job he would undoubtedly uncover _all_ of it. Harry’s connection via her, _her_ connection via the den, and then, Ron would know it all, too.

She slumped over further, each man’s face flashing through her mind on an endless loop.

And then she bolted upright, inspiration buzzing down her spine.

Maybe there was a way to salvage at least some of her life and still find justice for Cormac.

 _Harry_.

If they worked fast, they may be able to determine Cormac’s killer before her father had a chance to dig in deep.

Surely they had more information to go on than the CID, knowing about Lavender as they did.

_It has to be connected…_

If she brought the information to her father it would only slow down the investigation, causing an uproar and implicating her immediately.

_But Harry has connections of his own, viable leads._

And not just that.

He’d given her another name to research late last week, someone he wanted her to look up.

What had it been?

_Shite._

_Think, Susan, think…_

A Doctor, wasn’t it?

Yes, a Doctor, she was certain…

She closed her eyes, rummaging through the swamp of her fatigued thoughts, searching searching searching…

Her eyes snapped open, gleaming in triumph.

_“I want you to see what you can find out about Doctor Thomas Riddle.”_

She pushed herself off the floor with the last dredges of strength.

_If I leave the station I’m going to go smoke._

_If I smoke, it’s all over…_

Her thoughts stuttered on Ron’s smiling face, the sunlight glinting off his freckles, the warmth in his cheeks as he reached for her hand.

_You can do this._

She steadied herself against the sink, avoiding her bloodless complexion in the mirror as she wrenched open the door.

And started a path for the records room.

* * *

Tom sent Hermione to the dorms to pack a bag for both girls while he all but strapped Ms. Patil to the cot to keep her confined to the clinic. The injured girl was not easily ordered about, a trait he normally admired but at the moment found endlessly frustrating.

She was just as willful as Hermione, and with their forces combined, he could only imagine the trouble they would find.

But he pushed those concerns aside for the time being, focused upon the task ahead. He would personally oversee the girl's transfer to the Potter boy's estate to ensure nothing befell them on the journey.

And to personally witness them step inside the bloody property. He wouldn’t put it past either girl to brave the streets of London in search of their friend without any sort of plan or protection in place.

But he had something to take care of first.

Or rather, _someone_.

She wasn't hard to find, standing exactly where he expected.

And yet the sight of the Matron hovering outside his bedroom brought to mind the startling contrast between her and his last midnight visitor.

She spun around at the sound of his heavy footfalls, eyes narrowed to slits as she watched his casual approach.

She crossed her arms tightly, lifting her chin to glare down her nose as he came to a halt just before her, a dark mass that caused her to swallow lightly despite her scathing tone.

“You took Ms. Granger off grounds.”

He tucked his hands into his trouser pockets, tipping his head as he gazed down upon her.

“I did.”

She blinked, his easy admittance obviously throwing her off course.

And then she squared her shoulders, finding her footing once more. “That is _highly_ inappropriate!”

The corner of his mouth lifted.

“I believe what’s highly inappropriate is allowing the residents to be taken directly from the Home.”

She reared back, face turning a deep red. “I- That’s- I have no idea what you’re trying to insinuate-”

“Then allow me to speak plainly. It was a very foolish decision to allow Greyback into a venue that is not only brimming with witnesses but also is directly correlated to you.”

Her mouth opened and closed rapidly as she took a wide step back. “I- Who-”

“But the mistake has already been made, and now we must find a way to fix it.”

She stopped in her tracks, blinking rapidly.

“Fix it?”

He could barely contain his amusement.

“Yes, fix it, Madam. Before the Lestranges catch wind of our gross miscommunication and punish us severely.”

She jolted. “The Lestranges?” She wet her lips tentatively, eyes wide. “You’ve spoken with them?”

He raised a brow. “Obviously. They’ve brought me into the fold. Didn’t they tell you?”

She searched his gaze frantically. “No…”

“Hm. How strange. I thought you were considered a high ranking member of the circle.”

Her blush deepened. “I- I am. I mean, I am compared to most. I’m sure they were preparing to inform me-”

“It’s irrelevant now. We need to deal with the problem at once. We can hopefully have it all sorted before they even catch wind of the problem and bring hell crashing down upon us.”

She drew in close, shoulders tensed.

“I don’t understand.”

“Surely you’re aware that Greyback took the wrong girl?”

And then her fear and anxiety gave way to a magnificent scowl.

“Ms. Granger was supposed to be in her room. It isn’t my fault.”

“But it would be your fault if the police were brought to the Home to investigate yet another disappearance, risking exposure to the entire operation.”

She swallowed thickly.

“Precisely. Tonight’s abduction was to be staged off campus, the same as Ms. Brown’s. Which is why I took Ms. Granger on a supply run. Only Greyback never showed.” His gaze darkened. “And now I see why. As I said, gross miscommunication.”

She blanched, eyes and mouth going wide.

“When was all this decided? I didn’t know they changed the plan! No one told me!”

“Perhaps you would like to tell Bellatrix it is her own fault, then.”

Umbridge’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click, terror seeping from her every pore, creating a toxic gas cloud that tasted both vile and victorious on the back of his throat.

He smiled, beautiful and predatory, luring her deeper into his dark lair.

“There may still be time to fix this. But we must act fast. Who did you work with to organize the kidnapping?”

She swayed on her feet, skin ghostly pale and covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

“I… no one. That is, I only received a note informing me of Granger’s selection. It wasn’t signed. It never is.”

His jaw ticked.

“But surely you knew about Greyback’s visit?”

"Well yes. I had to provide him with the map of the grounds. I gave it to him only two days ago, the plan must have changed only recently-"

“But you didn’t provide him her description?”

She shook her head. “I assumed he had it, that whoever hired him told him what she looked like. I merely told him she shared a room with a disgusting foreigner. I’d hoped he take them both, or at least kill the latter.”

His eyes flashed before he could school his reaction. She drew back instinctively.

He reigned in his emotions once more.

“I imagine Greyback will be in just as much trouble. Should make him highly motivated to help us fix this. He may not have presented Ms. Lovegood as Ms. Granger yet. Do you have a means of contacting him directly?”

“Yes!” Her wide eyes reflected the sconces, bright and hopeful. “I use the filthy homeless boys who light the street lamps. They are able to find him quickly.”

He licked his lips, pulse quickening.

“Good. Write a message telling Greyback he can find Ms. Granger in the alley behind St. Mungo’s at seven o'clock this evening.”

She blinked. “Why?”

A silver grin slowly unfurled across his face, causing her pupils to rapidly expand.

“Because that’s where she’ll be, Madam. I’m taking Ms. Patil to be admitted for treatment this very moment. Ms. Granger is eager to stay at her side.”

Her gaze clouded as he bore down upon her with the full magnitude of his presence. “I’ll personally see to it that Hermione is where she needs to be when the time comes.”

He caught his slip up too late.

Her eyes flashed dangerously, color rising.

 _Shite_.

He quickly compensated.

“ _Dolores_.”

She shuddered violently at the sound of her own name on his lips. He reached out, grasping her arm and drawing her close.

“We must work together, trust each other.”

She swayed on her feet, chest heaving as she watched his mouth form the words.

“And we _mustn't_ tell the Lestranges anything. There’s a very real possibility we can have everything sorted before they even know what occurred.”

She leaned into him, desperate for his warmth, his touch.

“Yes… yes, alright.”

His smile deepened, fangs glittering at her throat.

“Go. Send word to him now, there’s no time to waste.”

He released her arm and took a step back, leaving her gaping in his wake.

“Oh…” she cleared her throat, brushing a hand over her middle. “Of course.”

She started up the hall, then paused to glance at him over her shoulder.

“I’m very happy to be working with you, Doctor. And I’ll be even more happy to see Ms. Granger get what she deserves.”

He arched a brow, claws extending behind his back.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

She tittered, bouncing on her heels before cutting a path down the hall like a nervous school girl.

She rounded the corner.

His expression dropped like a stone to the depths of a black lake, dark ripples spreading, muscles tensing and spine lengthening as he retrieved the keys from his pocket and unlocked his chamber door.

He’d taken many liberties assembling that little tale, but it seemed his educated guesses had been astute.

Not that he had been worried either way.

If she hadn’t believed his fantastical creation or remained dead set on contacting her employer regardless, then he would have simply killed her where she stood and stored her corpse in the attic until he had time to discard of it properly.

But it seemed the lovely Matron had a few uses yet.

He retrieved his special case from the top of the wardrobe, eyes flickering down to linger upon the wide shelf beneath.

He took a deep breath, shaking his head and slamming the doors closed, exiting the room as swiftly as he’d entered it.

Steel infused his bones as he set off down the hall, adrenaline surging through his system, the beginning stages of an age-old transformation, a familiar craving sparking to life within.

Bloodlust.

* * *

Hermione pushed the dresser drawer closed with her hip as she draped the camisoles over her arm, striding across the room to add them to the ever growing pile on the bed.

She swallowed lightly as she reached for the garment bag, gaze drifting to the headboard.

Tears over spilled her eyes as they fell upon the dreamcatcher hanging from the post.

She took a shaky breath, carefully removing the hoop with trembling hands, clutching it tightly as she sank down on the mattress.

_Hold on Luna… we’re coming for you…_

_Please hold on._

The guilt was crippling. She sobbed openly, a torrent of emotion pressing upon her chest, constricting her lungs and scoring her throat raw.

She was so lost to her grief she didn’t hear the slow tread of footsteps down the hall.

“It isn’t your fault.”

She gasped, leaping from the bed.

“Parvati! What are you doing? You need to be-”

“In the clinic. Yes, I know.”

She limped slowly into the room, leaning heavily against the wall. Hermione ran to her side, gingerly wrapping an arm around her waist. Parvati hissed, jolting back.

“Sorry,” Hermione cringed, tears still gleaming on her cheeks. “You shouldn’t be out of bed, I can’t believe you walked all those steps.”

“I assure you, it happened. I remember every excruciating one of them.” She swallowed thickly as Hermione navigated to the nearest bed.

Lavender’s.

"There's sixty-three, by the way. I counted, praying for the sweet release of death all the while."

Hermione helped lower her to the coverlet.

"You're a regular riot when you're beaten to hell."

Parvati smirked. “It takes more than a blow to the head to soften my edge.”

Hermione couldn’t help but smile. “You’d be the only patient in full body traction making lewd comments to the orderlies.”

Parati laughed, then cringed in pain. “Fuck.”

“Please don’t let your stubbornness injure you further. The more you exert yourself the more likely you are to contract a respiratory infection.”

Parvati released a long breath, slowly easing back against the pillows.

“I couldn’t stay down there any longer.”

Hermione sighed. “I’d have sent Hannah to sit with you-”

“It’s not that.” Parvati glanced away, picking absently at the stitching in the quilt. “Clinics remind me too much of Padma. Everything she went through. Sitting with her in that vile, filthy room filled with hundreds of bodies. Half of them dead, the other half wishing they were dead.” She blinked quickly, jaw tensing.

Hermione sat down beside her, placing a hand on her knee.

“I didn’t even think about that. I’m so sorry, Parv.”

“How would you know? People die all the time. Especially in clinics. But they’re a necessary evil.”

Hermione’s brows drew together.

“I hate that saying. Evil is never necessary. But that’s not what I was talking about. I’m sorry you had to go through this. That you saw her get taken.”

Parvati quickly wiped her gleaming eyes with the backs of her hands.

“I tried to stop him. But I failed. Just like I failed years ago. He would have taken Padma right out of our flat if my father hadn’t come home when he did.” She shook her head. “I’m fucking pathetic.”

"Parvati, you fought until he beat you unconscious! Most people would have run in the opposite direction, not laid down their lives to protect a friend." She wiped away her own tears. "It's my fault for leaving in the first place. For asking Luna to take my bed."

Parvati’s eyes snapped up.

“You were with the Doctor, weren’t you?”

Hermione swallowed lightly.

“Yes.”

“Where?”

Parvati's vice was hard, shoulders drawing back.

“We went to Amortentia to try and gain information about Lavender’s killers.”

Her roommate blinked.

“ _What_?”

“Cormac led us to a girl that Lav knew-”

“No, not that.” She raised a dark brow. “Why would the Doctor help you?”

“Oh.” Hermione glanced away, twisting handfuls of her skirts. “He…”

_How much to tell?_

She quickly dismissed the notion of keeping any more secrets.

She couldn’t bear this wall erected between them.

Her eyes met Parvati’s.

“He lost someone to the same people who killed Lavender. He’s committed to stopping them.”

Her friend was silent for several beats, expression tensing.

“What if he’s lying, Hermione?”

“He isn’t.” She spoke without hesitation. “I believe him, Parv. He’s going to do everything in his power to catch these monsters.”

“And then what?”

Hermione blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Once he catches them, what does he intend to do?”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, mind going startling blank. “I… I don’t know exactly…”

"Well, I think we should figure it out before we get much more involved with him, don't you?"

Hermione flushed hotly. Parvati’s eyes roamed her face carefully, realization dawning in her eyes.

“Shite.”

Hermione looked away.

“Mione, you stupid bint. Please tell me you didn’t go and develop feelings for him.”

Her heart beat with painful intensity. “No! Of course not.”

Parvati rolled her eyes. “This is bloody fantastic.”

“I _don’t_ have feelings for him.”

“Practice saying that in the mirror a few more times, luv.”

“I…” She shook her head, eyes drifting to the frayed, faded ribbon encircling her wrist, as though his presence somehow lingered upon it, a phantom touch pressing against her pulse. “I don’t…”

“We can deal with your mental breakdown later, right now we need to figure out a plan to get Luna back. I can’t sit around while the Doctor does all the work. You might trust him, but I don’t know him from Adam.”

Hermione sighed. “ _You_ aren’t doing anything except focusing on healing.”

“Don’t insult me, Mione. It’s just a bloody fracture. I’ve done a lot more with a lot worse.”

“That doesn’t comfort me in the least.”

“It’s not meant to comfort you. Luna needs us. So I need _you_ pissed off and half-crazed. That's when you do your best thinking."

Hermione scrubbed a hand over her face. “Parv…”

“Do you trust him more than me?”

She blinked, glancing up sharply. “What? Of course not!”

“Is that why you’ve been working with him behind my back? Keeping secrets? You don’t think I can handle it or that I’d do something to fuck it all up?”

“No, Parvati, that’s not it at all!” She leaned forward beseechingly. “I was just trying to protect you. This is a large scale crime ring, not a group of petty criminals. I didn’t want you to get hurt.” She blinked, eyes alighting on the swollen knot at Parvati’s temple. “A lot of good that did.”

Parvati released a long breath through her nose.

"You can't protect me, Hermione. You can't protect anyone in this life. Trust me, I've tried. But in the end, I still lost Padma, my parents, Lavender, and had Luna literally torn from my grip."

The room lost focus as tears blurred her vision. Hermione reached forward, grasping Parvati’s hand, fingers interlacing.

“We’re going to get her back.”

Parvati wet her lips, voice thick. “I know.” Their hands tightened. “Just please don’t leave me out. Not anymore. I can’t stand not knowing.”

Hermione nodded quickly. "I promise, I won't keep any more secrets."

The heat of their joined palms sealed the sacred bond.

Parvati gasped lightly, causing Hermione to jolt.

"Wait- what about your visions? Have you had any more?"

Hermione blinked.

_Oh... that’s right. I’m also psychotic._

“I… yes, I have. But remember that we just made up so you can’t be angry with me.”

Parvati’s face pinched. “Christ and a day, Mione.”

“I’m sorry, everything happened so fast and-”

“Just tell me what you saw.”

She sighed. “A floating apparition. She wasn’t bloody or torn up like the others. She almost seemed… peaceful, serene.”

_Like Luna._

She unconsciously placed a hand to her chest.

“She led me to a secret room in the attic.” Her expression darkened. “It’s decidedly disturbing.”

"Fuck me," Parvati muttered, brows drawn. "Was it filled with whips, chains, and manacles?"

“Worse. Dolls.”

Parvati blinked. Then shivered.

“Bloody hell. That is worse.” A pause. She tilted her head. “Do you think she was a ghost?”

Hermione shrugged, pressure building in her neck and shoulders. “I don’t know.” Her eyes drifted to a patch of sunlight spilling across the floor. “I really don’t know anymore.”

They sat in silence for another few moments before Hermione pulled her hand away, standing from the bed.

“We have to go, the Doctor will be waiting.”

She started for the garment bag, only to halt in her tracks at Parvati’s next words.

“I heard you call him Tom.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She slowly turned back around.

Parvati’s dark eyes gleamed in the orange light.

Hermione shifted, hands curling at her sides. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Probably not. You need to be careful with him, Mione. There’s something about that one…” she shook her head slowly. “Something dangerous. It surrounds him like an aura, follows him like a shadow. And the way he was looking at you in the clinic…”

Hermione swayed on the spot, heartbeat deafening.

Parvati’s shoulders tensed.

"It was like he couldn't decide whether to rip open your bodice or wrench apart your chest, and he seems perfectly capable of either feat."

Hermione opened her mouth but no sound emitted, Parvati’s summation of their disturbing encounters astutely succinct.

Her friend sighed, glancing away and releasing her from the chilling thrall.

“Finish packing, Mione. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Hermione wasted no time shoving their clothing into the bag, carefully stacking Luna’s dreamcatcher on top of the pile before buckling the top flap.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

She pulled the leather strap over her shoulder while helping navigate Parvati out of the room and down the hall.

Neither girl saw the figure hovering in the corner, cloaked in shadow.

Transfixed by the conversation they’d just eavesdropped through the open door.

* * *

Harry scratched absently at his bare chest as he walked into the breakfast nook, robe trailing behind him.

He yawned loudly, a lion’s roar, squinting against the bright sunlight streaming in through the panoramic windows.

“Morning, sweetheart, how did you sleep?”

He rolled his eyes, pulling out a chair beside his godfather at the circular table.

“Not well.”

“Hm.” Sirius took a sip of coffee, keen eyes watching him over the rim. “Something on your mind?”

Harry avoided the man’s gaze, pulling toast onto his plate.

“A lot of things.”

“Such as?”

He pulled the margarine dish closer.

“The promotion is just a lot to take in.”

Sirius drummed his fingers on the newspaper lying beside his own plate of food.

“That excuse will only last you another couple of weeks, max. Then you might have to actually tell me what’s wrong.”

Harry buttered his slice with careful precision, trying to keep his movements slow, calm.

Inside he was a raging storm, set to burst in an explosion of spitting flame and black smoke.

Sirius tipped his head. “I haven’t seen much of you since the party.”

Harry raised a dark brow, setting aside his knife. “You were gone half of Sunday.” He finally glanced up. “Must be getting serious.”

His godfather narrowed his eyes. “Setting me up for easy puns won't distract me.”

“So it’s alright to discuss my private life but not yours?”

Sirius sighed, pushing his plate away.

“Alright, fine. If it will get you to finally open a window in the bloody stone wall you’ve erected, then I’m happy to discuss my private life.”

Harry rolled his eyes for the second time that morning, taking a large bite as his godfather continued.

“Yes, I was with company on Saturday evening and most of Sunday, and no, it’s not anything serious. I don’t let it get that far, as you well know.”

Harry swallowed, dropping the dry toast to his plate. “No, I don’t bloody well know because you never talk about your relationships. Which is curious, since you discuss every other aspect of your life without a lick of hesitation or shame.”

Sirius rubbed a hand along his jaw.

"Is this you really wanting to know more about my romantic endeavors or are you simply trying to deflect from the original topic?"

Harry glanced away, lips pressing a thin line. Sirius leaned in, resting his forearms on the table.

“Look, Harry. I know I’m not your father. I could never replace James, and I’d never attempt to. But when I adopted you I took the responsibility of parent, not friend. I know I blur the line more often than not, and likely do a shite job at both, but when all is said and done it’s my job to protect you, not be your best mate.”

Harry ran a hand through the insanity of his hair, staring at a bare patch of wall. Sirius continued on, undaunted by his silence.

“You have Ron and Mione to be your friends. So if I’m annoying you right now, that’s just fine. I won’t stop asking you questions, no matter how much it drives you up the bloody wall. And the longer you hold out on me, the more unbearable I’ll become.”

“Christ, are you done?”

"Not even close, I have hours of lecture material I've knicked from Molly and Arthur. Not to mention the God-awful cliches I've been dying to use since you were a boy. ‘Don't look at me with those eyes.' ‘Close the door! Were you raised in a barn?' ‘If your friend jumped off the London bridge, would you follow?'"

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose.

“That’s what I thought. And there’s plenty more where that came from. How about a little ‘This hurts me more than it hurts you?’ Or ‘You’ll understand when you’re a parent.’”

“Thank you, Sirius, I get the point.”

“If you keep touching yourself, you’re going to go blind.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Watch the language, kid, or I’ll wash your mouth out with soap.”

“This is really starting to creep me out.”

“Back in my day-”

A knock sounded at the front door.

“Thank god!”

Harry leaped from his chair, nearly knocking it to the ground in his haste to dart out of the room.

"This isn't over, Potter! I have journals full of this shite!"

“No wonder you can’t get a proper date!”

His godfather’s bark of laughter echoed down the hall.

Harry strode to the entry where the knocking had grown faster and more insistent. He braced himself for whatever onslaught awaited, the recent chaos of his life leaving him open to just about any possibility.

He opened the door.

And blinked.

“Mione?”

"Hello, Harry."

“Yes, _hellooo_ Harry…”

Harry blinked again, eyes darting to the brunette leaning into Hermione’s side. He recognized her from the Club.

Their presence on his doorstep threw him for such a loop he spent the next handful of seconds trying to remember her name while she gazed upon his naked abdomen.

“Um… Harry?”

He glanced at Hermione again.

“Can you either invite us inside or put a shirt on? Preferably both, in that order.”

“Oh, shite. Sorry, come in.”

He stepped back, ushering them inside, closing the door quickly. It was then he noticed Hermione was acting as a human crutch for her friend.

“What’s wrong? Is she hurt?”

“Yes, can you help me get her into the study?”

“Of course, let me carry her.”

“She’s standing right here.”

“Sorry, Parv. Harry, you remember Parvati, don’t you?”

He nodded, slipping an arm around the girl’s narrow waist and drawing her other arm over his shoulders. “How could I forget the girl who broke Zabini’s nose?”

Parvati smiled brightly, even as her eyes watered in acute pain. "If that's the only thing I'm remembered for in this life, I won't die disappointed."

Harry tipped her into his side, alleviating Hermione of her weight.

“I’ll be sure to have it etched onto your tombstone as well, luv.”

“I knew I liked you.”

He laughed, slowly escorting her across the marble floor.

“Where are you hurt?”

“Just my side.”

“She has a terribly fractured rib, a bad concussion, and is highly at risk for contracting consumption.”

Parvati rolled her eyes, glancing at Harry. “Has she always been such a dramatic swot?”

“Afraid so. When she was nine I skinned my knee falling from a tree, she insisted on staying the weekend so she could clean the wound twice an hour for three days straight.”

Parvati erupted into a fit of laughter as Hermione glared daggers at their backs.

“I had just learned about gangrene from my parent’s medical books, thank you very much. I was trying to keep your leg from having to be amputated.”

“I appreciate that, Mione.”

“You’re welcome, arsehole.”

“Hark!” A deep voice called down the hallway. “Are those the dulcet tones of the sweet and delicate Ms. Granger I hear?”

Sirius entered the room, his wide grin not faltering at the sight before him.

“Ah, a guest. And my godson is already fondling you. I’ve taught him well.”

“Ignore him. We all do.” Harry escorted her through the door of the study, steering her to the chaise lounge and carefully lowering her to the cushion. She bit back a cry, face crumpling.

“Sorry, luv, are you alright?”

She nodded. “Yes, I’ll be fine, thank you for helping me.”

“What’s the matter, poppet?” Sirius came to a stop beside her, voice light but eyes narrowed in concern.

Hermione stepped forward. “She has-”

“A fractured rib,” Parvati replied with a pointed look. “The way you describe it I’m at death’s door.”

“That’s our kitten. Do you need us to call for a Doctor?”

“No need. We were just dropped off by one.”

The men both blinked, glancing once at each other before turning to face Hermione. She shifted awkwardly on her feet.

“It’s a long story.”

Sirius smirked. “Why don’t you start from the beginning then and I’ll pour us some drinks.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s barely eight o’clock.”

“I’ll be getting a late start then.”

“Actually,” Hermione interrupted, pinning her bottom lip between her teeth. “Would it be alright if I spoke to Harry… alone?”

Sirius laughed. “Wouldn’t be the first time a pretty bird’s passed me up for the younger version.”

“No worries,” Parvati supplied from her seated position. “I’d love your company. And that drink.” She grasped her side. “But mostly the drink.”

“We’re going to get along like a house on fire, pet.” He started a path to the bar in the corner. “Harry, why don’t you and Mione catch up in the drawing room. I’ll entertain our lovely guest.”

“Thank you, Sirius.”

“Of course, kitten.”

Harry opened his mouth but couldn't think of the first thing to say, so he merely sighed and followed Hermione from the room, once more braced for whatever insanity lie ahead.

“I’m sorry to barge in on-”

"Mione, you know you're always welcome here, now skip the shite and tell me what's going on."

Her fingers tangled together as they rounded the corner and entered the drawing room, Parvati's laughter echoing off the walls as Sirius no doubt dazzled her with his signature humor and charm.

“There was an… _incident_ … at the Home.”

His heart lurched. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. I wasn’t there when it occurred.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. Then tensed once more.

“Is that how Parvati was injured?”

She nodded. “Also…” she swallowed lightly, knuckles turning white. “One of our friends was taken.”

Stones plummeted to the pit of his stomach, cold as ice, chilling his blood.

“What-”

“I’ll explain it all to you, but not here. There’s not enough time.”

He blinked. “Mione, I-”

“Please, Harry. I need your help. But mostly, I need you to trust me.”

He opened and closed his mouth, pulse thrumming, and finally sighed in resignation.

“Of course I trust you, Hermione.”

“Thank you.”

She reached up, placing a hand on his arm.

“But first, I need you to put on a shirt.”

He raised a brow, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Anything else?”

He’d meant it in jest but her expression took on a contemplative look before her eyes brightened. “Yes, actually.”

She smiled sweetly.

“Do you own a gun?”

* * *

Tom writhed in the darkness of his own mind as the carriage turned the corner, pulling onto the paved road leading to his next destination.

He was doing his damned best to avoid thinking about the task ahead, but all remaining subject-matter occupying his thoughts was no more pleasant.

He had just dropped the girls off at the sprawling structure of the Black ancestral home. After making sure they made it inside he instructed the driver to continue on, hoping the Potter boy would be able to keep his friend contained for the time being.

He couldn’t worry about her welfare and hunt down Ms. Lovegood at the same time.

His concern for both girls was merely derived from their roles in his final strategy. He’d selected them as pieces for his board. Weapons within his artillery.

They were his.

And he took care of what was his.

And he most _certainly_ didn’t appreciate people stealing from him.

He'd known Hermione would be a target at some point. She was too closely linked to the chaos not to be. And between her intimate knowledge of the Lestranges, keen ability to spot the most minute of details, and highly advanced problem-solving abilities, she was his most vital resource. Even her so-called hallucinations were proving beneficial to their plight.

So he kept her within reach, so focused on protecting her he’d allowed his Rook to be taken instead, a careless oversight he would not be making again.

He’d become distracted, so consumed by his eagerness to see this mission through at long last he’d overlooked the dangers lingering at his own front door.

Now it was time to right that mistake.

Which meant venturing into hell itself.

And facing the living embodiment of his most personal demons.

The carriage pulled to a top outside the large brick building.

He swallowed heavily, muscles tense as he paid the driver without a word, stepping onto the sidewalk with all the enthusiasm of a man about to walk the gallows.

As he started up the steps he took a deep breath, holding it in his lungs, focusing upon the burn, the grounding discomfort, anything to detract from his rising emotions.

 _Greyback_.

The mere thought of the man helped put him back into a familiar mindset. Murderous rage was far more pleasant than any of the thoughts and feelings brewing just beneath the eroding surface of his resolve, every stair one step closer to the edge of sanity itself.

 _Greyback_.

His fists tightened at his sides.

He hadn't told Hermione about the identity of Ms. Patil’s attacker for fear she’d attempt to seek out the killer herself. He also didn’t want her to have culpability when the man’s body was fished out the Thames tomorrow morning.

But mostly, he wanted the satisfaction of hunting the hunter on his own terms.

It had been too long since he'd enjoyed the thrill of a good old-fashioned chase.

He entered the main lobby of the large building, taking the familiar path upstairs to the office that plagued his thoughts more often than he’d like to admit.

His hand hovered outside the barrier for far too long.

_Let’s just get this over with._

He knocked.

“Come in.”

He cringed as the muffled voice met his ears.

He braced himself, carefully schooling his sharp features before turning the brass knob and opening the door.

The air surrounding him shifted, a faint ringing filling his ears as he stepped inside the large space.

He met the eyes of the room’s other occupant. And felt his entire body throb with a jolt.

“Thomas.”

His jaw tensed.

He closed the door.

“Don’t call me that.”

His companion nodded. “My apologies… _Tom_.”

They stood from the desk, eyes slowly roaming his figure. “I haven’t seen you since you returned to London.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“So I’ve heard. You found employment at the Umbridge Home.”

Tom scowled, shoulders tight. “You’ve been spying on me.”

"I wouldn't call it spying. I've merely asked after you since you don't deem to provide me with any word yourself."

“Why would I do that?”

“Because I’m concerned about you, Tom-”

“Don’t be. I’m not your responsibility.” His pulse thrummed. “Neither was she.”

The silence was suffocating. They finally sighed, edging around the desk and leaning against it.

“Why have you come here, Tom? It’s obviously not to catch up on old times.”

Tom wet his lips, finally taking a step closer, stance rigid.

“I need access to the shipyard.”

Their brow arched high. “Why?”

“Privacy.”

“Rent a hotel room.”

“And space.”

Another sweltering beat, the air alive with buzzing energy.

“What are you up to?”

His eyes narrowed, head lowering as he pinned them with his darkest of looks. Most would have cowered at the sight. Tom was able to incite instinctual fear within even complete strangers.

But of course, the person seated before him was unswayed.

“I’m not going to help you continue down this path.”

“You were the one who set me upon it.” Acid dripped from his tongue, scorching a path down his chin, dripping to the glossy wood floors.

“I never intended for you to-”

“I’m close.”

His companion blinked, swaying back at the force of his announcement. Tom stepped closer yet, hands curling at his sides, eyes gleaming.

“I’m so fucking close I can taste it. I can _stop_ them. Finally put an end to it all.” He swallowed, breath shortening. “Get revenge for both their sakes.”

He held their gaze with open eagerness, suddenly ten years old once more, desperate for approval, validation.

“I don’t want revenge.”

His shoulders lowered, heart thudding manically.

“Justice then.”

They released a slow breath, glancing away.

Tom drew back, flames igniting in the depths of his gaze.

“They murdered a resident and kidnapped another. A third girl is also a known target. Not to mention all the victims they pick up throughout the city. How many innocent girls are stolen and sold each month? Each _night_?”

He’d earned their undivided attention once more. He charged on, starved, deadly.

“I’m trying to help them. Save them. Fucking _fight_ for them.”

“Is it truly for them, Tom?”

His thoughts stuttered.

“Does it matter?”

They slowly shook their head. Not in disagreement.

In disappointment.

Tom’s spine straightened, armor sliding and locking into place, expression hardening.

“I need your keys.”

“Tom-”

“There’s a good chance I can rescue the girl who was kidnapped last night.” He inhaled through his nose, striking for the jugular. “Her name is Luna Lovegood. She’s eighteen. Blonde. Kind. Loves to garden and carries on conversations with the rabbits and birds. Another girl was beaten unconscious trying to protect her. And I suspect Luna kept her true identity a secret to protect the true target.”

He held their gaze unblinking.

“She needs our help. They all do.”

His body vibrated with heat and adrenaline, senses heightened.

He raised his arm, hand steady, palm up.

“The keys.”

He continued to watch them with quiet intensity. Sadness radiated from them in waves, pain clear in their eyes.

Tom didn’t flinch.

They finally pushed away from the desk, walking back around and pulling open the top drawer with a resigned sigh.

His heart swelled when he heard the unmistakable tinkling of metal.

A glint of silver followed, his bounty extended out-

“Violence begets violence, Tom.”

His jaw tensed as he grabbed the other end of the keys.

“I’m well aware. My back is a constant reminder.”

They didn't release their hold, both their arms suspended in mid-air, connected by a large ring of metal.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to save you.”

“I wasn’t yours to save.”

“Neither are these girls. And yet here you are, taking responsibility for them.”

Tom swallowed, eyes flickering. “This is different.”

“If you say so.”

They released the keys. Tom’s arm dropped to his side like a dead weight, prize clutched tightly in his fist.

His entire body felt leaden, yet he still managed to march to the door with great speed.

He started to turn the handle-

“Tom.”

His mask dissolved, grimace overtaking him as he continued to face the wall, desperately trying to quell in his visceral reaction, keep his inner turmoil at bay for just a few more minutes.

“Regardless of what you think your true motivations are, I know you are capable of good. At the edge of all darkness, light begins.”

That did it.

He spun around, eyes wild.

“I can’t abide your bloody affirmations, least of all right now.”

“Just remember this, nothing you do can bring her back. She can’t be saved, Tom.”

He reared back, chest burning at the center, Hermione’s words ringing in his head, plaguing him, haunting him, until his surging blood drowned out her voice.

“I could say the very same thing to you. I know there’s a picture in your desk.”

"And one on my nightstand. Remembering is not the same as crusading. Whether you're able to help Ms. Lovegood or not, your past will remain unchanged. You must eventually face it, and reconcile." Self-deprecation oozed from every pore. "I speak from experience."

The final threads holding his self-control aloft were rapidly fraying, set to snap at the next word, the next look. Tom couldn't bear to stand within the gilded cage a moment longer.

He tore open the door.

“Your advice is duly noted.”

He didn’t await their response. Fire seared his veins, scorch and ash marking his path down the hall.

But he kept himself in line with the simple reminder that the excursion had been a success, no matter the personal cost.

He had obtained the keys.

And more importantly…

He was primed to kill.

* * *

As the theatre exploded with movement and noise Draco curled his fingers with a groan, the pen falling to the table with a clatter. His hand was cramped from hours of nonstop writing, wrist locked. He leaned back in his seat, massaging the muscles in the heel of his palm while his father's party members stood and gathered their materials.

They each paid homage to their leader, heaping praise onto him as though the man wasn’t already well aware of his formidable presence on the floor, the mesmerizing quality of his voice, the way he held every eye and ear in a near rapture like trance while he delivered his argument with fluid ease.

Kingsley was a formidable opponent, of that there was no doubt, but no one could quite compare to Lucius Malfoy.

No one.

Draco’s jaw tensed as the last lemming bowed his departure and scurried out of the theatre, leaving Draco alone in the corner with his father and uncle.

“Well, what did you think, Drakey?”

Draco scowled, refusing to grace the man still sprawled across the bench with a response. His father gathered a pile of parchment and neatly tapped it against the table, aligning the edges before sliding the stack into his leather briefcase.

“What are your first impressions, Draco?”

He sighed deeply, rolling his head along his shoulders to alleviate the mounting pressure.

“They’re basing a lot of their argument on human rights, equating medical school admittance with racial equality laws.”

His father nodded, eyes still averted to his work.

“That did seem to be the crux of it. At least in today’s session.” He started to gather the books along the table, reading the spines, looking for a certain title. “What do you think of the strength of their argument?”

Draco wet his lips, eyes flickering across the milling bodies slowly exiting the chamber, still in the throes of lively discussion.

“I think they’re biting off more than they can chew with that approach. There’s still members of their own party who are vocal dissentionists of the abolition. Moody himself provided strategy to Davis to try and sway a Confederate victory in the US. He’ll argue it was purely of an economic interest, but we all saw his face when Kingsley was discussing the apprenticeship program. They’re obviously at odds over their own guiding principles.”

He raised his arms over his head, stretching high, relishing the pull on his muscles, the lengthening of his spine.

“They’d be better off keeping their attack tight and focused. I don’t know if the decision to leave Elizabeth Blackwell and Elizabeth Anderson out of their opening argument was strategic or if they plan on presenting them later, but either way, I think it was a mistake on their part. They’d build a stronger foundation with case specifics versus pure policy drivel, given our own weakness is a lack of evidence against the former.”

He settled into his chair, cracking his knuckles one by one, eyes drifting to the vaulted ceiling.

"No doubt their own party is torn by dissenting ideals, which accounts for their rather scattered outline. I think they'll be easy enough to dismantle if we can determine which party member accounts for which pillar. Then we merely have to slice the Achilles heels of each specific creator."

He crossed his arms, stretching his legs out beneath the desk.

The prolonged silence that followed caught his attention. He blinked, glancing over to see if his father was even still beside him.

Lucius stood over his case, hands resting against the table, eagle gaze fixated upon his son with undaunting intensity.

The corner of his mouth slowly lifted.

Draco’s heart skipped a beat.

And then a low whistle sounded behind him. Rabastan leaned forward, clapping Draco on the shoulders for the second time that morning, though the gesture was clearly born of respect versus moxy this time around.

“Damn, Drake. You truly are your father’s son.”

A chill started up his spine. He squirmed in his seat, trying to shake the perverse sensation.

"Being his spitting image wasn't enough of a giveaway?"

Rabstan chuckled, hands still braced against him.

“You’ve looked the part of a Malfoy from the day you were born, but you’ve never truly sounded like one.” His fingers dug in like talons. “Not until today.”

Draco’s jaw ticked. He met his father’s gaze once more.

They watched each other unblinking for the space of several heartbeats.

And then Lucius nodded once, his pride more evident than Draco had ever seen it before.

“Good job, son.”

His chest cracked down the center, a clean break that ruptured him in half, spilling everything that comprised his being onto the floor.

“That’s enough for today, let’s grab some lunch. Celebrate our imminent victory.”

Draco pulled away from his Uncle’s hold, rising to his feet, standing eye to eye with his father.

“I can’t.”

Lucius blinked, expression falling.

“Are you previously engaged?”

“I'm meeting up with Tori.”

His father’s eyes brightened immediately. “Ah. Excellent. I’m happy to see the two of you are getting more closely acquainted before your nuptials.”

“Exactly how many times have you kids _acquainted_ yourselves, eh?”

Lucius scowled over his shoulder.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be vile, Lestrange?”

Rabstand laughed, pushing up from the bench.

“That I do. And I have much more pleasant company waiting for me at home. I’ve seen enough swinging cocks today.”

Lucius sighed, shaking his head and buckling his case.

“Do not let us intrude on your afternoon debauchery. God forbid you put in more than twenty minutes at the office.”

Rabastan winked. “I work to live, you live to work, we’ll never understand each other.” He clapped Draco on the back, hard enough to jolt him forward. “Take care, Drake.”

Draco scowled openly as the man strolled out of the chamber, whistling a merry tune all the while.

“Lives to be a pain in the arse, more like.”

“He lives to gamble and wallow in his vices, resting solely on his family’s wealth.” His father placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder, firm but grounding, the polar opposite of Rabastan’s grating touch. “He represents everything the Peerage is detested for. The very image we are trying to undo through hard work, education, and social justice.”

He squeezed, eyes gleaming in the bright sunlight. “Do you grasp the magnitude of what we’re doing here, son? What our purpose is to the people? To our Country? To the Queen herself?”

Draco drew in a slow breath, nodding.

“Good. This marks the beginning of your Parliament career. The foundation for your future, our family’s future. This nation’s future.”

He removed his hand. Draco swayed on his feet, entranced.

“Next week is the final session before voting commences.” He tilted his head. “I’d like for you to speak before the House.”

Draco blinked.

And then staggered back.

“ _What_?”

“You heard me. I’d like for you to deliver the final argument, the closing statement.”

Draco swallowed, shaking his head. “I- that’s insane, father. You need to-”

“They’ve heard enough of my voice these last two decades. It’s time for our party to adorn a fresh face. A youthful image. You represent the next generation of leadership, it’s time to make your opinions heard. Everyone will remember this moment, Draco. This speech will launch your career and solidify your place in the House of Lords. I will eventually pass my seat onto you. Next week will mark the beginning of that transition.”

Draco’s mouth was dry and barren as a desert, his heartbeat drowning out the sound of his tumultuous thoughts.

And then his father delivered the killing blow.

“I believe in you, Draco. I know you’ll make me and your mother proud.”

His evisceration was complete.

Every piece of him lying in a gleaming pile on the marble.

His limbs felt numb, head swollen and heavy.

He nodded.

“I’ll do my best.”

His father smirked. “Very good. Now...” He stepped back, gesturing to the door. “Best not keep your beautiful fiance waiting.”

Draco tried to mirror the mischievous expression but couldn’t get his facial muscles to obey. He left the theatre in a haze, hardly aware of the great distance he had traveled until the loud drone of the lobby faded at his back and the bustling sounds of nature and the city took its place, sunlight reigning upon him, the bright rays heavy and obtrusive.

He wanted to curl up in the darkness, submerge himself in a frozen lake, anything to bring his racing mind and surging adrenaline to a grinding halt.

He made it down the steps, intent on flagging down a carriage when he heard a truly cringe-inducing voice.

“Draco!”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as the caller emerged at his side, cheeks lit with exertion.

“Draco, thank god I caught you-”

“What do you want, Dolohov?”

The man raised a dark brow, obviously taken aback by Draco’s cutting tone.

“Where’s your father?”

Draco tipped his head towards the massive doors of Parliament.

“In his Castle. Where else?”

Dolohov nodded but didn't take his eyes off of him.

“How was the session?”

“Is there something you needed?”

Dolohov wet his lips, shifting on his feet every few moments, movement erratic. Draco’s eyes narrowed.

“Did you do cocaine this morning?”

Dolohov blinked twice before laughing, but the sound was too high and strained to sound even remotely genuine.

He settled down a moment later, eyes slightly unfocused. “Where are you headed?”

“None of your business.”

“What crawled up your arse today?”

Draco tipped his head back, closing his eyes and releasing a long breath through his nose, praying for serenity.

When all he wanted was to throttle the bastard.

The man who kept Hermione under thumb.

He’d sever them cleanly from both hands if that’s what it took to untangle her from his net.

He finally met the man’s rapidly flickering gaze, shoulders tense.

“What do you want, Antonin?”

“I just wanted to know where you’re headed.”

“To lunch.”

“Oh? Alone?”

Draco raised a brow. “How much cocaine did you do?”

The man’s eye twitched. “Just a line if you must know.” He wet his lips. “You want some company?”

“What?”

“For lunch.”

Draco shook his head, disgust clear on his face. “I think not. I’m meeting Astoria.”

Dolohov leaned in suddenly, searching his gaze closely. Draco remained frozen in utter bewilderment. Before he had the pleasure of pushing the man away, Dolohov lowered to his heels, nodding quickly.

“Have a good time.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, take some laudanum.”

Dolohov laughed for a second time, this round laced with far less hysteria. Draco shook his head, shrugging past and heading for an open carriage.

And then some buried instinct, a silent whisper on the breeze, told him to look over his shoulder one last time.

He caught sight of Dolohov watching his retreat, expression unguarded.

Draco was rendered motionless by the sight.

The solicitor gazed upon him with so much hatred his eyes turned nearly solid black, malevolence clear in their bottomless depths, hellflame raging at the core.

The man realized he’d been caught a moment too late, quickly schooling his expression into a grotesque smile, cracking the plaster of his mask as he waved a joyous farewell, anxiety etched in every line.

And then Dolohov spun on his heel and ascended the staircase with a jittery enthusiasm only afforded to those coasting on speed.

As Draco watched the man walk inside the mouth of the beast the chaos of his thoughts settled around one single, vital fact, the realization echoing through the chambers of his mind with stunning force and clarity.

Antonin Dolohov detested Draco with every fiber of his being.

And Draco had a festering suspicion he knew why.

* * *

“I can’t believe I agreed to this.”

He shook his head, pulling his gaze from the carriage window.

“Why aren’t we going directly to the police again?”

"You know why, Harry. You're just letting your feelings for me cloud your judgment."

“Remind me anyway.”

She sighed, the carriage bouncing along the uneven road. “The police won’t do anything but bring our search to a grinding halt. We have no direct evidence of who took her, and every moment we waste the further away she gets.”

His expression tensed.

“Do you think she was taken for the same reason as Lavender? Are they interested in blondes or something?”

Hermione swallowed lightly, averting her gaze.

“I… it’s possible blondes are worth more. But they’ll take anyone. Parvati’s twin was nearly abducted when she was still alive. And I’ve seen-”

She stopped abruptly, biting her tongue.

Harry raised a dark brow. “You’ve seen what?”

_Ghostly apparitions with an array of hair color._

“I’ve seen enough diversity at Amortentia to know men’s only true preference is a pulse.”

“Wishful thinking.”

She spared him a small smirk, relieved to be over the greatest hurdle in her path. She didn’t take any pleasure in lying to her best friend, but she knew he would never have agreed to let her venture outside of Grimmauld if he’d known she was the assailant’s true target last night.

It was already hard enough convincing Parvati to stay behind. Sirius had all but had to sit on her to prevent her from limping down the drive and hoisting herself into the carriage with them.

Hermione felt terrible forcing the spirited girl to stay indoors, but her injury was too great to risk exposing her compromised lungs to the fetid air of their next destination. Luckily, Parvati and Sirius were two peas in a pod, he’d been only too happy to look after her while Hermione and his godson took their mysterious field trip. The man hadn’t asked any questions, but he also hadn’t seen the handgun Harry had hidden in his coat.

The carriage bounced roughly once more, jolting her hard. Harry held out a steadying hand to help keep her seated in the bench across. She pushed her hair out of her face, studying the scenery as they rounded the corner and entered the neighborhood.

All Hallows.

The air turned thick with dark smog as though they'd entered some invisible bubble where all the filth and despair was contained. The sound of shouting and children screaming filled the confined car, working women walking along the streets with their bosoms all but hanging out, heavy kohl lining their eyes and too much rouge staining their cheeks.

A pair of men brawled openly in the road, staggering drunk, covered in sweat and blood.

Harry blinked. Then slowly turned to meet her gaze.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me. You said we were heading south of the docks.”

She bit her lip. “Technically, we are south of the docks.”

“You know I would have never let you come with me if I had known we were heading to the slums.”

“Precisely.”

The carriage came to a halt. She wasted no time scrambling out, terrified Harry would order the driver to turn around immediately.

“Mione-”

“Best we don’t use our given names here. Pay the driver, _Vernon_.”

Harry jumped down beside her, slamming the door.

“ _What_?”

“I said pay the-”

“Mione.”

“ _Penelope_.”

“Bloody hell.”

He shook his head, slipping the driver his payment and then directing her out of the horses’ path.

“You get Penelope and I’m stuck with that fat arse’s name?”

“It will catch your attention in a crowded room the same as your actual name would. It’s effective. Unless you’d prefer Dudley?”

He sighed, the hand at her lower back pushing her out of the way of other pedestrians. “You’re evil.”

“I’m practical.”

He gazed down at her. “Is there a difference?”

“I suppose not. Now help me figure out where to go. I have no idea what building Lavender grew up in, but I doubt the specifics matter. This entire place looks…” She gazed around, skin crawling as a group of nearby men outright leered at her.

“Murdery as fuck,” Harry supplied.

“I was going to say decrepit. But yours sounds better.”

“I’m a born poet.”

“If you start rhyming again we’re certain to get stabbed.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

They walked further along the sidewalk, dark smoke filling the skies above from the factories on either side. Everyone appeared to be covered in a layer of grime, watching them blatantly. Hermione edged closer to his side, taking comfort as he slid his arm around her waist, a solid presence she could cling to.

Neither she nor Harry was dressed in fine garb, but they were far too clean and blemish free to pass as locals.

She became hyper-aware of the gun strapped to Harry's opposite side. Mostly because the men kept staring at it, their eyes darting between the weapon and Hermione, as though trying to determine which they wanted more.

“This was a terrible idea,” he muttered low.

She swallowed thickly. “I don’t disagree. But we’re already here.”

“Who told you about this place again?”

“Katie.”

“Who is Katie?”

She blinked, heart skipping a beat. Each lie was another sip of arsenic, slowly poisoning her from the inside out.

“A resident who was close to Lavender.”

“Why didn’t she come to Grimmauld with you? None of the girls are safe.”

She gazed up at him, studying his profile. “You want me to bring the entire lot of us to your estate?”

“Yes.”

His voice held no hint of humor.

And despite their tense circumstances, she smiled.

“You’re a good man, Harry Potter.”

The corner of his mouth lifted as he met her eye.

“Let’s just hope I don’t become a dead man in the next hour.”

And then his gaze lifted, caught by some sight in the distance. She turned around, searching, and saw a broken sign for an Inn.

“Let’s get off the streets and regroup.”

She nodded, taking his arm as he directed her across the street and held open the door. It swung loose on its hinges.

She stepped into the narrow lobby and immediately coughed, the air pungent with stale and sour sweat.

“What do you want?” A monotone voice asked from behind the desk. She turned around to face the man as Harry entered behind her, gazing around with obvious disgust.

She elbowed him lightly. He quickly schooled his expression as he walked up to the Innkeeper, an old man with a grime-caked bald head that sat on full display as he continued to gaze down at the newspaper.

Harry started to place his hand on the counter but she quickly slapped it away. She couldn’t imagine the bacteria crawling along the surface. The sound drew the man’s focus. His eyes fell on Harry first, roaming him slowly from top to bottom, expression unchanging, and then he started on Hermione.

She shifted uncomfortably as his gaze turned heated, leaning into Harry’s side to shield part of her body.

Harry stepped forward, blocking her further.

The man ran his tongue along his yellowed teeth.

“You kids lost?”

“Depends on whether this is an Inn or not.”

Harry's tone and demeanor transformed before her very eyes. He seemed taller, broader, wilder. It was a wonderful comfort. She admired his ability to adapt to any given situation, no matter how bizarre.

And suddenly, the Doctor’s words returned to her unbidden.

_“ ... I remain impressed by your adaptability.”_

She flushed hotly.

The Innkeeper watched the blood rush to the surface of her skin with narrowed eyes. She fought back a cringe.

“We rent by the hour,” he said slowly, eyes still fastened to Hermione. “But looking at the quality of your girl, I imagine you’ll want at least half a day.”

She blinked, deeply offended. But then the words settled in further, and she realized it was more a backhanded compliment than anything.

Harry reached into his coat.

“Four hours is more than enough.”

“Oh to be young again.” The man pulled the ledger from beneath the desk, slapping it onto the counter and making her jolt. “That’ll be eight shillings.”

His eyes gleamed as Harry slid the money across the table. Then his eyes fastened to her once more.

“You new to these parts, sweetheart?”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth before drawing her shoulders back.

“Yes.”

“I’ll give you free boarding if you split your earnings with me. Forty percent.”

She blinked, earlier unease long forgotten.

“Forty percent! That’s robbery!”

Harry placed a staying hand on her arm.

“ _Penelope_.”

She shrugged it off, stepping forward with clenched fists.

“I would never agree to such a travesty of a deal. You should be ashamed even asking-”

“Penelope-”

“Fine,” the man snapped. “Thirty percent.”

She scoffed.

“Alright, alright!” He raised his hands in surrender. “Twenty-five percent, but not a point lower! You’ll more than triple your work in these parts. This building gets all the townies.” He tipped his chin at Harry. “Point and case.”

She settled back on her heels, crossing her arms.

“I’ll think about it.”

Harry rolled his eyes. The Innkeeper licked his lips, sliding them the key with their room number attached.

“Good. We have free coffee and change the linens every week.”

Hermione blinked.

“That’s lovely.”

The man beamed with obvious pride for his establishment.

She put up no resistance as Harry snatched up the key and directed her through the hall towards the stairs.

“Great negotiation skills, Penelope. You’re going to make a killing here.”

She held her chin high. “I was trying to teach him a lesson for the sake of the actual street girls. Maybe next time he’ll offer them a decent split.”

“You’re an advocate for hookers’ rights now?”

Her spine straightened. “Someone has to be. These beds are probably crawling with gonorrhea. I’ve never heard of such a health code violation.”

Harry shook his head, placing a hand at her lower back as they ascended to the second floor. “Come on, you nutter.”

They reached the landing. He gazed down at her.

“You really think we’re going to find something here?”

She shrugged lightly. “This neighborhood is a regular picking ground for them. One location, at least. If anyone knows the man who took Luna, they’ll be here. They may even know where he took her. Some type of holding cell or something.”

“And you just expect them to tell us where that is?”

Her eyes flashed as she gazed ahead.

“If not us, then the gun.”

Harry tensed, studying her closely. She carefully avoided his eye. Instead, she focused upon the scantily clad, middle-aged woman blocking the path to their room.

Her cloudy gaze fell upon them. She smiled, revealing a row of surprisingly straight and white teeth.

“Hello there, luvs. Looking for a third to join your party?”

They both opened their mouths to speak, only to fall silent with the same, shared idea.

They glanced at each other.

And arched matching brows.

Hermione looked at the woman with a smile of her own.

“Yes, we are.”

.   .   .

The interior of their room revealed why it was rented on an hourly basis.

She couldn't imagine anyone being able to withstand the filth and smell for any longer than that.

The small space was dark and musty. She hesitated beside the windows.

“I’m afraid to touch the drapes.”

The woman chuckled. “Neither of you is from these parts, huh?”

Hermione shook her head, gingerly pulling the fabric back to allow a thin strip of light into the room, illuminating their surroundings enough to avoid a collision course with the stained and worn furniture.

“Just visiting.”

The woman scoffed. “What a holiday spot to choose.”

“What’s your name?” Harry asked, tucking his hands in his pockets as he gazed upon her.

She smiled. “Whatever you want it to be, darling.” And then she was standing before him, running her hands along his shoulders and chest.

He gently grabbed her wrists, removing her touch.

“We’re not here for that, luv.”

“No?” She arched her penciled brow, glancing over her shoulder at Hermione, still hovering beside the window. “Ah, I see. You like to watch.”

And then she darted across the room, reaching for Hermione’s chest. Hermione reared back, nearly losing her footing and collapsing atop the petri dish of a bed.

She scrambled out of the way just in time, holding up her hands.

“We’re not here for that either.”

The woman halted, glancing between them.

“Alright… you’re going to have to help me out here then.”

“We just need information.” Hermione smoothed her ruffled skirts. The woman stared at her for a long moment before turning on Harry, hands on her hips.

“You a cop?”

“No.”

She ground her teeth, eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

And then she started for the door. Hermione looked to Harry desperately, but his eyes were still fastened to the woman’s retreating figure.

“Would five pounds be able to help us?”

She froze, arm hovering in mid-air as she reached for the handle.

“Five pounds?”

She slowly spun around. Harry removed his billfold.

“You came into this neighborhood with that kind of cash? Do you have a deathwish or something?”

“Or something.” He withdrew the notes, holding them aloft. “Now will you hang around and answer some questions?”

She shifted awkwardly for several moments, face pinched and eyes guarded, until she finally reached out and accepted the bills.

“Alright.” She stuffed the money into her low cut corset. “But I’m not telling you my name. Rats get killed out here.”

“That’s fine.” Hermione stepped forward with her heart in her throat. She wet her lips, waiting until the woman met her eyes before continuing.

“Girls are taken from this neighborhood often?”

The woman was clearly unnerved by the opening question. Hermione tried to relax her own anxious posture.

“I know powerful people are connected to this. I know the violence goes unchecked, unmentioned. I know you're scared.” A weighted pause. “I’m scared, too. My friend was murdered. Another beaten. Another taken. I’m trying to get her back-”

“She’s already dead.”

Hermione jolted, eyes wide.

“Even if she’s still breathing.” A shadow passed across the woman’s haunted gaze. “She’s already dead.”

Hermione blinked, tears blurring her vision. She took a deep breath, forcing her voice steady.

“Do you know someone who’s been taken?”

“Too many to count.”

Harry shifted beside her, shoulders squared. “And nothing has been done to stop it?”

The woman focused upon him, fire in her eyes, venom in her voice.

“When I was eight my older sister was found stuffed inside a drainage ditch. Last week three girls were found beside the tracks. No one’s doing shite to stop it.”

Hermione stepped forward, propelled by the revelation.

“Bodies of local girls? They’re being brought back?”

“We’re all considered trash. This is a dump. Where else would we turn up?”

Hermione settled back on her heels, the long-familiar ache alighting in her chest. "How were the girls by the tracks killed?"

“I didn’t see them.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “I think one was strangled. Another carved up real bad. Missing her eyes. I’m not sure about the third.”

Hermione swayed on her feet, a faint buzzing filling her ears.

“Missing her eyes?”

The women raised a brow, diamond points in her gaze. “Not the worst condition they’ve been found in, I assure you.”

A powerful wave of nausea swept over her. She pressed a hand to her stomach, glancing away.

Harry moved towards her. “Mione-”

“Penelope,” she said on instinct, unable to meet his eye.

The woman glanced between them before sighing deeply. “You kids are out of your depth here. You’re going to get yourself killed asking these kinds of questions.”

Hermione took a few calming breaths before finding her voice. “I just need to know who took her.”

“And then what? You think you can stop the Boogeyman? You’re a slip of a thing.” She stared pointedly at Harry. “Your man is rather built, but he’s nothing compared to that monster.”

“You’ve seen him?”

“Glimpses. I’m too old to be a target anymore, one less thing I have to worry about out here.”

Hermione wet her lips eagerly. “What does he look like?”

“Massive. Tall. Broad. Larger than any other man I’ve laid eyes on before. And trust me, I’ve seen some giants in my day.”

Hermione nodded, heart swelling at the description that so closely mirrored Katie and Parvati’s. “Anything else?”

“A jagged scar across his face. Yellow eyes. Like a demon.”

Harry suddenly came to life. “A scar?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait.” He stepped closer. “Do you know his name?”

The woman blinked. “I’ve heard rumors, but-”

“What are they?”

Her eyes flickered, as though rifling through memories. “Graydon, Greyson-”

“Greyback?”

She blinked once more, gaze snapping back to his.

“That’s it.”

Hermione placed a hand on his arm, their code names long forgotten in the wake of whatever discovery was unfolding before her. “Harry?”

“Shite,” he hissed, running his fingers through his hair, emeralds gleaming in his eyes. “I know who he is.”

Her pulse thrummed. “What? How?”

“I’ve never met him, but the description sounded familiar.”

“From where?”

He drew in a slow breath, staring at her intently. “He used to be a sailor. They called him the Grey Wolf. He got discharged for disorderly conduct, his face was scarred in a fight with another sailor. He beat the man to death but somehow avoided any imprisonment.”

She practically bounced on her heels. “Do you know where we can find him?”

Harry shook his head. She looked to the room’s third occupant.

“Sorry, luv.”

She deflated at once, struggling to keep the disappointment from her voice. “Thank you for all your help.”

The woman nodded, backing away. “Be careful, kids.”

She started to open the door. “And for what it’s worth...” She met Hermione’s eye once more. “I hope you catch the bastard and cut him to pieces.”

Hermione swallowed tentatively.

And then stood to her full height, claws extended.

“So do I.”

In the next moment, the mysterious stranger was gone, leaving them behind in the barren, filthy room. She spun on her heel, chest tight.

“We have to find him, Harry.”

“I know.” He gripped her shoulders, as though to keep her from scaling the walls as she so desperately wanted to do. “We will. Or rather, _I_ will.”

“Harry, please stop trying to-”

“Just listen.” He gently squeezed. “I think I know a lead I can tap, but having you with me will only draw suspicion and slow things down. If you really want to help Luna, you need to keep yourself safe. I can work faster if I’m not worried about you.”

She sighed heavily, the ache centered in her chest spreading out to all four limbs, crippling in its intensity.

“Alright.” She rubbed tiredly at her eyes. “But I’m not happy about this.”

She could hear the smirk in his voice. “Trust me, I know.”

.   .   .

She slid into the carriage with a groan, muscles sore and bones fatigued from so much physical and emotional exertion over the last twelve hours. But she was pulled from her exhausted reverie by the closing door.

Harry remained on the street below.

“I’ll grab the next one. This one is going straight to Grimmauld.” He pinned her with a silent warning. She rolled her eyes, settling back into the seat without argument.

His hand lingered on the window frame.

“Mione.” The quiet intensity of his voice drew her gaze immediately. His jaw tensed. “Cormac was murdered.”

She gasped, leaning forward and placing her hand over his.

“I didn’t want to tell you, I was afraid it would prompt you to do something dangerous.” He glanced around the ensuing chaos of the street. “But it seems we’re long past that now.”

He looked at her once more, eyes cast in shadow.

“So I’m hoping this information will help you understand why I’m so scared for you. This goes deeper than any of us could have ever predicted. If they aren’t afraid to kill high born males, they certainly will have no qualms about coming after you. Please. Go directly to Grimmauld and stay there with Parvati. Sirius won’t leave your sides.”

She nodded, hand trembling upon his own.

“I promise, Harry. But you’re a target, too now. You shouldn’t-”

“I’ll find him, Mione. I’ll find her.”

Tears tracked a silent path down her face, soaking into the pale collar of her dress.

“I can’t bear to lose you, Harry. I wouldn't be able to survive it.”

He shook his head, expression fierce. “You won’t lose me. I’ll always be there for you. Always.”

She wiped at her cheeks with the hand not bracing his own.

“I love you.”

"I love you, too." He flashed his boyish grin, instantly transforming his entire being into his ten-year-old self, the boy who brought endless light and joy to her life even through the darkest of storms.

And then his expression fell. The man reappeared, pulling back to address the driver. “Take her straight to Grimmauld, no stops, understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Harry stood back, holding her gaze steady as the carriage pulled onto the main road, slowing winding up the path to the bridge.

Hermione strained to keep sight of him as long as she could until her eyes were drawn by the sudden metallic gleam at his hip.

The gun was the last part of him she saw as the carriage rounded the corner.

.   .   .

Hermione had every intention of keeping her promise.

Every intention of staying inside the carriage until arriving safely at the manor.

She really did.

Just as she had every intention of obeying the Doctor’s request to not leave Grimmauld in the first place.

But then she'd spoken to Parvati and the reality of the situation had fully set in.

Luna needed them.

All of them.

Hermione couldn’t sit idly by and wait for the boys to save the day. Not when there was the smallest chance she could be of assistance, the merest hope of discovering something useful, anything to lead them to her whereabouts.

So she’d broken her word to the Doctor without guilt, emboldened by her mission to investigate All Hallows.

And as she crossed over the bridge on the route to London proper another sight caught her eye through the foggy window, stealing the breath from her lungs and melting the resolve from her bones.

“Stop the carriage!”

The driver groaned. “Sorry, Miss, I’ve been given strict-”

“I’m getting out of this carriage one way or another, you decide whether you want to lose your permit after running me over!”

A heavy sigh resounded from above.

And then the horses slowed to stop along the side of the road.

She wasted no time scrambling out of the car, gazing up.

“I’m sorry I threatened you. Please keep the entire payment as tip.”

He blinked, then broke out into a laugh.“Fascinating day, huh?”

She gathered her skirts, stepping onto the sidewalk.

“You have no idea.”

She took off at a brisk walk, carefully sidestepping pedestrians, bouncing on her toes to keep sight of her moving target.

She felt heart-wrenching guilt for breaking her word to Harry but justified her actions with the same motivation.

Anything for Luna.

So when she spotted Doctor Riddle exiting a lively tavern by the docks with his dark collar pulled high her every instinct screamed to follow.

He was clearly up to something, each movement sharp and precise, certain of his destination.

A thrill seized her.

And she decided then and there the boys would not sideline her anymore.

Whatever the Doctor had planned for this evening...

She was along for the ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Frau_Blucher for providing the inspiration for Parv's bodice/chest ripping line... I've been waiting to use that bad boy for nine chapters ;)


	18. What Large Teeth You Have

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the amazing comments last chapter, my loves! I can’t believe how long this story has become, and there’s no way I could have done it without your ongoing support and encouragement ❤︎
> 
> This chapter marks the beginning of the _darker_ scenes I’ve been dreaming about since the fic’s inception. I’m so excited to write and share them with you, but I also want to reinstate my trigger warnings re: violence and non-con. There will be a lot more of both throughout the remainder of the story, so please brace yourselves. 
> 
> That said, I am very curious to see if this chapter causes anyone to jump “ship”. 
> 
> You’re dying to read it now, aren’t you? ;)

_How do you know I’m mad?_  
_You must be or you wouldn’t have come here._  
.   .   .

Harry gazed around the crowded lobby of the horse track, spine straight and shoulders set, fortifying himself for the mission ahead.

He was hyper-aware of the gun concealed beneath his coat, the weight at his hip, the burning heat seeping into his trouser leg, scorching his flesh, inescapable, unforgettable.

He was no stranger to weapons, having been cross-trained with blades and firearms since youth. The guns on the warship were easily the size of three men, the cannons even larger.

But outside of his uniform, apart from the company of the ship, his men, the revolver at his side felt far larger than the rifle he carried across his back while seabound.

Now he was in the company of civilians and if he withdrew his weapon there was no good outcome to be had. Harry already struggled with killing the enemy, his only casualty to date a pirate who was millimeters away from slicing Ron’s throat. He’d shot the man dead center, bullet piercing his heart, casting him overboard before the blood even had time to blossom across the fabric of his shirt.

The adrenaline surging through his veins and ensuing chaos of the ongoing attack had rendered him numb with shock. He’d continued fighting until they took back control of the vessel, and then busied himself with assisting the wounded, pushing the incident to the far corners of his mind for several days, until the weight of his actions came crashing down upon him with crushing swiftness.

He could have easily locked himself away inside his cabin for several days more, reliving the moment over and over again in his head until it morphed and transformed a thousand different ways, a thousand different methods of killing the same man.

But he’d chosen to push on, work through the storm in his head, ignore the simmering ache in his heart. He was a member of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy, his sole role to protect the vessel and his men's lives at all costs. Killing was a dark but accepted part of that duty. He couldn’t afford to fall to pieces over it. He couldn’t afford to let his men see him crippled by something that was such a necessary part of their career.

But mostly, he couldn’t let himself be compromised. If he hadn’t shot the pirate Ron would have died that day. And if Harry hesitated the next time it would undoubtedly cost another sailor his life.

He wouldn’t allow that to happen.

But he’d be lying if he said a piece of him didn’t fall overboard with the dead man, a part of his soul now blackened by the knowledge of how it felt to take another's life.

His godfather must have read the disquiet in his eyes, for he’d transferred Harry to another ship several weeks later with a flimsy excuse about crew restructuring. Harry hadn’t posed any questions, all too eager to escape his current confines regardless of his captain’s true motivations.

The change of scenery had done well for his head. At least temporarily. Coming home had been an abrupt transition, and he hadn't been prepared to face Hermione right away. She was too light, too pure for his tainted spirit to endure just yet. So he'd hidden away with Theo, a peaceful reprieve from reality until she'd sent word to meet her in the cafe halfway between the manor and her new abode.

The chaos that ensued since that fateful lunch felt as much of a whirlwind as the pirate attack.

And just as he’d killed to protect Ron, he would do the same for her.

He just hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

He made his way to the door at the back of the venue, cutting the same path as he had during his last excursion, making his way steadily up the staircase to the top stands.

As he carefully sidestepped other patrons his thoughts drifted to his last visit and the bizarre encounter with Daphne just outside the bookie’s office.

With everything else that came to light in the days following he’d forgotten all about the unsettling exchange.

Which was really saying something, since she knew about Harry and Theo. Not even his best friends were privy to such knowledge.

But even more alarming, she’d been nearly hysterical when they bumped shoulders.

The elder Greengrass sister had made her opinion regarding the prospect of Harry’s help quite clear that day, but he couldn’t in good conscience leave her at the mercy of whatever underhanded dealings Bagman was entangling her in.

He rubbed tiredly at his eyes.

Another mystery added to the pile.

Soon his memory drifted to the other person he’d run into on the stands that morning.

And as if by some dark magic, he summoned the man forth with but a thought.

“Harry! Harry, over here!”

He sighed deeply.

_Dear Universe, why do you hate me?_

He spun on his heel, facing the surging crowd. Two men were pushed aside to make way for the portly doctor, eyes bright and faced flushed as he bounded over to Harry with surprising speed.

“What a coincidence, running into you a third time in only a week! I dare say the fates are trying to tell us something.”

_Yes, that they’re out to fuck up my life as well._

“Hello, Horace.”

The doctor rocked back, face beaming.

“What are you up to?”

“Just business.”

The man chuckled, hands resting atop his stomach. “Ah, but of course, _business_. Me, too. The horses are just as unpredictable as my patients, but far more pleasant company.”

He continued to laugh at his own jest. Harry’s ground his teeth, nerves stretched too taut to feign congeniality.

“It’s good to see you again, Horace, but-”

“How is the lovely Ms. Granger?”

Harry blinked, heart jolting.

“Excuse me?”

“Hermione, correct?”

Harry tilted his head, studying the man’s face carefully, but saw nothing amiss in his enthused expression.

“Yes, that's right.”

"She made quite the impression on me at the Naval party. Afterward, I pulled up some of her father's published work, refreshed myself on his many breakthroughs. I would love the opportunity to speak with her on the subject, learn the specifics of her interest in the field.”

Harry opened and closed his mouth, realization slowly setting in. His pulse thrummed.

“Are you thinking about endorsing her?”

Slughorn laughed again.

“Well, we’re getting a bit ahead of ourselves, the Medical Act has yet to pass, and even so, she’d need to score high enough to-”

“She’s brilliant, she’ll pass her exams.”

Slughorn smiled anew. “After speaking to her for only a few minutes, I don’t doubt it. And the way she faced off against Lord Malfoy.” He shook his head. “She’s got a spine of steel, a great asset to possess in this line of work. But all the same, I’d merely like to sit down and learn more about her. I wanted to extend an invitation for tea but don’t have the faintest idea where she resides.”

“You can send the invitation to Grimmauld, I’ll see that she gets it.”

Slughorn’s grin turned wry.

“I thought as much. The two of you seemed quite… _close_.”

Harry fought another sigh.

Of course. Slughorn thought they were an item. As everyone did.

Which explained at least part of his motivation for being so eager to attach himself to her. It was yet another way for him to saddle himself to the last remaining Potter and eventual Black heir.

But if it meant getting Hermione the necessary endorsement to attend medical school, Harry would happily endure the man’s grating presence.

“We are very close. And I know she’ll be deeply honored to speak with you about her interest in medicine.”

“Excellent!”

Harry started trying to think of the politest way to extract himself from this conversation when another idea struck him seemingly at random.

“You’ve worked at St. Mungo’s for many years, haven’t you?”

“Try many decades, my boy.”

Harry licked his bottom lip, unconsciously shifting closer.

“Do you know a Doctor Thomas Riddle?”

The events that followed were many things, but in a word: fascinating.

Slughorn seemed to flush and pale at the same time, mouth opening and closing in rapid succession as he physically reared back while managing to keep his feet firmly rooted to the spot.

Harry raised a brow.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I-” Slughorn cleared his throat, pulling at his collar. “Yes, I know of Doctor Riddle. Why do you ask?”

He was clearly trying to effect a casual tone and posture, which only made his discomfort all the more obvious.

“You know _of_ him, or you know him personally?”

Slughorn blinked several times, wheels turning behind his gaze. Harry’s unease grew tenfold, long buried suspicions finding solid ground at last.

“The latter.”

Silence festered between them.

Slughorn shifted, suddenly looking as though he were the one trying to escape.

“Horace.”

The doctor jolted lightly, the intensity of Harry’s voice rendering him frozen.

“Is he dangerous?”

Slughorn blinked again.

“Why would you think to ask me that?”

“Because I’ve met him.”

A beat. Then two.

And then to Harry’s great bemusement, the man tipped his head back and started to laugh.

Harry’s brows drew together, questions firing through his head too quickly to give voice to a single inquiry.

“I apologize, Harry,” Slughorn gasped, wiping at the corners of his eyes. “Your rather prosaic observations took me off guard. I’m not laughing at your expense, I assure you.”

“I’m not offended. Just confused.”

Slughorn finally settled down, face flush from exertion.

“Riddle has quite a presence, I’m well aware. From the moment I first laid eyes on him I knew he was a man of great influence. I had the pleasure of working beside him in the surgery unit and saw his brilliance first hand. His skills with a scalpel are unparalleled, even at his young age. I daresay I had the honor of becoming one of his closest confidants, my recommendation led to his promotion as Head of Surgery.”

Harry drew back.

“Head of Surgery?”

“Yes. The youngest to ever hold the position. A true prodigy.”

“Why on earth would he give all that up to work at a wayward girls’ home?”

Slughorn blinked.

“He’s back in London?”

“Yes.”

“I… I had no idea. But surely that’s not his employment.”

“I’m quite certain.”

Slughorn glanced away, eyes flickering back and forth, as though searching the recesses of his memory for the answer.

Harry pressed on.

“You consider him a friend?”

Slughorn met his eye once more, expression turning guarded. “I don’t believe a man such as that considers anyone a friend. But I’d like to think he thinks of me as a trusted associate.”

“Then why did you look startled when I first mentioned him?”

Slughorn's eyes widened a fraction, flush deepening, spreading down his neck and disappearing beneath his collar.

“Oh, well, the name took me off guard, you see. I always referred to him by Tom, most everyone did. I suppose he wanted to distance himself from any association.”

Harry raised a dark brow. “Association? With who?”

The doctor’s shoulders tensed.

“His father.”

He delivered the two words with such ominous overtone Harry felt his blood run cold.

“His father works at Mungo’s as well?”

“Not any longer.”

Harry tilted his head. “He’s retired?”

“He’s dead.”

Suddenly the crowd at their side exploded into raucous movement and shouting, the race below coming to an end.

Slughorn stepped away, posture defensive, clearly withdrawing from the conversation.

"I'm afraid I must get back to my seat, Harry. But it was such a delight running into you again. I will send word to Grimmauld regarding my meeting with Ms. Granger at haste."

Harry opened his mouth, fists tightening at his sides, eager to extract more information regarding this unfurling mystery, but he was reminded of his original purpose in visiting the track as the crowd continued to cheer and undulate.

_At least Hermione’s away from the Home..._

_And the Doctor._

He’d worry about Riddle later.

“It was good seeing you, Horace. Take care.”

They parted ways, Slughorn turning away first, an occurrence Harry had never witnessed before.

He made his way to the upper deck, striding to Bagman’s office and bringing his fist down upon the door.

After the third strike, he opened it without invitation.

The sound of shuffling papers filled with the room, along with the creaking of a chair.

“What on earth-” A weighted pause as Harry strode into the tiny office. It was as chaotic as he recalled from his last visit.

And then the man seated behind the desk sprang to his feet, nearly tipping a stack of books to the floor.

“Ah, Mr. Potter! How wonderful to see you again!”

Harry directed the full intensity of his emerald gaze upon the man. “I doubt you’ll think so in a minute.”

Bagman blinked, slowing his walk around the desk. “I’m sorry?”

Harry shut the door behind him.

“I need information.”

“On a horse?”

He turned to face the bookie, eyes glimmering with flame.

“On a wolf.”

Bagman froze, mouth hanging open for several moments before he cleared his throat.

“I’m afraid I don’t-”

“Yes, you do.”

Harry took several calculated steps forward, driving the man back into the corner.

“You understand perfectly well.”

He came to a stop with only a few feet to spare, allowing his larger frame to tower over his prey, relishing the dawning fear in his eyes.

_Good._

_Let him be scared of me._

_I won’t have to resort to more drastic means._

“I’m willing to pay you for the information. Then I’ll walk away. Or we can take the messy route, the one where I threaten to expose your entire operation to the police.”

Bagman’s brows drew together, fear rapidly giving way to agitation.

"Operation? You mean my business? I assure you, Potter, everything I do is perfectly above board."

Harry smirked without humor. “Is that so?”

The bookie paled, voice raising an octave. “Gambling is legal, as are the services rendered at Amortentia, selling keys is perfectly within my rights.”

“And how do you obtain those keys?”

Bagman pressed harder into the wall, shoulders tense. “The Lestranges provide them to me.”

“Out of the charity of their hearts? Or as payment for your silence?”

The man blinked rapidly, complexion turning waxen.

“I- I-”

"Last I checked, human trafficking is still frowned upon in Britain. I wonder what Captain Bones would think about all this. I'm close friends with his daughter, you know. Had dinner with the man just the other night.”

Bagman practically croaked. “Bones?”

Harry’s smirk turned into a shite eating grin. “Head of the CID. I dare say this type of operation is right up his alley. What do you think?”

Bagman's eyes turned comically wide, pupils constricting to tiny points. "You have no idea who you're messing with, Potter. The people involved in this could crush you without breaking a sweat."

Harry’s smile dropped like a dead weight, the intensity of his gaze pinning the man in place as effectively as steel spikes.

“I don’t doubt it. But if they’re capable of wiping a Peer off the face of the map, what do you think they’ll do to you?”

Bagman swallowed audibly before releasing a high pitched sound that was somewhere between speech and a wail.

“Exactly.” Harry eased back, satisfied his message was received. “As I said, I just need information, then I’ll walk away. You're not the one I’m after.”

After several beats Bagman found his voice, though it was patched together with uneven tones.

“You want Greyback.”

It wasn’t a question, so Harry didn’t bother confirming it. Instead, he lowered his chin, face and posture menacing.

“Where can I find him?”

* * *

Hermione bit her lip, pressing against the side of a shop as the Doctor came to a stop at the end of the street, waiting for a carriage to pass before stepping into the crowded intersection.

She released a sharp breath and clutched her skirts, jogging to keep up with his long stride while maintaining a healthy distance, heels rapidly clicking the pavement.

His pace remained constant, his final location an utter mystery. But he had yet to flag down a ride, to her great relief and frustration. While following him by carriage would be logistically harder, it would be immensely less straining on her exhausted constitution.

He turned the corner suddenly, causing her to groan and stumble into to lamppost while dodging oncoming pedestrians, turning on her heel and dashing after her elusive target.

She rounded a newsstand, entering the street.

And stopped in her tracks.

The Doctor was nowhere in sight.

_What the hell?_

He didn’t have _that_ much of a head start…

Her heart leaped into her throat as she caught sight of his dark coat trailing him into an alley between a diner and grocer.

She breathed a sigh of relief, following quickly.

And hesitated outside of a fruit stand, taking a deep breath before peaking over her shoulder into the alley beyond, curious if it was a dead end he would emerge from any moment.

Sure enough, the pathway led to a crowded street on the other side. The Doctor cut a straight route through the center and disappeared from sight once more.

She lifted her skirts and charged headlong into the narrow divide, mindful of where she stepped, dumpsters on either end filled with spoiled food, stray cats darting past her feet.

She reached the other side, stepping out onto the sidewalk-

And gasped sharply as a hand grasped her upper arm, steel fingers encasing her flesh and bone, unrelenting.

The trap was followed by a solid wall of black pressing into her body, driving her back so quickly she lost her balance.

A strong arm encased her waist, pulling her flush against an unyielding chest as she was lifted clear off the cobblestone and carried backward, spine colliding with the brick wall a moment later.

She opened and closed her mouth in shock, wide eyes meeting a raging storm that rendered her silent with terror.

In the next stuttered heartbeat the rest of his face came into view, the sharp angles and dark brow familiar yet no less unsettling.

His jaw tensed, expression livid, though his words held an eerie calm.

“You _must_ be mad.”

She swallowed thickly, muscles tensed, pinned as she was between his body and the wall.

“I thought we already established that in the attic.”

His eyes flashed, something wild taking root within, causing them to gleam unnaturally as gazed down upon her. “I thought your superior intellect excluded you from such an affliction. I see now I made a gross miscalculation.”

Her pulse thrummed, heat rising along her neck.

“Just because I want to help find my friend doesn’t make me insane!”

“I should have known the Potter boy wouldn’t be able to keep you contained.” The hand still trapping her arm squeezed painfully. She flinched. His fingers loosened immediately, though they were no less restraining. “I should have tied you up myself. Another miscalculation. One I won’t be making again.”

“Naturally, the moment I don’t do your exact bidding your first inclination is to lock me away!”

“On the contrary, Ms. Granger. You’ve been going against my bidding from the moment we first met.” His tone was calm, unaffected by her ire. “At this point, I would have more success commanding you to do the opposite of what I truly want.”

“I am not a child!”

“I assure you, I’m well aware of that fact.”

His gaze darkened, a shadow passing across his visage, making her stunningly cognizant of the suffocating heat and pressure of his frame pressing into every part of her.

“I won’t be hidden away, and I won’t sit idly by while Luna is still missing. If you refuse to let me help look for her then at least allow me to evacuate the girls from the Home. Harry is willing to bring them all to Grimmauld-”

“That’s ludicrous.”

Her flush deepened, emotions warring within her for dominance. “The Manor is nearly the size of the Home, there’s plenty of room-”

“If we transfer the residents it will alert the organization to our movements and any chance we have of retrieving Ms. Lovegood will be destroyed.”

“Then let me help!” Her chest heaved against him, his weight suffocating, grounding. “I’m the true target, I’m the one they want! Surely I’m of more use to you as a tool than a hidden artifact.”

“You will be of no use to me if you’re dead.”

Her heart stuttered painfully. She slowly wet her lips, breath straining against the vice strangling her lungs.

“You won't let anything happen to me. I’m safer at your side than I am at Grimmauld.”

He blinked. Then searched her gaze with his own. What he was looking for she hadn’t the slightest clue. But he seemed to find it a moment later, his body easing back just a fraction, just enough to allow part of her senses to come flooding back.

“That is quite the assumption to make.”

“It’s no assumption.” She spoke without hesitation, without thought, words filling her mouth unbidden. “Parvati was right. She articulated what I’ve known all along. You’re dangerous. But you pose no threat to me. I understand that now.”

He swallowed lightly. “You know nothing about me.”

Her brows drew together, chest alighting with chronic ache.

“I know you grew up in squalor, with a mother who was absent even when she was in the same room. I know you resent her for pining after a man who abused her, who wanted to kill you both.”

His expression froze, solidifying into an impenetrable mask. His body underwent a similar transition, turning to stone before her very eyes, an unyielding mass she clung to on instinct.

“I know you detest her for taking her own life, for choosing the easy way out instead of staying and fighting at your side. And you detest yourself for missing her anyway. She’s the heart of all of this, your underlying motivation for everything you do.”

Her hands were gripping his biceps, nails digging into the thick fabric of his coat as though to keep him in place, though he made no movement whatsoever, standing so still he didn't seem to breathe.

“You’ve been forging this battle alone for most of your life. It’s your obsession. Your purpose for being. You’ve allowed the quest for revenge to consume you, possess your every thought and action. I know you have trouble trusting anyone, least of all someone you’ve only just met.”

Her heart was racing in her chest, set to burst through at any moment, spilling her life’s blood down across both their fronts.

But still, she forged on.

“The idea of relinquishing even a morsel of control must make you sick with revulsion. You’ve gotten to this point all on your own, so why let someone else into the fold now?”

His eyes flickered rapidly between hers, the mask cracking along the edges, his true visage peering through, utterly stricken in its stillness, utterly heartbreaking.

“But you can’t do this alone, Tom.”

She felt a shudder run along his frame, echoing throughout her own. The arm still strapped across her lower back flexed, pressing her against his abdomen.

“This final battle, this final push to victory is too precious to let slip through your fingers due to sheer stubbornness. You know everything there is to know about me. My past, my parents, my hopes and dreams.”

She wet her lips once more, mouth dry with exertion. His gaze lowered, tracking the movement, lingering as she continued opening every vein before him, too late to turn back now.

“You know things not even Harry is privy to. Dolohov’s attack. The hallucinations.”

She swallowed thickly.

“I have no secrets from you. I’ve laid every card I’ve ever kept close to my chest on the table. I’m stripped bare. You know my motivations, my dedication to seeing this through.”

His eyes moved back up, meeting her own. She felt dizzy, certain she’d collapse if not for his arms holding her upright.

“If you don’t start trusting me we’ll lose Luna and any chance we have of stopping them.”

She gasped for breath, utterly gutted.

Exposed.

The silence that met her plea was deafening.

Crippling in its absolution.

She began to tremble, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay-

And then to her immense relief, his muscles slowly eased, body melting into her.

“I trust you.”

It sounded as though he were pulling the words from the far recesses of his throat, dragging them along jagged rocks and gravel.

“But I am not deserving of the same. I couldn’t protect my mother, Luna was taken right out from under me. I won’t risk losing you to the Dollmaker.”

She inhaled deeply, oxygen flooding her system and dimming the edges of her vision, leaving only his face in perfect clarity. She went limp in his hold, surrendering fully to the moment.

“If we don't stop them I’m already lost. It’s only a matter of time before Greyback breaks into Grimmauld and kills everyone I love to get to me. Nowhere is safe. Not until the evil is stopped at its source.”

His jaw tensed, the raw heat in his eyes igniting, the blaze scorching.

“Greyback.”

He practically growled the name. Her heart jolted.

“That’s who took Luna.” She paused, studying his face carefully.

And then her spine went rigid once more.

“And by your lack of reaction, I suspect you already knew that detail.”

The arm bracing her middle tightened, as though to quell any renewed attempts to flee.

“You went on a field trip.”

She tipped her chin up. “Harry and I visited All Hallows.”

“Christ.”

“I would have been able to skip the journey if you had been honest with me in the first place!” Her eyes narrowed. “How do you know Greyback?”

“I’ve heard enough stories to piece together his description long before I laid eyes upon him at the poker game.”

She blinked, irritation forgotten.

“Poker game? He was invited?”

“Not as a player. He came to see Dolohov. Lestrange was quite upset by his appearance.”

She glanced away, mind racing, hands flexing upon his arms.

“Do you think-”

"Yes, I do. But to make absolutely certain I'm going to ask him myself.”

She met his gaze once more, eyes wide. His own was molten at the core.

“You know where to find him?”

His jaw ticked, as though considering his words.

“I know where he’ll be.”

“That’s where you're heading?” A thrill seized her. She bounced on her heels, inadvertently pressing harder against him. “I’m coming with you.”

He raised a dark brow, eyes roaming her face with methodical precision.

“This is where I tell you that’s a terrible idea.”

“Yes. And I counter with _nothing you say or do will stop me from seeing this through_.”

His voice lacked any trace of amusement.

“Wonderful.”

She bit her bottom lip. “May we skip it this time?”

He exhaled slowly, chest expanding out, pressing her into the wall.

“Since time is of the essence, and I have no doubt you’ll sneak out of any place I try and sequester you, I suppose I have little choice.”

She smiled brightly. “ _Wonderful_.”

His eyes narrowed.

She schooled her expression as best she could, but the corner of her lips refused to cooperate.

He shook his head and took a step back, arms falling away a moment later, leaving her bereft of his warmth and weight. She swayed on her feet, pressing her hands into the brick to regain her bearings.

He watched her movements carefully, keen eyes missing nothing. She flushed in embarrassment, scrambling for a distraction.

“How did you know I was following you?”

He met her gaze with stunning swiftness, causing her to freeze in place.

“I caught your scent on the wind.”

Her heart skipped a beat, nails scraping along the mortar.

He tipped his head, a smirk playing at the corner of his own mouth. “And then I caught your reflection in the store windows. Your stealth leaves much to be desired.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help but mirror his expression, feeling foolish for thinking she had the jump on him as he steadily lured her into the dark alley.

But their shared amusement was quickly squashed. His expression sobered rapidly, prompting her to blink in confusion.

“If you insist on accompanying me, I must warn you of something.”

The chill in his voice made her breathing slow.

“My plans for Greyback this evening extend far beyond mere conversation.”

She stood away from the wall, spine lengthening, shoulders widening.

“He beat Parvati unconscious and stole Luna right out of my bed. I don’t want to have a conversation with him.”

Her hands curled at her sides, talon-tipped claws piercing through her palms.

“I want him to suffer.”

His eyes slowly roamed her face, as though he expected such a response.

“We shall see if you still feel that way when the time comes.”

His casual remark made her pulse thrum, the hard lines on her posture falling lax once more.

He didn't seem phased by either metamorphosis. Instead, he extended his arm with casual grace.

“Come now.”

She blinked, lurching forward on unsteady legs, grasping his arm with trembling hands.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re making a detour.” He began to lead them out of the alley, onto the side street he accosted her on moments before. “You must be properly attired for the mission ahead.”

She raised a brow, glancing down at her dress.

“What’s wrong with my outfit?”

He steered them around the corner, his tall, darkly clad figure easily clearing space for them as pedestrians navigated out of their path.

“It lacks the necessary lure to draw the wolf from his den.”

She tipped her head up, studying the sharp line of his jaw. “I thought I was the lure?”

His lips curled into a secretive smile, eyes still focused ahead.

“That you are.”

And then his gaze flickered down, meeting hers with such vibrant intensity she stumbled over her own feet. She used her grip on his arm to regain her balance, flushing hotly.

The dark amusement in his voice vibrated through every bone in her body.

“That you are.”

* * *

Harry ran a hand through his hair as he followed the sound of voices and tinkling crystal to the study.

The sight that greeted him left him shaking his head with mirth.

His godfather caught his movement from the corner of his eye and glanced up from the card strewed coffee table, a joyous smile alighting his face.

“There he is!”

His voice was a bit too boisterous to fit the occasion. Harry glanced at the half-empty decanter beside the man's bare foot.

“I see the two of you are getting along quite nicely.”

Parvati glanced over her shoulder, eyes bright and cheeks flush. “Splendidly!”

Sirius tossed the cards in his hand down.

“Ms. Patil was just showing me how to count cards. Bloody brilliant girl.”

She winked. “I have many talents.”

Harry sighed, slowly crossing his arms.

“Let me guess, Mione lectured you both on the dangers of gambling and the immorality of cheating before you chased her out of the room?”

Parvati blinked. Sirius tilted his head. Harry’s stomach dropped.

“Mione isn’t here,” she said.

“What?” He strode forward, pulse skipping.

“She left with you.”

“I sent her home over an hour ago.”

Parvati tried to push to her feet, cringing in pain. Sirius bolted upright, helping to steady her.

“Maybe she took a detour to the Home?” The man offered, glancing past her dark head of hair to his godson.

“No, she wouldn’t do that,” Parvati responded, voice hard.

“I told her to bring back some of the girls,” Harry said, hands clenching. “Maybe she-”

“She told you what happened?”

Harry stopped short, holding her dark gaze with a festering sense of dread.

“She told me your friend was kidnapped.”

Sirius drew back. “Kidnapped?” He pinned his godson with an uncharacteristically intense stare. “Alright, I think it’s time someone brings me up to speed.”

“There’s no time.” Parvati's gaze never wavered from Harry. “She didn’t tell you everything.” She drew in a slow breath, stance rigid. “I think she’s in trouble.”

Harry raked his fingers through his hair for the second time, swallowing heavily.

“Goddammit, Mione.”

* * *

Draco placed his hands in his pockets, shifting anxiously in the extravagant entry, restless down to his bones.

The sharp clicking of heels on marble drew his focus to the hall. But the gait was all wrong. Too hard, too abrupt.

He fought back a cringe as a vibrant swish of turquoise silk emerged into the room a heartbeat before its owner.

“What do you want?”

He sighed. “Hello to you, too, Daphne.”

She crossed her arms tightly, coming to a stop several feet away.

“You’re early.”

“I need to speak to Astoria.” He pinned her with a pointed look. “Privately.”

He expected an argument, as per their normal dealings, and was thrown decidedly off course as the formidable Greengrass sister’s shoulders lowered, eyes averting to some spot just beyond his head.

“She told me what you did. With her manuscript.” Her jaw tensed. “I haven’t seen her this excited about something in…” She shook her head, swallowing lightly. “In a long time.”

She took a deep breath, meeting his gaze once more. “I hope you aren’t here to ruin that.”

Draco blinked. "This has nothing to do with her manuscript. I have every intention of helping her send it out to every major publisher on the island and continent until we find someone willing to print it.”

Daphne stared at him in silence for several beats.

“That’s…” She opened and closed her mouth, clearly searching for the words. “That’s very decent of you, Draco.”

“High praise coming from you, Greengrass.”

They both smirked.

“It still doesn’t change your pending engagement.”

His amusement faded.

“I’m working on it.”

Her expression sobered as well.

“I’m not sorry I threw you out last time.”

“I deserved it. I was a complete idiot.”

“Admitting it is the first step to recovery.”

He couldn’t contain his burst of laughter.

And then the soft clicking of heels echoed off the marble.

“Draco?”

They both turned to face the room’s third occupant.

“Tori. I know I’m early-”

“Is everything alright? Are you okay?”

He blinked, taken off guard by the concern in her voice. How long had it been since someone asked him that question?

“I’m fine.”

The silence stretched on, an oppressive weight pressing upon his chest until Daphne delicately cleared her throat.

“I’ll give you both some privacy.”

Astoria raised a dark brow, watching her sister exit the room with shock clear upon her face. Her eyes darted back to Draco.

“Did you drug her?”

He smiled anew.

“We’ve turned a new leaf. At least for today.”

“I see.” She wet her lips, stepping further into the room. “Would you like to sit?”

"I haven't the time. There's something I must take care of." He shifted closer, trying to keep his voice calm and steady, his posture eased. “I won’t be able to escort you to the publishing house. But I’ve already paid for the order. You just need to pick it up. I’d send one of my footmen but I assumed-”

“I want to see it in person.” She tilted her head, eyes narrowed. “What’s happened Draco? I can tell something’s wrong.”

He swallowed, the words filling his mouth without restraint or filter.

“I need to check on Granger.”

“Hermione?” She straightened, eyes wide. “Is she in trouble?”

His pulse raced at the mere notion.

“I don’t know.”

She nodded quickly. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

His hands loosened at his sides, brows drawing in.

“Thank you, Tori.”

She tilted her head. “For what?”

“Being so…” He swallowed lightly. “Understanding. It’s a relief having someone I can be honest with.”

“What are friends for?”

Her smile was warm, knowing.

He tried to respond in kind but his spent nerves wouldn’t allow for such an expression to grace his face. He went for words instead.

"I can't wait to read your book. I already know it's going to be a bestseller."

Her laughter echoed off the vaulted ceiling, soft as chimes.

“I’m serious. You’re going to be known for more than just your beauty and pedigree. This book is your heart and soul and the world is going to fall in love with it.”

Her amusement faded at once, eyes blinking rapidly as tears filled her gaze.

“Thank you, Draco.”

He nodded, looking away, affording her privacy to wipe them dry. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

He walked to the door, reaching for the handle.

“Draco.”

He glanced over his shoulder.

She twisted her hands before her full skirts. “I hope she’s alright.”

His jaw tensed, chest tightening painfully.

“Me, too.”

* * *

“Let me get this straight…”

Harry continued to wear a hold into the rug as he paced back and forth relentlessly.

“Hermione was the true target last night, she wasn’t at the Home because she dressed as a house girl and snuck into Amortentia- _again_ \- in the company of the bloody _Doctor_ no less, and then she came here and persuaded me to take her into the slums where the man hunting her is known to frequent?”

Parvati cringed lightly, pressing back into the chair. “About sums it up.”

Harry nodded.

“Fantastic. After I find her, I’m going to kill her.”

Sirius stood from the wall he'd been leaning against as Parvati recalled her tale.

“Slow down a minute, what do you mean snuck into Amortentia _again_?”

Harry sighed, running a hand over his face. His godfather raised a dark brow.

“This is what you've been keeping from me?”

Harry’s jaw tensed as a sapphire gaze flashed through his mind. He swallowed heavily.

“Yes.”

Sirius tipped his head. “I guess I’m out of the running for the parent of the year award.”

“We have to find her,” Parvati interjected, spine straight. “I’ve encountered Greyback twice now and I assure you, he packs a wallop.”

Harry and Sirius both tensed. The latter spoke first.

“We’re going to the authorities-”

“No!” Harry and Parvati shouted at the same time.

Sirius drew back, glancing between them.

“Funny, you both mispronounce yes the same way.”

“The police won’t do shite-”

Harry held up staying hand, addressing his godfather directly.

“She’s right, Sirius. They’ll bring us all in for hours of questioning and Hermione will be left exposed even longer. We have to get her back now, on our own.”

Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing.

“Bloody hell.” Several moments passed before he glanced up again, resignation in his voice. “Where do you suppose we look?”

“She’s hunting Greyback, same as us.” Parvati looked to Harry. “She’ll go where she thinks he is.”

Harry drew in a deep breath.

“Amortentia.”

She nodded. “Bagman told you he checks in there every evening. She’ll have likely figured it out by now, too. Which means she’ll head back to the Home to pick up the costume.”

“Then we go to the Home and intercept her,” Sirius said.

“Unless she’s already left.”

“I’ll go to the Home.” Parvati slowly pushed up from her seat. “If a costume is missing I’ll know she was there and what her plan is.” She held Harry’s gaze. “You go on ahead to Amortentia. See if you can spot her or find Greyback first. If he’s taken off the street he won’t be a threat to her either way.”

Sirius blinked, face paling. “Wait a minute, what are you saying?”

Harry nodded, turning to face the man. “You wait here, Sirius, in case she comes back-”

“Like hell! I’m not sitting back while you go off and kill someone.”

“I’m not going to kill him.” His jaw tensed. “I need him alive to find out where the other girl is.”

“Luna,” Parvati said softly.

He nodded. “Luna.” He held his godfather's eye. “I have to do this, Sirius. To protect Hermione.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed, Harry. If Greyback checks in at Amortentia it’s because he’s working for Rodolphus or Rabastan. If either of them spots you there you'll become the next target."

“I won’t be spotted. I’ll be in disguise.”

“Harry, I won’t allow it.”

“I’m not asking permission, Sirius.”

The both stood rigidly, fists clenched at their sides, shoulders braced for impact.

After a short eternity, Sirius released a long breath, deflating before his eyes.

“If something happens to you-”

“It won’t.” He reached out, resting a hand atop his wide shoulder. “But something could very well happen to Mione. She needs me. And I need _you_ to trust me.” A weighted pause. “And to let me go.”

Sirius’s eyes turned glassy. He blinked, stepping back and glancing away.

“If you aren’t back inside this house by nine o'clock sharp I’m bringing the entire Navy with me to Amortentia and tearing apart every square inch until I find you.”

Harry couldn’t suppress his smirk. “Fair enough.”

He turned to Parvati.

“Are you sure about this? You’re hurt-”

“I’m not losing someone else I care about.” She stood firm, chin held high. “I’m helping.”

He nodded, holding out his arm to escort her from the room.

“Harry.”

He glanced at his godfather once more.

“Please, don’t go there alone.”

The emeralds in his gaze flashed in response.

“I won't.”

* * *

The overhead bell chimed loudly as Astoria entered the shop.

She glanced around the bright, open space, seeing no movement aside from the fractured daylight reflecting off the stained glass window.

“Hello?”

A muffled thump sounded from somewhere beyond the back wall.

“Just a moment!”

She crossed the room to stand before the front counter, hands folded primly at her front. She glanced around the shop with uncandid interest, examining the beautiful books on display, breathing in deep the comforting scent of leather and parchment.

Her chest swelled with longing.

And then heavy footsteps sounded down the hall. She quickly averted her gaze forward, smiling pleasantly as the door behind the counter opened.

Only for her heart to skip a beat.

The young man standing before her glanced up and froze.

They stared at each other in silence for the space of another stuttered heartbeat before a grin spread across his face like wildfire.

“Hello.”

She immediately blushed and silently chastised herself for having such a childish reaction.

“Hello.”

He fell silent again, seemingly content to just stare at her from behind the counter. She delicately cleared her throat, a trait she had inherited from Daphne when trying to covertly gain someone’s attention.

“Do you work here?”

He blinked.

“Oh, right.” His laughter was rich and deep. “Sorry. Um, I’m helping out the Tonks today. How can I help you?”

“I’m here to pick up a manuscript.”

He nodded, stepping in closer. “What’s the name on the order?”

She wet her lips, brow furrowing. “I’m not sure. Check under Malfoy.”

He seemed taken aback for a moment but quickly recovered.

“Alright.”

He leaned over and started rummaging beneath the counter, out of her line of view. After a few more seconds of searching, he hummed low in his throat.

“No Malfoy.”

She leaned in, eyes focused on the table top as though she could see through it if she focused hard enough.

“Try Greengrass.”

His eyes flickered up, smile catching flame once more.

“Thought I recognized you.”

She blinked, settling back on her heels.

“Have we met?”

“I saw you at the Naval party.”

She smiled.

“Are you a sailor?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, I’m a bit too adverse to authority to be trusted with our nation’s security.”

The unassuming admission took her off guard, causing her own laughter to bubble up unbidden. He seemed to bask in the sound, leaning against the counter and extending his hand.

“I’m a friend of Harry Potter, name’s Fred Weasley.”

She blinked, staring at his proffered palm with a curious expression.

The social etiquette was to kiss a woman’s knuckles.

She was quite certain she’d never shaken hands in her life.

Which made the prospect of doing so now simply irresistible. She raised her arm and pressed her palm into his own, warmth alighting across her skin and through her entire body.

His grip was strong, sure. She felt the calluses on his fingertips scrape gently along her smooth flesh. Her mouth went dry. His smiled deepened.

He continued to hold her hand long after the customary shake ended.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Fred.” Her voice sounded high and grating to her ears. She swallowed heavily before continuing. “I’m Astoria.”

Color rose in his cheeks, highlighting the caramel freckles scattered along his nose and the apples of his cheeks.

“The pleasure is all mine, Astoria.”

Her heartbeat echoed loudly in her ears, pulse thrumming wildly in her wrists and at the back of her knees. Though he only grasped her hand, she’d never had a touch linger upon her person for so long.

Not even Daphne’s.

The realization caused her to jerk her hand away, eyes averting to the counter.

He seemed to snap out of their shared daze at the same moment.

“Oh, shite, your manuscript.”

He leaned over once more, flipping through paper stacks. She bit her tongue to suppress a grin, unaccustomed to hearing a man swear in her presence.

A moment later he was standing tall with a thick binding in his hands.

“Here we are. Got done printing it this morning. It’s still warm.”

She tilted her head, eyes darting from the manuscript to his gaze.

“You print the books yourself?”

“Some of them. Testing out a new part on the press.”

She smiled, eager to ask him more questions, deeply fascinated by the process of bookmaking, but was rendered silent as he set the manuscript on the counter and began examining the cover.

Her heart thumped erratically as his fingertips grazed the cursive letters of her name.

“You wrote this?”

She shifted anxiously. “Yes.”

He released a short laugh, gazing up through his auburn lashes. “Beauty and brains.”

Warmth exploded in her face and neck, causing her to blush every shade of crimson. “I don’t know about that,” she said quickly, hands twisting her skirts. “It’s not an educational piece, that’s for sure.”

And then, without prompt or permission, he opened the cover and began reading the first page. She leaped forward, hand raised.

“Oh, please don’t-”

“It begins with a murder.” He arched a brow, eyes continuing to flicker rapidly across the text. “Bloody hell, this is fantastic.”

Her heart jolted. She rested her hands on the counter.

And studied his profile as he continued to read at leisure, his smile continuing to grow.

She bit her lip, trying to contain her own grin.

And then without warning his eyes darted up. Their gazes met. She forgot how to breathe.

“This will fly off the shelf.”

The statement held no trace of humor, yet it caused her to erupt into a fit of unrestrained laughter, tears pooling in her eyes. She covered her mouth, mortified by her bizarre reaction, but he seemed all too pleased with her indelicate show.

After a few moments, she found her breath again, inhaling deeply, gripping the edge of the counter to steady herself.

“You're very sweet.”

He flashed a wry smirk. “The majority of my family would disagree with you. They think I’m a bit of an arsehole most days.”

She laughed anew, delighted by his lack of censorship in her company. She suspected this was how he acted with everyone, regardless of rank and title. It was wonderfully refreshing.

“Fred?”

They both reared back at the new voice.

The door swung open once more, a familiar face emerging.

“Oh, Astoria, how lovely to see you again, my dear.”

Astoria dipped into a curtsy, her balance slightly off in the wake of the last few minutes.

“Madam Tonks.”

“Please, call me Andy.” The Madam directed her radiant smile on Fred, though her eyes narrowed slightly. “I heard quite a bit of laughter coming from this room. I see you’ve met Mr. Weasley.” She arched a dark brow. “I trust you were a complete gentleman the entire time?”

He quickly glanced away. Astoria straightened.

“Yes, he was.”

And then to her great shock, he met her gaze and winked, causing her to rock back on her heels.

The Madam watched the silent exchange and rolled her eyes, smile never faltering as she stepped closer to the counter and peered down at the manuscript.

“I am happy you came to pick this up yourself, I wanted to speak with you directly.”

Astoria’s brain rapidly recalibrated.

“I read the first half.” The Madam glanced up, expression sobering. “My husband and I would like first publishing rights.”

Astoria blinked. A faint buzzing filled her ears. She blinked again.

And then she met Fred’s eye. He was grinning like a loon, triggering the same reaction in her.

She pressed a hand to her chest, gazing at Mistress Tonks once more as she desperately tried to think of an eloquent response to capture the full magnitude of her appreciation and joy, yet when she parted her lips only once thing came to mind.

“Oh my god!”

Andromeda tipped her head back and laughed.

“I take it you’re interested?”

Astoria nodded so emphatically she nearly got a cramp in her neck. “Yes!”

“Wonderful. I’d like to have you to our home for lunch this week. We can discuss the details then.”

She continued to nod, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay.

“Yes, I would be honored.”

“The honor is ours, dear girl. You have a very distinctive voice, one that must be heard.”

There was nothing for it, water spilled from the corners of her eyes. She wiped her cheeks quickly, too excited to feel proper embarrassment.

“Thank you.”

Andromeda smiled, eyes gleaming as she studied Astoria’s face with careful precision, as though reading some hidden text printed along the front.

“I think the two of us will have much to chat about.”

She gently pushed the manuscript forward. Astoria reached out and gathered the bundle, clutching it to her chest, heart pulsing against the binding.

“I look forward to it.”

“Enjoy your afternoon, darling.”

She swallowed thickly, trying to keep her voice steady, calm. “Yes, you as well.”

She started to leave, mind still reeling, knees weak with the weight of her emotions, when the undeniable urge to look back overcame her.

She glanced over her shoulder, pale green gaze meeting eyes of a deep cerulean blue.

“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Weasley.”

He smirked, and the rest of their surroundings faded to smoke.

“I hope to cross paths again, Ms. Greengrass.”

She bit her lip, facing forward and darting out of the shop with so much joy in her heart she lifted off the ground and floated up up and away.

* * *

Harry reached forward, knocking on the door with a sigh before glancing to the man beside him.

“I appreciate this, Nev.”

Neville nodded, his gaze as wide and confused as it appeared when Harry first showed up on his doorstep.

“Of course. I’m happy to help. Although I’m still a bit unclear-”

The ornately carved door opened.

And a third man peered out at them both, slumping against the frame and dragging a hand over his face.

“I must be way drunker than I thought.”

Harry bit back a groan. “Zabini.”

Blaise lowered his hand, blinking rapidly, the lantern above the entry revealing the faint outline of two black eyes and a narrow laceration along the side of his nose.

“Fucking hell. Is it really Potter and Longbottom at my door?”

Harry sighed, crossing his arms. “We need a favor.”

Blaise threw his head back and laughed, the sound deep and loud, echoing off the stone pillars lining the elaborate porch.

“This is going to be bloody fantastic.”

Harry’s jaw tensed. “We need to borrow your mother’s costumes.”

Zabini blinked again and then exploded into a fresh round of boisterous laughter.

“Christ, it’s even better than I thought.”

“Zabini.” Harry glanced over his shoulder at the street beyond the circular drive. “Are you going to invite us in or not?”

Blaise raised a dark brow. “Depends.” He slouched against the doorframe once more, eyes bright.

Harry ground his teeth. “On what.”

“I’m bored as hell.” Blaise shrugged. “I’ll give you the outfits if you let me tag along to the Club.”

“No.”

“Come on, Potter. The bloody key is wasted on you!”

“We’re not going for there for pleasure.”

“No shite. Longbottom’s presence was a bit of a dead giveaway, no offense, mate.”

Neville raised a brow, glancing between them. “I’m too confused to be offended.”

Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We don’t have time for this.”

“Then invite me along on your merry excursion and we can get this freak show on the road.”

Harry tipped his head back, groaning into the orange and violet sky.

“Fine.”

Blaise rocked back on his heels with a Cheshire grin, swinging the open door. "In that case, welcome to my humble abode gentleman.” He swept an arm forward. “Let’s get suited.”

* * *

Parvati listed against the staircase, chest heaving, eyes squeezing shut as she pulled together every ounce of strength she could muster.

_Twenty-seven more to go…_

She licked her lips, cringing as she lifted her leg and continued her upward trek.

Her festering fear for Luna and now Hermione propelled her forward, filled her with enough adrenaline to soften the blunt edges of the pain.

She allowed her churning thoughts to distract her, reliving every moment of her day since waking in the clinic, going over the tasks that lied ahead with careful strategy.

She’d made the executive decision not to tell Potter about the extent of the Doctor’s involvement in the hopes of keeping them all on track. She knew first hand that men often let their pride and ego get in the way of rational thought.

And while she harbored no illusion there was a romance brewing between Hermione and her childhood friend, his brother like bond with her would not exclude him from reacting adversely to the news of Hermione’s perverse little partnership with the mysterious man.

But no matter Parvati’s own reservation regarding the Doctor, her gut told her he wasn’t the one they needed to focus on.

They needed to find Greyback.

The Boogeyman was their target. He would lead them to Luna, and possibly even Hermione.

Still, Parvati had visited the clinic upon her arrival in the hopes Hermione or Riddle would be there and make her job exponentially easier.

Wishful thinking, of course.

Nothing in her life had been handed to her yet. Things certainly weren’t about to change now.

She panted as she made it onto the second floor, eyes watering from exertion, pressing one hand to the wall as she walked the hallway to their bedroom, sagging in relieve against the doorframe as she finally reached her destination.

And then her eyes fell upon a dark stain on the hardwood.

Blood.

 _Her_ blood.

Her heart jolted painfully, the burning sting of her ribs swallowed by the scorching flame searing through her heart.

Her fingertips tingled with the phantom sensation of Luna’s hand in her own, the terror in her blue eyes as she was wrenched away haunting her every waking moment.

_I’m so sorry, Luna. I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you._

She slowly crossed the room, vision hazed by tears she refused to acknowledge. Instead, she opened the wardrobe, pushing aside garments until she came across a familiar sight at the back.

 _Shite_.

She drew away, shaking her head.

Both costumes were there.

If Hermione wasn’t at the Club where the hell could she be?

_What if Greyback found her?_

_What if he took her, just like he took Luna?_

She pressed a hand to her chest, suddenly feeling light-headed.

“Parvati?”

She spun around with a gasp, shoulders dropping when she spotted the face in the doorway.

“Hannah!”

The blonde darted across the room with her arms out, seizing Parvati in a hug. She gasped in pain.

“Oh, shite, I’m so sorry!” Hannah stepped away immediately, face stricken.

“It’s alright.”

“What are you doing outside Mungo’s? Did they discharge you already?”

Parvati blinked.

“Mungo’s?”

Hannah raised a pale brow. “That’s where Umbridge said you were.”

Parvati wet her lips, shaking her head.

“I’m staying at the Black Estate.”

Hannah stepped back, eyes wide.

“Wait, _what_?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it later, I promise.” She rubbed tiredly at her eyes. “But right now I need to find Mione, have you seen her?”

“I thought she was with you?”

“She was.” She sighed deeply, ribs protesting loudly. “I think she’s going after Luna.”

Hannah jolted. “By herself?”

Parvati’s jaw tensed.

“With the Doctor.”

“I- I don’t… that’s insane.”

“Precisely.”

Parvati turned to face the wardrobe once more.

“I need to find her before Greyback.”

“Who?”

“The man who took Luna.”

Hannah stepped forward, placing a hand on her arm to gain her attention. “You can’t be serious, Parv. Look at the state you’re in.”

“I don’t have a choice.” She avoided her friend’s gaze, reaching into the wardrobe and carefully extracting the costume from its hanger.

“You’re going to Amortentia?”

She nodded, spine rigid.

“I need to speak with Angie. She might know what Mione and Riddle were up to during last night’s visit, where they might be now.”

She heard Hannah sigh and braced herself for an argument.

But then-

”I’m coming with you.”

Parvati blinked, glancing sharply over her shoulder.

“Hannah-”

“If you can go with a fractured rib there’s nothing stopping me.”

Parvati stepped back, allotting the girl the full intensity of her dark gaze.

“I don’t want to get you wrapped up in this mess.”

“I already _am_ wrapped up. Luna is my friend, too. So are you and Mione.”

Parvati opened her mouth to protest anew but Hannah’s brown eyes were hard set, unrelenting, rendering her arguments mute. She sighed instead, shoulders dropping.

“Alright. Come on then. I managed to give Filch the slip sneaking in, we can use the kitchen to slip out.”

Hannah nodded enthusiastically, draping both uniforms over her arm and helping Parvati out of the room and down the back steps.

They passed very few residents as they went, the atmosphere of the Home even more somber than usual. Parvati suspected the majority of the girls knew what had occurred last night and that their Matron was sweeping the entire affair under the proverbial rug.

No one was safe.

And if you weren't safe in your own home…

It was only a matter of time before they all snapped and formed a mutiny.

Parvati shook her head at her own internal musings.

It was a lovely fantasy to spin, but highly unlikely. The spirits of most of the residents were broken, some beyond repair. There would be no anarchy in their future, if they even had a future to begin with.

As they cut a path through the garden the smell of gardenias flooded her senses, reminding her yet again of Luna. She held her breath until they made it to the gate, desperate to keep her wits about her, and bit back a cry of anguish as she squeezed through the narrow opening between the bars.

Hannah watched her with such empathy in her eyes she was practically in tears by the time they both emerged onto the sidewalk.

And as Parvati limped a shaky path to the street beyond, she caught sight of another familiar sight in the distance.

At first, she thought she was hallucinating, her desire to see Luna again manifesting itself into a mirage.

But as she blinked through the tears and pain she realized it wasn’t a woman she was gazing upon at all, but rather a man with a shock of the same white blonde hair as her missing friend.

_Wait a moment…_

She recognized that pretty face.

“Holy fuck.”

“What?” Hannah asked, glancing over her shoulder.

Parvati increased her pace forward.

The man trotted quickly up the stairs of the Home, arm raised as though preparing to knock on the front door. Her heart leaped into her throat.

“Oi!”

The man jolted, his arm dropping as he turned around and swept his gaze across the street.

“Over here!”

He blinked the moment his eyes fell upon the pair of girls standing at the gate.

Her pulse thrummed as she saw recognition dawn in their depths.

“You here for Mione?” She shouted.

He nodded, galloping down the stairs with great purpose.

“Yes,” he called back, cutting a path straight for them. “Can you fetch her for me?”

“She isn’t here.”

His mercurial gaze darkened as he came to stop just before them.

“Where is she?”

Parvati glanced beside her, exchanging a charged look with Hannah. She faced forward a moment later, eyes drifting past his shoulder.

“That your carriage?”

He raised a pale brow, turning around to follow her gaze. “Yes.”

“Good. Come on.” She started forward, leaving him staring at the back of her head in bemusement. “We’ll explain on the way.”

* * *

Neville gazed down at his chest, fingers carding through the ruffled collar of his shirt.

“So… why are we wearing this?”

Blaise glanced up from his all-important task of pouring a drink.

“Longbottom doesn’t even know our destination for the evening?”

Harry shook his head, fastening the laces on his own silk garment. “I didn't have time to go into specifics. He just knows we’re looking for Hermione.”

Zabini brought the glass to his lips, bow arching high over the rim.

"She's there again? Damn, I see why Drake has such a hard-on for her."

Neville suddenly sprung forward, fists clenched menacingly at his sides.

“Don’t speak about her like that!”

Harry braced an arm at the man’s shoulder as Blaise slowly grinned.

“Ah, I see the obsession is contagious. Best keep my distance then, eh?”

He winked knowingly, causing Neville to flush brightly as Harry pushed him back to the other end of the changing room.

“It’s alright, Nev. Zabini is equally offensive to everyone.”

Blaise tipped his head. “Well said.”

“Harry, where are we going?” Neville’s voice lacked the lightness of before, expression tense. “And why would Hermione be there?”

Harry took a deep breath, patting him on the shoulder before dropping his arm and stepping back.

“She’s looking for someone. But she’s in a dangerous situation and we have to find her as soon as possible. While you look for her I’m going to search for someone else.”

Neville blinked. “Who?”

“It’s complicated. Just remember, you’re there searching for Mione. Understand?”

He shook his head. “Not really, but alright.”

Blaise raised his hand high in the air. “Question.”

Harry rolled eyes, glancing over his shoulder. “What?”

“What is my mission while we’re there?”

“I thought your plan was to burrow your way to the center of an orgy.”

Blaise tipped his head, eyes contemplative. “Hm… that _does_ sound quite splendid. But your mission sounds even more intriguing.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Fine. You can help look for her, too.”

“That’s Neville’s assignment, I want one of my own.”

“How about avoiding another fist to the face?”

The man smirked fondly. “I liked her. She going to be there as well?”

Harry raised a brow. “You like the girl who broke your nose?”

Blaise shrugged, bringing the glass to his lips. “A bit of rough and tumble has its appeal. I’m starting to see the method to Drake’s madness.” He lowered the glass, licking the moisture from his top lip. “Speaking of which, why isn’t he involved in this little search party?”

Harry ran a hand over his face in sheer exhaustion.

“I went by the Manor first. No one was home.”

Blaise smirked, swirling the ice at the bottom of the tumbler.

“He’s going to kill you when he finds out you went ahead without him.”

Harry slipped his arms inside the sleeves of the velvet coat.

He realized a moment later it was the same one Theo selected for him on their last visit.

_Bloody fantastic._

“He’ll kill me if I waste time looking for him when Mione’s in trouble.”

Zabini blinked, a shadow passing across his visage, casting his expression into uncharacteristic sobriety.

“She’s really in danger?”

Harry inhaled slowly, straightening his shirt cuffs.

“Yes.”

Blaise nodded once, tipping back the remainder of his drink before slamming the glass on the cart.

“Alright then,” he smiled brightly. “Let’s go save the damsel, shall we?”

* * *

Hermione pressed her palms together, hands trembling.

_Breathe. Just breathe._

She swayed on her feet with the force of her heartbeat.

_Christ Christ Christ Christ_

She resumed pacing along the back of the alley behind the hospital, spots appearing before her vision as adrenaline surged through her system, only to stop short as her cloak caught on a jagged rock on the ground.

She spun on her heel, grabbing a handful of the soft fabric and tugging with more force than she necessary, nerves stretched to snap.

Hermione had forgotten she was even wearing the garment, having only adorned the last minute purchase moments ago before parting company with the Doctor.

She turned over the black fabric and ran her fingertips along the blood-red lining, leaving tracks in the velvet.

Her mind wandered without leave to the moment he draped it over her shoulders.

“This will help him spot you from a distance,” he’d said, voice deep and assuring.

She nodded mutely, body stiffening beneath the oppressive weight of the garment, buttery soft as it was.

His hands hadn't left her. Instead, they gently braced her shoulders, his eyes drifting her to neck, long fingers soon following the same path as he slid them behind her nape and extracted her hair from the collar.

“All you have to do is wait for him. Don’t engage, don’t approach. Just stand here.”

She swallowed thickly.

“I know.”

His fingers threaded through her loose curls until they emerged free, brown tresses falling along her chest.

He met her tumultuous gaze.

“I’ll be watching. I won’t take my eyes off of you.”

She stifled a gasp as his hand gently encased her throat, the pad of his thumb tracing the slender column and tipping her chin up.

“I won’t let him touch you.”

She blinked rapidly, vision hazing.

“I trust you.”

He inhaled deeply.

And then dropped his hand, taking a step back.

And left the alley entirely.

Hermione had been pacing it relentlessly ever since, trapped within the swirling chaos of her own mind. So lost to the rising panic she nearly missed the sound of boots scraping the cement.

Almost.

She froze on the spot, glancing over her shoulder with wide eyes.

A beast hovered at the mouth of the cave, shoulders so wide they nearly touched either end of the brick walls, eyes glowing a sinister yellow, like a wolf in the dark.

“My, my.” He took a step closer, long legs making easy work of the black pavement. “What a pretty thing you are.” Another menacing step. “Did you wear that just for me, little one? How did you know red is my favorite color?”

She backed up quickly, gasping as her back collided with brick.

“You’ve caused me quite the headache, you know that? Naughty girl, sneaking out of her room at night.” He licked his lips, continuing his predatory saunter. “That’s alright. I like naughty.”

Her hands flattened against the wall, fingertips digging into the rough surface. She wet her lips, speaking barely above a whisper.

“Where’s Luna?”

He smiled, wild and feral, teeth sharp and gleaming.

“Blondie? Hm. Nice piece of arse, that one.”

Her jaw tensed, eyes narrowing.

“ _Where_ is she?”

He tipped his head back and released a sharp bark of laughter. “The kitten has claws. Fuck, I’d love to play with you.”

She raised a brow. “You aren’t allowed to harm me, are you?” Her spine straightened. “Who hired you?”

He continued forward.

Closer.

Closer.

Closer.

_He’ll come._

“You do a lot of talking.”

Her heart pounded through her chest, deafening. Yet his words still echoed through her head.

“And I’m getting bored now. Come, pretty one, we’ve got places to be.”

He was upon her now, barrel chest blocking out the sun, casting her into the dark pits of Tartarus, flames climbing up her ankles and calves from the scorched earth beneath her feet.

_He’ll come._

His massive arm lifted, hand reaching forward, claws glinting before her eyes.

She cringed, turning her head away, tears spilling down her cheeks.

_He’ll come._

A shadow appeared across her face. She held her breath.

“Ah! Fuck!”

Her eyes flew open at Greyback’s gasp of pain.

Only to blink in confusion at the river of red cascading down his naked forearm, dripping off his tanned skin and onto the pavement below. She stared upon the crimson droplets in shock.

He gaped at the wound as well. “What the-”

Faded sunlight reflected off metal as it slashed through the air and connected with his massive chest. His shirt split open in a diagonal line, revealing the hard lines of his pectoral muscle, and a moment later red blossomed across the skin, soaking through the fabric.

He reared back, mouth agape but only sharp breath emitting as he spun to face his assailant.

Her heart swelled as Tom came into view, seeming taller and wider than she’d ever seen him before, yet moving with such speed and dexterity he seemed more shadow than man.

Greyback took several steps back, hand clutching his bloodied chest, staring in open shock at the bright crimson running in rivulets past his fingers.

Tom stood eerily still, a solid barrier between them.

In the next heartbeat, Greyback dropped both hands to his sides in boulder-like fists, a snarl tearing from his throat.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Tom raised his own fist, and it was then she saw the curved blade peeking out between his middle and ring finger, glinting in the sunlight, tipped in red.

“I said who the fuck are you!”

Tom’s only response was a slow, sinister grin that rendered her equal parts breathless and mesmerized.

Greyback roared, veins bulging in his neck and temples.

“Nevermind. I already know who you are. You’re a dead man!”

He lunged.

Hermione gasped, ducking away on instinct, though Tom led the giant on a path away from her. He moved with such swiftness Grayback’s swinging fist whistled through the air, connecting with brick a moment later. He screamed in pain, rearing back and clutching his broken knuckles to his blood-soaked chest as Tom's momentum took him low to the ground. He rolled deftly across the pavement, his blade-wielding hand slashing across his target's thigh, another line of red appearing a heartbeat before another shout of pain.

“Fuck!”

Greyback started to spin, swinging wildly with his uninjured fist, meeting air once more. Hermione scrambled to the other end of the alley, eyes wide, heart lodged in her throat.

“Too scared to fight me like a man? Let’s settle this with fists.”

Tom rose to his full height with easy grace.

“I’m quite content with this arrangement.”

Greyback released an animalistic war cry before charging Tom with his arms out and shoulders braced, trying to catch him across the middle.

Tom feinted left but dodged right at the last minute. Greyback tried to correct his path and ended up clipping his shoulder against the dumpster, causing him to scream anew, whether in rage or pain or some combination of both Hermione couldn’t make certain.

Tom used the man’s temporary distraction to drop low once more, slashing across his ribs and then kicking the back of his knee with such force she cringed at the echoing snap of bone that filled the alleyway, followed by the man’s guttural scream as his towering frame was brought down the ground.

“You cheating fuck!”

“You do a lot of talking.” Tom rose once more, reaching inside his dark coat and extracting something she couldn’t see. “And I’m getting bored now.”

And then he was jamming the item into the side of the man’s neck as he swayed on his knees before him.

Hermione covered her mouth with both hands, stifling a scream.

But no blood poured from the wound.

She swallowed heavily as Tom’s hand moved away and she saw the mysterious item was a syringe. He brought his thumb down on the depressor while Greyback swung blindly, movements stilted, eyes unfocused.

“What did y-” he opened and closed his mouth, yellow eyes meeting Hermione’s shocked gaze for the space of a wild heartbeat. “Wha- w-”

And then he toppled forward, face first onto the cement, limbs flopping out, utterly still.

Tom panted lightly, braced above the man for several seconds, muscles tensed as though awaiting the giant to spring up and resume the fight at any moment.

And then he drew back, straightening his coat and sleeves before glancing up and meeting her eye.

She blinked.

His gaze was intense, unwavering.

“Are you alright?”

She blinked again, his words slow to process.

She slowly nodded.

“Good.” He licked his lips, glancing back down at the massive body sprawled between them. “Watch the mouth of the alley while I load him into the carriage.”

She remained frozen against the wall, staring at him in shocked silence.

He glanced back up.

“Hermione.”

She jolted.

“Breathe.”

She inhaled sharply, tears filling her eyes unbidden. She quickly wiped them away with trembling hands.

“Listen carefully,” his voice was clipped, but patient. “I want you to head back to Grimmauld-”

“No!”

Her outburst took them both off guard. She pushed away from the wall before she lost her nerve.

“I’m alright.”

He arched a dark brow. She straightened, smoothing her skirts on impulse, as though removing the wrinkles would remove the last few minutes from memory.

“I can do this.” It was as much assurance for him as for herself. “Let me help.”

He continued to stare at her for a short eternity, his liquid gaze pouring a scorching path across her face as he studied every nuance of her expression. She held firm, making a concerted effort not to flinch.

Finally-

“Watch the street for me.”

She nodded quickly, walking forward on numb legs and carefully stepping around the muscled barrier in her path. She nearly lost her balance in the process and Tom reached out a steadying hand.

She shied away on instinct, fearing his touch, the same hand that wielded the blade only moments before.

He drew his arm back immediately, darkness settling in his gaze as he met her eye.

She quickly glanced away and hurried an uneven path to the entrance of the alley, doing her best to ignore the liquid blurring her vision and the grunts of exertion at her back as he dragged the body deep into the shadows.

* * *

The band and crowd were in full swing as the trio made their way onto the main floor.

A rather illustrious striptease was occurring on the main stage, clothing flying through the air.

Black silk bloomers landed squarely on Neville’s shoulder.

“Harry.”

Harry cleared his throat, casually flicking the knickers off his friend’s arm.

“Yes, Nev?”

“You think Hermione’s _here_?”

“Possibly.”

"And she's going to be dressed… " Neville glanced at the half-nude stage girls. "Like _that_?”

“Also a possibility.”

Neville blinked.

“I need to leave the house more.”

Harry clapped him on the back.

“You haven’t missed much. All this shite’s gone down over the last couple of weeks.”

His friend raised a brow, expression turning pensive. “Is this why Hermione asked me how to pry open a door?”

Harry drew back. “Wait, what?”

Suddenly he was jolted forward as an arm slung across his shoulders.

“Welcome to paradise, gents! Where shall we begin?”

Harry elbowed Blaise in the stomach and shrugging out of his hold as the man laughed in supreme delight.

“Neville will look for Hermione.”

The man in question drew in a shaky breath, looking as white as the mask he adorned.

“It’s alright, Nev.” Harry placed a steadying hand on his arm. “Meet me at the bar in half an hour. Unless you find her, then get her in a carriage and back to Grimmauld immediately.”

Neville nodded jerkily, staggering back and finally slipping into the surging crowd with great resolve. Harry rubbed his eyes beneath the mask, a torrent of emotion sapping his strength and mental fortitude.

And then Zabini was clearing his throat, causing Harry’s anger to spike and his mind to rapidly clear. He spun around, pinning the man with a withering stare.

Blaise continued to grin like a court jester.

“Don’t give me that look, Potter. Six eyes are better than four.”

“Are you serious about helping us?”

“Naturally.”

He narrowed his eyes, jaw aching from constant tensing.

“Then look for Hermione.”

“ _Boring_.”

Harry scowled. “Forget it-”

"Christ, Potter, your sense of humor is abysmal. Relax. I'll look for the frizzy-haired minx."

Harry sighed, shoulders relaxing. “Thank you.”

“Don’t go getting sentimental on me now.” A weighted pause. “Save it for Theo.”

Harry's heart leaped as Blaise winked through his golden mask before turning deftly on his heel, heading for the red swaying curtains before Harry's overwrought mind could begin to construct a response.

When it finally did, only one word came to mind, yet it managed to capture the entirety of his evening with perfect clarity.

 _Fuck_.

* * *

“I can’t believe I’m wearing this.”

Parvati glanced beside her, adjusting her half mask. “You look marvelous, now stop tugging at the laces.”

“I can’t breathe.”

“Take short breaths.”

“And these bloomers-”

“Hannah.”

The blonde swallowed thickly, glancing up with her bottom lip pinned between her teeth. Parvati placed a hand on her bare shoulder.

“It’s alright if you want to sit this one out-”

“No.” Hannah sighed, glancing away. “I just-” She blinked a few times and shook her head. “Nevermind.”

Parvati tilted her head, gazing at her patiently. “You okay?”

She nodded.

Parvati continued to watch her in silence for another beat before letting her hand fall away. “We’ll split up and search. I’m going to flag down Angie.”

“Alight.” Hannah smoothed her palms over her corset, as though checking to make sure it was still in place. “I’ll meet you back here in an hour?”

“Unless you run into trouble, then you leave immediately.”

“I’m not going anywhere without you.” The conviction in her voice left no room for dissent.

Parvati smirked.

“Why are all my friends so stubborn?”

Hannah mirrored her expression. “Because like attracts like.”

“Must be it.”

They shared a smile before turning on their heels and heading in opposite directions.

The moment Hannah lost sight of Parvati she gazed down at her corset once more, tugging at the front panel, trying to loosen it just a touch-

“Oof!”

She gasped as her shoulder collided with a solid mass, causing her to stumble back with the impact. A large hand shot out, grasping her elbow and steadying her before she tipped over entirely.

Her eyes snapped up, color infusing her cheeks as she locked gazes with a tall male, wide brown eyes peering out of a white mask.

“Oh!”

“Oh, my!”

“I’m terribly sorry-”

“Excuse me-”

“I wasn’t paying attention-”

“-my fault-”

“-didn’t mean to-”

“-didn’t see you there.”

They continued to stare at each other, necks and cheeks flushed.

She was suddenly hyper-aware of the warm palm pressing against her elbow and jerked her arm back on instinct, finally tearing her gaze away and averting her eyes to the floor while her heart rioted inside her chest.

“My apologies, again,” she uttered quickly, wrapping her arms across her middle, desperate to conceal as much of her body as possible.

“I-” He swallowed heavily, Adam’s apple bobbing high. “Please, there’s no need to apologize.”

She nodded lightly and began to back away, watching his hand clench at his side.

“Enjoy your evening, Sir,” she whispered sharply, tipping her head down to allow her hair to fall forward and conceal her face.

“Oh… right. Yes, um, you as well.”

She bit her lip and strode past, making a concerted effort not to run outright. As she slipped back into the crowd she missed his quiet beratement.

“ _You as well_? Nice one, idiot.”

He shook his head, eyes lingering on her departing figure before he faced forward once more and started a path to the other end of the room.

* * *

Hermione pulled her hood down, blocking the right side of her face from the view of the street, unconsciously sidling closer to the Doctor on her left. He held the reins in both hands, directing the horses forward with confident ease. The carriage rocked back and forth along the uneven wood slats lining the docks.

She did her best to keep her breathing steady, her hands flat atop her knees, thoughts focused ahead instead of lingering on the violent encounter in the alley or with the beast slumbering on the floor of the car.

Gulls circled the water in the distance, their shadows dancing along the ground, their shrill cries echoing through her head.

“Where are we going?”

He continued to gaze forward.

“I have a warehouse prepared.”

Her heart leaped into her throat, she swallowed it back down.

“Prepared for what?”

A heavy beat. And then he turned his head, dark gaze holding her captive.

“Hermione-”

“I’m not backing down.” She sat straighter. “I understand, we need information, and you’re prepared to do whatever it takes to get it from him.”

He arched a brow.

“Are _you_ prepared?”

She wet her lips, glancing away and picking at the fabric of her skirt.

“You’re a good fighter.”

He tugged one side of the reins, the horses changed course immediately.

“I’ve had practice.”

She nodded, thoughts and emotions surging.

“Whatever you have planned… I can handle it.”

His prolonged silence prompted her to glance up once more. He continued to gaze down upon her.

“When we’re inside, you follow my commands without argument, do you understand?”

She blinked, and then drew back, starting to bristle. The shadows deepened along the sharp contours of his face, creating a sinister mask.

“If you can’t agree to that then you aren’t stepping foot inside.”

She held her breath and nodded. “I understand.”

His eyes began a meticulous scan of her person. She squirmed.

And then he gazed forward. She exhaled, only to jolt at his next words.

“We’re here.”

She gazed up, spotting a two-story brick building ahead, several windows were broken, others boarded. It looked abandoned, unassuming.

And yet her blood ran cold at the sight.

“How did you-”

“No more questions.”

Her face pinched. “We aren’t inside yet.”

He smirked, directing the horses to slow their gait.

“I’m starting to regret my leniency.”

She continued to study is profile, a smile forming on her lips.

And then she remembered where they were.

What they were doing.

Dread pooled in her stomach, all lightness snuffed out in the wake of her mounting unease.

The horses stopped beside the door.

“Tie them. I’ll bring him in.”

She nodded, keeping her eyes downcast as he leaped swiftly from the seat and onto the ground. He strode to the side of the structure and procured a large timber cart, wheeling it to the carriage.

Hermione busied herself with climbing down, her hand grazing the side of the aged Thoroughbred, petting along its flanks in a calming gesture meant more for herself than the softly braying creature.

The cart shook as Greyback’s dead weight came crashing down onto its surface. She bit back a cringe, watching the Doctor wheel the unconscious man inside the ominous building from the corner of her eye.

They disappeared into the darkness within. The door remained open, the shadows beyond were sentient beings, calling out, mocking her.

She looped the reigns around a nearby post, lingering long after the knot was tied.

She tore her eyes away from the haunting sight, meeting the horse’s gaze instead and catching her pale reflection in the black lake centered at its pupil.

She reached forward with a trembling hand and laid it gently on the animal’s snout, slowly stroking the soft hair between its eyes.

The creature stilled beneath her touch, as though sensing the unrest brewing within her soul. She stepped closer yet, resting her forehead against its own, matching her breathing to the wild beast, trying to absorb its strength, its inner calm.

Tears filled her eyes.

She drew away, wiping them dry with her sleeve and staring at the open doorway once more.

She swallowed heavily and started a path inside, ignoring the sudden burst of movement and keening whines at her back.

* * *

Harry dodged a flying elbow as a drunken patron staggered backward and toppled back-first onto a table of drinks. The sound of shattering glass, shrieks and gasps filled the air, everyone turning their heads to stare upon the catastrophe.

The man rolled to his side with a boisterous laugh, prompting the rest of the crowd to follow suit, everyone too in their cups to be phased by the mess.

Except for the house girls, the majority of whom looked perfectly sober and perfectly annoyed. A few scurried off, towards the manager's office, and Harry held his breath in anticipation.

The entire reason he tripped the drunken louse in the first place was to cause a stir, a bit of flash to lure one of the snakes from its nest. He just needed to get eyes on his target.

Instead, his gaze landed on an even more unsettling sight.

He blinked several times, jaw hanging open before slowly regaining his senses.

He charged forward.

“Draco!”

The owner of the white blonde hair spun around, his maskless face already adorned in its customary scowl.

And then he was surging forward as well.

“You son of a bitch.”

Harry raised a dark brow, coming to a halt. “That’s me. What are you doing here?”

“What do you think?” Draco stopped just before him, fists clenched, a wild tempest barely contained. “Have you found her?”

“How do you know-”

“Parvati told me everything.”

Harry reared back. “ _What_?”

“I went to the Home to speak with Hermione, imagine my surprise when I find out she was evacuated to Grimmauld following a failed kidnapping attempt!”

The volume and venom in his voice increased with every word.

Harry glanced around, the majority of the crowd lost to the own celebration but a few heads turning in their direction. He grabbed the blonde’s arm. “Keep your voice down!”

Draco shook him off, eyes narrowed and gleaming like a viper about to strike. “How _dare_ you not tell me-”

“When the hell was I supposed to tell you, Draco? She showed up on my doorstep this morning and was there for all of ten minutes before we headed to the South End!”

“You took her out?” His silver gaze widened, color rising in his alabaster skin. “Are you fucking daft?”

“She didn’t tell me she was the target!”

Draco leaned forward menacingly, hissing each word with a puff of steam.

“You knew her friend was taken and you let her leave the manor anyway.” His jaw tensed. “If anything happens to her I’ll kill you myself, Potter.”

Harry swallowed thickly.

“If anything happens to her I’ll welcome death.”

Draco blinked, the sincerity of Harry’s declaration seeming to smooth his scales. He drew back, spine rigid.

“We have to find her.”

Harry took a deep breath.

“We will.”

“What if she isn’t here?”

“Then we’ll tear the city apart building by building.”

Draco ran a hand through his hair, glancing away, the capillaries in his eyes standing in stark relief against the white.

Harry’s shoulders squared, bracing himself. “Listen, Draco, Greyback checks in here nightly.”

The blonde’s eyes flickered back to him, widening, then thinning to slits. Harry’s pulse thrummed loudly in his ears as he waited out the silence.

But no response came.

He pushed on.

“Do you think it’s possible Rodolphus or Rabastan are entangled in this?”

Draco tipped his chin up, expression hardening, eyes flashing.

“Bella.”

The name was spoken like a curse. Harry felt the fine hairs along his arms and nape stand on end.

“And where she goes, those idiots follow.”

Harry nodded, hands curling at his sides. “Then we need to find your aunt.”

“She isn’t my aunt.” The blonde’s face was lethal, causing Harry to step back on instinct. “And if she had anything to do with the kidnapping plot, I’ll strangle her with my bare hands.”

Harry wet his lips. “I’d like to see that.”

And then he caught a familiar sight in the distance that caused his heart to skip.

“Son of a bitch.” He sighed deeply, then tipped his chin towards the red curtains. “Come on, I have an idea.”

* * *

The abandoned warehouse was an old Naval storage locker if the discarded and decayed remnants littering the floor were any indications.

Pieces of wooden crates laid in tatters, stamped with faded military seals.

Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line, biting down on her tongue from her position in the corner, where she’d been told to remain, silently.

Which was just as well, since she couldn’t bear to watch him cart the slumbering giant into the center of the room, hoisting him onto a wooden chair and tying all four limbs with rope.

It wasn’t that she felt any shred of sympathy for Greyback.

It was that Tom performed the tasks with such careless ease. His tools had already been laid out upon their arrival, the chair awaiting them in the center of the vast open room, his leather medical case sitting to the side, casting a large, sinister shadow upon the wall.

She knew without a fragment of doubt this was not his first time performing such a task.

And from there her mind ran rampant with dark, gruesome fantasy.

So she kept her gaze squarely averted while he bound his prey, sweeping her eyes across the rest of the interior, looking for any means of distraction.

The building was two stories but featured no true top floor, merely a catwalk running the perimeter of the building and a small rectangular office at the helm, a narrow metal staircase leading to its door. The side facing the warehouse floor featured a large panoramic window overseeing the interior.

She stared through the cracked glass into the darkness of the room, losing herself in a trance, and began to see forms take shape in the blackness.

Faces stared down at her. Pale stretched skin, fathomless, empty eye sockets and black gaping mouths locked in grotesque screams.

She began to pant, coming away from the wall, drawn by their silent pleas.

And then a hand grasped her arm.

She gasped.

The face above her wasn’t born of mist and shadow, though it was just as haunting.

She inhaled sharply.

"Tom," she whispered breathlessly, pressing a hand to her chest and closing her eyes, desperate to dispel the phantom visages from memory.

The fingers encasing her arm squeezed, prompting her to meet his eye once more.

“It’s time.”

Her spine went rigid, heart beating erratically at his ominous announcement.

“Stay against the wall. Don’t move. Don’t speak.”

She swallowed thickly and nodded. He released her, turning away and walking to the table set up along the wall, covered in items that were clearly his own. She wondered yet again how he obtained access to this building, and what exactly he had planned.

Violent musings began to whisper to her anew, causing her to press back into the brick instinctively, flattening herself until she melted into shadow, becoming one with the darkness that beckoned her so.

She saw the gleam of metal instruments on the table, his hands hovering above them. She held her breath.

And then blinked in confusion as he selected a glass pitcher of water instead. She opened her mouth but made no sound, watching in bemusement as he strode across the floor to the bound man, liquid sloshing and dripping over the rim of the container.

And then it was upended over Greyback’s head entirely.

Water cascaded down in a violent explosion, soaking his dark hair and shoulders, causing the dried blood along his chest and neck to run down in rivers, staining the unmarred portions of his shirt translucent and pink.

And startling him awake.

He gasped and sputtered, liquid running off his nose and chin, plastering hair to his eyes. He reared back, the chair groaned but didn’t budge. It was then she saw it was bolted to the ground.

“What the fuck?”

He shook his head like a dog, hair finally parting, golden eyes shining through, set wide as his gaze flickered in every direction, only to narrow dangerously as it focused upon Tom, standing just beside him as he set the pitcher aside and rose to his full, towering height.

Greyback growled low in his throat, baring his teeth, arms flexing as he pulled at the binds trapping his wrists behind his back.

“Don’t bother.” Tom took a casual step back. “I’m an expert at knots. You won’t be breaking through the rope.”

His barrel chest heaved.

“Who do you work for?”

Tom raised a dark brow, the corner of his mouth lifting. “How ironic. I was about to ask you the very same question.”

“You have no idea who you’re-”

“Fenrir Greyback. The Grey Wolf.” He began to walk a slow path around the chair, hands folded behind his back, gaze unwavering. “Former Sailor for Her Majesty’s Royal Navy. Discharged for disorderly conduct while on assignment, otherwise known as killing a man with brute force. Though I think it safe to say he wasn’t your first victim, merely the first you were caught standing above after the fact.”

He tilted his head, grey eyes gleaming unnaturally in the evening rays streaming through the busted glass and wood slats.

"Rabastan Lestrange financed your defense and had the entire case thrown out on a technicality, likely after greasing a few palms. After your release, you graduated to kidnapping and robbery, and running errands for the gentry, of course."

He arched a brow.

“Stop me if I’m boring you.”

Greyback snarled like the wolf he so resembled.

“Alright. You’ve asked around about me. Big fucking deal. You obviously don’t know everything or I wouldn’t still be alive.”

Tom’s jaw tensed. Greyback smiled, teeth sharp and hungry.

"Ah. I'm right, aren't I? Seems I have some leverage after all."

“You’re tied to a chair in an abandoned building on a private dock. Don’t get too excited.”

The man snarled anew, thrashing against the chair, and then his gaze drifted past Tom’s shoulder-

And locked with hers.

Hermione straightened, heart thudding manically against her fragile ribcage as Greyback’s struggles ceased at once. He leered, licking his lips and raking his eyes over her with slow calculation, causing her skin to itch and burn as though acid were being poured across it.

“Well that’s one mystery solved,” he uttered lowly, voice barely above a growl as he held her trapped in his sights. She swallowed heavily, stomach twisting like a swarm of eels.

And then his scarred, golden gaze flickered back to Tom.

He smirked knowingly.

“She yours?”

Tom’s entire body tensed.

“Don’t look at her.”

Greyback chuckled, settling back into his seat. "That's gonna be a problem because she's mighty fine to look at."

And then without warning- Tom brought his fist crashing into the side of the man’s wide, square jaw, the impact of bone echoing with a deafening crack through the dusty air. Hermione gasped loudly as blood flew from Greyback’s mouth, his head snapping sharply right, red splattering across the cement.

All was still and silent for a handful of suffocating seconds before Greyback brought his head forward, deep laughter shaking his chest as blood ran down his chin.

“She must have a 24 karat gold pussy-”

Tom struck him again, this blow more powerful than the first, causing Greyback to grimace as his back arched with the force of impact.

He spat again, a tooth flying free with the blood and saliva, hitting the ground with a soft tink.

She cringed, looking away, hands pressing her stomach and chest as though attempting to keep her vital organs contained within.

And then Greyback’s laughter started back up, a dark omen that shook the floor and rattled the walls and vibrated through her entire body.

Tom straightened, stepping back slowly.

“Hermione.”

She jolted, his voice as cold and sharp as a knife’s edge.

He continued to stare at the bound, bloodied and hysterically amused prisoner.

“Go outside.”

She blinked, shaking her head and stepping forward. “But I-”

“Don’t argue with me.” He turned his head, pinning her with such a powerful stare it drove her back into the wall. “Do as I say.”

She was too frightened by his countenance to feel any offense. She pried herself off the bricks and walked to the exit on trembling legs, every bone-rattling within her.

“She looks even better from behind.”

She quickened her pace, pushing open the door and bursting outside to freedom, gasping in the damp, salty air as though emerging onto dry land after months at sea.

The door slammed shut behind her, a deafening click that sent her into an emotional tailspin. She leaned against the building only to collapse into a heap, skirts bunched around her legs as she buried her face in her hands and heaved.

* * *

He waited until the door fully closed, Hermione safely situated on the other side, before turning to face his laughing prey. The man was still putting on quite the show.

But Tom saw right through it.

“You’re trying to provoke me.”

Greyback settled down, gazing up with gleaming eyes. "Seems I don't even have to try." He spat more blood, the side of his jaw turning a vibrant patchwork of violet and blue. "This is all about her, isn't it?"

Tom didn’t show any outward response, but the man seemed to read something in his glacial stare.

“Must be. My life didn’t start going to shite until she became my assignment.”

“I think the argument can be made you were born a piece of shite, but I don’t want to digress from the topic.”

Greyback scowled. Tom paid his ire no mind.

“Who provided your assignment?”

“I’m not a rat.”

“You’d rather be a corpse?”

The giant began to chuckle once more, shoulders bouncing in amusement.

“You gonna feed me bullshite about letting me go after all this is over?” He raised a thick brow. “The sweet nothings might make your girl wet but I recognize that spark in your eye. You’re a killer. A hunter. Just like me.” His expression rapidly sobered. “And we both know you have no intention of letting me go.”

Tom tilted his head, viewing the man from a new angle, layers of concealment stripped away.

“Fair enough.”

He began a straight path to the table against the wall.

“However, you can determine the method in which you die. I assure you, when I threaten to make your final moments slow and agonizing, I have every ability to make good on that promise.”

He lifted his medical bag off the ground and set it atop the counter.

“I’m a doctor.”

He unbuckled the top, reaching inside and extracting a fabric roll, deftly untying the binds.

“I know how to make every nerve scream with a fire you can’t begin to imagine.”

He unrolled the bundle, revealing an even row of gleaming scalpels.

Greyback erupted into more laughter at his back.

“Fuck! You really are something.” He wet his lips. “If you weren’t about to kill me I think we could have been good friends.”

“Doubtful.” Tom extracted a blade, holding it to the light, examining the edge. “I have an aversion to men who beat and rape women.”

“Oh, you have a strong moral fiber do you?”

Tom tipped his head, setting the knife down and selecting another. “I have selective morality. Brutality against the fairer sex happens to be one of the lines I’ve drawn.”

He held the second scalpel up, arching his brow, turning it over in his palm with swift ease.

“I also have an exceptionally steady hand. Though after ramming it into your face repeatedly I may waver a bit as I take the skin from your thigh. I assure you, the nerve endings in the fibrous tissue are uniquely sensitive. The deeper into the muscle you go, the tighter they’re clustered. Much like blood vessels.”

The stretch of silence that followed prompted him to turn back around, meeting his prey’s gaze.

The man blinked.

“You’re a doctor?”

“We’ve already established that.”

Greyback shrugged lightly, as much as his bonds would allow. "I thought all docs were queer ponces with silver spoons shoved up their arses. Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

Tom started walking back to the center of the floor, weapon loosely encased in his grip.

“I grew up in the slums. In the neighborhoods you like to frequent for victims.”

Deep, dark laughter filled the vast room, but this round lacked any note of humor.

“You and I have very different definitions of the word.”

Tom grabbed an empty chair along the way and began dragging it behind him.

“You don’t think of the girls you take as victims.”

He didn’t phrase it as a question. Greyback’s arms flexed, the muscles straining with the force of his conviction.

“I take filthy little sluts and give them a chance at a better life. They should be lining up to suck my cock.”

Tom raised a brow, intrigued by the man’s delusion. He set the empty chair before him and removed his coat, draping it neatly over the back.

“Is that what you think? That becoming a mindless fuck toy is preferable to free will?”

Greyback tilted his head.

“How do you…” Tom saw the moment realization dawned in his gold eyes. “They took someone you know.”

His jaw tensed.

“Where is Ms. Lovegood?”

“ _Who_?”

“The girl you kidnapped last night.”

“I already handed her over.”

“To whom?”

Greyback leaned away, turning his head.

Tom nodded slowly, voice edged with wild anticipation.

“Very well.”

He placed the scalpel between his teeth and rolled up his sleeves to the elbow before retaking the blade in hand and gracefully folding into the chair.

Then he leaned forward and began to deftly slice through the man’s left trouser leg, holding the fabric away from his thigh to avoid slicing the meat.

As anticipated, Greyback went wild.

“Wait! Wait!”

Tom paused, hands stilling their ministrations as he glanced up.

“Yes?”

The wolf was panting, teeth barred and angry, but his eyes held a gleam that Tom recognized well.

Desperation.

“Whatever you’re trying to do, it won’t work.”

Tom tilted his head, feigning interest, barely suppressing a smirk.

“And how do you know that?”

“You want to bring them down, right?” He wet his lips anxiously, breathing hard. “But you can’t stop them. They’re too powerful. Trust me. It involves more people than you could begin to imagine.”

"I won't have to imagine. Before the night is through, you're going to tell me everything I want to know."

“Even if I do, it makes no difference. You might be handy with a knife but it’s going to take a lot more to stop them.” His chest heaved, the admission costing him more than the blood he shed in the alley and beneath Tom’s fist. “Take your girl and run. Leave England. Change your names. I won’t come after you. I won’t tell them anything.”

Tom’s brows flattened. “I haven’t even made the first incision and you’re already bartering for your life.” The corner of his mouth lifted beyond his notice or bidding. “Interesting.”

He studied the jagged scar running half the length of the man’s scowling face, tracing the puckered skin with his eyes.

“It’s not the pain you fear. It’s the helplessness.”

Greyback paled, pressing back in the chair.

Caught.

Cornered.

Just like all his victims.

Tom’s grin finally broke free. Lethal. Radiant.

Hungry.

“I was hoping for as much. My offer still stands. Tell me everything you know and I will make your death quick and painless.”

The wolf growled, gaze darkening, resignation finally taking root in its golden depths. “You fucking bastard.”

“Where is Ms. Lovegood?”

“Go to hell.”

Tom nodded once, a silent acceptance, and resumed his task, cutting a clean rectangle out of the heavy linen and revealing a wide patch of coarse skin and coiled muscle.

“I’ve been seeking the entrance to hell for a very long time.”

He adjusted the angle of his wrist, bringing the scalpel down onto the skin, heart leaping as it pierced the flesh, crimson beads rushing to the surface.

“I think together, we might just find it.”

Within seconds, shrill screams cut through the silence and bled from the walls.

* * *

Bodies and voices surged within the Club, yet Angie caught the sound of her name above the fray.

“Ang!”

She turned on her heel, searching out the source of the voice.

And then she spotted the speaker, blinking rapidly.

“Parvati?”

She nodded, carefully sidestepping a laughing couple and emerging into the corner of the room. Angie opened and closed her mouth before leaping forward with her arms out.

“Oh my god, what the hell are you doing here?”

She embraced Parvati tightly, causing her to cry out in pain.

“What’s the matter?” She asked sharply, drawing back to gaze upon her.

Parvati swallowed thickly, stepping back and gently extracting herself from the girl’s hold.

“Nothing… it’s fine.” She cleared her throat, doing her best to steal her expression through the chronic throb. “I’m actually looking for Hermione. Have you seen her?”

Angie nodded. “She was here last night.”

“You haven’t seen her since then?”

She shook her head, brows creasing. “No, is she in trouble?”

Parvati exhaled through her nose, shoulders dropping. “I think so.”

Angie stood straight, expression hardening.

“What can I do to help?”

Parvati opened her mouth to answer but before she could utter a response a large shadow fell across them both, the air pressure changing as someone approached from behind.

Angie’s body language transformed at once, softening, lids lowering as she gazed upon the newcomer.

“Hello, luv. What can I do for you?”

Parvati tensed, glancing quickly over her shoulder, in no mood to deal with another groping patron.

And then her eyes fell upon the familiar dark mask. She breathed a sigh of relief.

“He isn’t a client.”

Angie blinked, glancing between them. He stepped closer, brushing Parvati’s shoulder.

“This is Harry Potter.”

Angie arched a brow, tipping her head in deference.

“It’s an honor to-”

“He isn’t like the others, Ang. You don’t have to grovel at his feet.”

She blinked in response, giving him a thorough once over with her eyes. Harry nodded in greeting.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” And then his emerald gaze shifted to Parvati, narrowing. “You told me you would go back to Grimmauld.”

“I lied.”

He sighed deeply, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose through the mask. She bristled.

“Look, two of my friends are missing, I’m not going to sit around and-”

“Wait, Missing?” Angie stepped closer. “I thought Lavender was found dead.”

Parvati nodded, eyes averting away. “She was.”

Her friend drew back, expression stricken. “A lot has happened since last night.”

“You have no idea,” Harry supplied for them both. Parvati glanced up once more, meeting the girl’s sympathetic gaze.

“I’m trying to retrace Hermione’s steps when she was here. She spoke to Katie, right?”

Her friend nodded. “They were in a back room when I found them.”

“Did she say anything else to you?”

Angie shook her head.

“She didn’t talk to anyone else?”

“Alicia, I think. And that man.”

Harry straightened. “What man?”

“Tall, dark, handsome. He was at the Lestrange private party. She disappeared behind a partition with him for a while.”

Harry and Parvati exchanged a loaded look.

“Riddle,” he whispered.

She nodded slowly.

His jaw tensed, something wild igniting in his gaze. She leaned in, grasping his forearm.

“Hermione trusts him, she told me he’s helping us.”

“I don’t trust him.”

She drew in a slow breath. “Me either.”

His fists clenched. “If she’s with him-”

“We’ll find her.” Her voice was edged in steal, expression resolute as she turned to face Angie. “But first, we have to find Katie.”

* * *

Rodolphus cut a path through the center of the room, eyes narrowed as he came to a stop before the pile of broken glass and remnants of the broken table.

“What the hell happened?”

A scantily clad employee shifted nervously at his side.

“A patron fell over, Sir.”

His chest expanded with a heavy sigh.

“Drunken morons.” He started to back away. “Clean this mess up. If someone cuts themselves I’ll hold you personally responsible.”

She blanched, nodding quickly before scurrying off to the back of the house.

Draco tensed at the sight.

His uncle started to turn away.

He made his move.

He started walking in the opposite direction with his face averted, Rodolphus’s footsteps slowing as he did a double take.

And then an arm shot out, a large hand bracing Draco's shoulder, stopping him mid-step.

“Drake?”

He blinked. “Rod?”

The man looked him up and down.

“What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in costume?”

“I’m not here as a client.”

Rodolphus lowered his hand and arched a brow beneath his burgundy mask. “No?”

“I came to speak with you, actually.”

He drew back, head tilting.

“Everything alright?”

"Yes." Draco glanced around anxiously, shifting closer. "Is there any way we can speak privately?"

Rodolphus’s brows flattened.

“Of course. We can use my office.”

Draco nodded, letting his face melt into obvious relief. A moment later he was following the man through the crowd, sparing passing glances at the festivities unfolding along the floor. A few girls rushed past with brooms and pale in hand.

And then they were heading up a gleaming black staircase to the second level.

Rodolphus led him down a narrow hall, the sounds of the venue becoming muffled the deeper they went. He withdrew a heavy set of keys from his pocket but the door at the end of the corridor already stood ajar. He pushed it open and narrowed his eyes, then scowled.

“Quirrell, leave.”

The sound of shuffling papers followed, then a jumping shadow. Draco stood to the side to allow the twitching man to pass, making brief eye contact that caused him to lose his balance as he tried to bow.

Draco rolled his eyes, glancing away in a silent dismissal. He followed his uncle into the office.

“That idiot still works for you?”

“Sadly. Good help is hard to come by.”

Rodolphus shut the door before crossing the plush rug and tossing the keys onto the desk.

“Alright, what’s on your mind, Drake?”

He wet his lips, pulse thrumming.

“You know about my pending nuptials, surely?”

Rodolphus arched a brow, reaching up and removing his mask.

“I’ve heard rumors. The younger Greengrass, correct?”

Draco nodded.

“She’s a beauty.” He tossed the mask beside the keys. “Congratulations.”

Draco scoffed, prompting the man to smirk.

“No?”

“She is a beauty. Sweet and demure. The perfect Malfoy bride.”

Rodolphus nodded slowly.

“But you prefer women with a bit of fire in their blood?”

Draco held his gaze for several moments in response. Rodolphus’s lips stretched into an all too knowing grin.

“I can sympathize. I am afflicted with the very same desire.”

“Then you know the predicament I’m in.”

The man raised a brow, eyes glinting as he removed his outer coat and draped it across the back of the chair.

“What is it you want from me, Draco?”

“I’ll go through with the marriage. I won’t disappoint my parents. But I’d still like to have my fun.”

Rodolphus opened the desk drawer, reaching inside and extracting two cigars. He glanced back up. Draco shook his head.

“No thank you.”

“Suit yourself.”

He removed a gleaming silver slicer and clipped the end off of one.

“So, let me see if I understand correctly. You’d like to have your cake and eat it too?”

Draco fought back a grimace at the archaic saying.

“Precisely.”

He watched as Rodolphus flipped open his monogrammed lighter, igniting the cigar.

“Then I think I can be of service.”

Draco smiled, white teeth gleaming in the gaslights.

“I was hoping as much.”

Rodolphus puffed steadily at the end, releasing smoke with every word.

“So, Drake, if you could create the perfect woman, what would she be like?”

* * *

Harry shifted restlessly in the corner as the girls stood on tiptoes before him, eyes quickly scanning the crowd.

And then Angie’s back with rigid.

She spun on her heel, eyes bright.

“Found her!”

He surged forward.

“Which one is she?”

She pointed ahead. “The blonde over by the couches, she’s on a man’s lap.”

Harry followed her direction, hungry gaze alighting on his target at last.

He nodded.

“Get the room ready, I’ll grab her.”

Parvati placed a hand on his shoulder. “Harry-”

“It’s alright.”

“But she’s-”

“I’ll take care of it.”

His voice left no room for argument. She sighed but drew back, following Angie through the large red curtains with one last parting glance.

Harry straightened his jacket, taking a deep breath and zeroing in on his destination. She was seated atop a man’s lap several meters ahead, smiling placidly while he erupted into a fit of wild laughter, the group of men circling him joining in, faces red and eyes clouded.

Before Harry reached them the man stood, knocking her off his lap so abruptly she started to topple to the floor, catching herself against the side of the velvet chair just in time.

Harry scowled.

The man swayed precariously on his feet before reaching down and grabbing her arm, pulling her close and whispering something in her ear that left her eyes devoid of any discernible emotion.

She nodded shortly, tipping her head towards the red curtains.

Harry stopped in his tracks.

Time to change tactics.

He pretended to examine a nude sculpture on display as they walked by, waiting until they passed through the crimson fabric before following.

He trailed them down the main hall, waiting until they turned into a deserted corridor and before making his move.

“Catrina.”

The girl jolted, spinning on her heel, leaving her client blinking in bemusement before he too turned around. Harry waited until she met his eye.

Recognition set in.

She took a step back.

He held his hands up in a peaceful gesture.

“I only want to talk.”

The drunken man grabbed her arm once more and pulled her roughly back. “Wait your turn, mate.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed.

“I don’t think so.”

The man scoffed. “Hey, listen, fucker-” he started walking towards Harry. “Find another one, I already paid for- ah!”

Harry grabbed his arm and spun him around, slamming him face first into the wall and clipping his scream.

“No, you listen.” He spoke calmly in his ear, twisting his wrist behind his back, earning a sharp gasp of pain. “ _You’re_ going to find another girl for the evening. And if I see you tossing them around like a bloody ragdoll I’ll drag you back here and break both your arms.”

He twisted the wrist again, the joint popping beneath his hand.

“Do you understand?”

The stranger nodded as best he could with his cheek smashed against the damask wallpaper.

“Yes! Yes!” He panted, eyes wide and bloodshot.

“Good.” Harry released him, stepping away and straightening his jacket. “Now leave.”

The man sprinted down the hall without a backward glance, tripping over his feet in his haste.

Harry turned around.

“Katie.”

She swallowed heavily.

“How do you know my name?”

“I’m Hermione’s friend.”

She blinked. “You told me you were Lavender's friend.”

“I lied. I never met Lavender, but I needed information, I was trying to help find her.” His jaw tensed. “But now Hermione’s in trouble.”

Katie’s brows furrowed.

“I tried to warn her.”

His heart skipped a beat, her words drawing him closer.

“Warn her about what?”

She shook her head, hands curling at her sides as she glanced away.

“I know you’re scared, Katie. But I promise-”

“You can’t promise me anything,” she whispered, voice thick but steady. She gazed back up, eyes gleaming through the dark mask. “You can’t promise to protect me, you can’t promise that nothing bad will happen to me. No one can.”

He took a deep breath, mind spinning.

“Will you please just sit with me for a few minutes and talk?”

She started to rear back.

“Not just me. Angie and Parvati will be there, too. I only want to ask you some questions. And I won't force you to answer any of them.”

His assurances didn't seem to ease her in the least. He swallowed heavily, reaching for straws, desperation setting in.

“Hermione came to you last night because she was trying to stop it, right? The kidnappings, the killings?”

She paled considerably. He pushed on.

“But she can’t do it alone. She needs our help. And if we all continue to look the other way then nothing changes.”

He leaned in but kept his feet rooted to the spot, treating her like a scared foal about to sprint into the trees.

“Your life is already at stake, Katie. Every single day, working here, interacting with drunk, volatile clients, and all the underhanded dealings that go on under this roof. You’re not safe now.”

Tears ran down her cheeks from beneath the mask.

“I want to help you. Help all of you.” He wet his lips. “I want to help Hermione. But I need you to help me first.”

She closed her eyes, swaying on her feet. He sensed victory on the horizon and closed in, voice soft and placating.

“I need you to tell me everything you said to her last night.”

A weighted pause.

“Please.”

A short eternity passed before she opened her eyes. His heartbeat was so deafening he almost didn't hear her whispered reply.

“Alright.”

* * *

Tom drew the back of his wrist across his brow, wiping away the sweat threatening to run into his narrowed eyes.

He took a deep breath, gazing up.

“Where is Luna?”

Greyback grimaced, complexion waxen and saturated in sweat. Tom set his jaw in concentration and drew the scalpel down once more, slicing deep into the glossy, exposed muscled. Greyback reared back, tendons straining in his neck and arms.

“I gave her to him! I gave her to him!”

“Gave her to who?”

“Dolohov!”

Tom sat back, heartbeat swelling in his chest, echoing through his ears.

“That’s who hired you?”

Greyback swallowed thickly. “Yes.” He wet his lips, blinking his bloodshot eyes slowly. “He wants your girl.” Another wheezing breath. “He wants her bad.”

Tom’s eyes flashed. Greyback read the message in their gleaming depths. He pressed back into the chair, trousers soaked black with blood.

"You can kill me, but it won't stop them. It won't make a difference…" He tipped his head back. "There are others out there, others like me."

A weighted beat.

“He calls us snatchers.”

Tom’s pulse thrummed, energizing him anew.

“Who?”

Greyback’s heavy lids closed. Tom reared up, grabbing a handful of the man’s long hair and jerking his head back.

“ _Who_ calls you that? Who do you work for?”

His golden gaze lolled, eyes rolling back in his head as his mouth opened and closed without a sound.

“Who?”

He released his head, trading the scalpel to his left hand so he could drive a blood-caked fist into the side of his jaw once more.

“Wake up!”

Greyback’s head stayed averted with the punch, eyes closed and face lax. Tom growled low in his chest.

“Wake up!”

He struck him again.

And again.

And again.

Greyback’s lip split down the center, cut by his jagged teeth, blood marring his cheek and jaw, temple rapidly swelling.

“Wake up!”

“Tom!”

He staggered back, spinning around and pinning the figure in the open doorway with his wild, feral gaze.

“I told you to wait outside.”

She stepped closer, shoulder trembling. He raised a bloody hand to keep her at bay. Her hazel gaze alighted on the appendage before flickering past, absorbing the sight of the broken, mangled figure tied to the chair.

She paled.

His stomach twisted painfully at her fraught expression.

“Hermione, go-”

“Did he tell you where Luna is?”

He blinked, the prosaic question taking him off guard, then swallowed heavily.

“He told me he gave her to Dolohov.”

Her eyes darted back to his.

“He paid to have me taken?”

His shoulders tensed.

“Yes.”

She nodded slowly, chest rising as she inhaled deeply.

“Then we’ll go to his house and question him next.”

His fingers flexed around the scalpel.

“Greyback knows more.” A shadow passed across his face. “I can get it out of him.”

She shook her head, brows creasing. “He’s done, Tom.”

“He will be soon enough.”

She stepped forward.

“No.”

He blinked again, jaw tensing.

“No?”

“He told us what we needed to know. It’s done.”

He arched a brow, voice scathing.

“And now we do _what_ exactly? Let him go? Let him continue taking girls off the streets and out of their homes?”

“Of course not.” Her tone was calm, placating, her pace slow and steady, as though approaching a wild animal. “We take him to the police.”

His dark laughter filled the warehouse, dancing off the walls and along her skin, causing it to crawl along her limbs.

“The police. Of course. They’ll take care of everything.”

She swallowed, eyes landing on the wet, glinting blade in his hand.

"This is different. Greyback isn't the Lestranges. He isn't untouchable. And with his criminal background, he'll be much easier to take down. He probably has prior-"

“I’m not setting him free, Hermione.”

She met his intense gaze once more, continuing her slow path forward.

“Killing him _is_ setting him free, Tom.”

She stopped just before him, hands opening and closing at her sides, knuckles white.

“You know as well as I do being confined to a cage for the rest of his life will be far worse punishment than death for a man like Greyback.”

Tom’s eyes glowed from within, hellfire licking across his pupils, an unholy gaze born from hell itself.

His voice was just as sinister.

“I can’t risk him getting out, walking free. He managed it once already.”

She slowly wet her lips, struggling to keep her own words measured and calm. “If he does, then you’ll be waiting for him.”

He opened his mouth, no doubt to continue his argument.

So she did the only thing she could think of to buy his silence, his surrender.

She placed her hand against the center of his chest.

The satin ribbon tied around her wrist stood in stark relief against the dried blood splatter across his white shirt.

He stood firm, heat seeping out of his skin and into her hand, his strong heartbeat stuttering wildly beneath her palm.

"Tom." She blinked the tears from her eyes, meeting his unearthly gaze head-on. "Please." She leaned into him. "For me… don't kill him."

His chest heaved with each panting breath. She remained still, terrified to shatter the fragility of the moment.

He continued to gaze down upon her, eyes molten, turbulent, a raging storm playing out within.

And finally…

He nodded, lips pressed thin.

She gasped, sagging forward with the force of her relief, resting her forehead against his chest, feeling the powerful rise and fall of each breath.

She felt his body go lax against her, rigid lines smoothing. He bent his head down, lips and nose brushing against her hair. His chest expanded with a deep inhale. He held it in his lungs. She counted his heartbeats.

Time stood still.

And then, like all precious things, it came to a tragic end.

He reared back, almost violently, and took several wide steps away, opening a vast chasm between their swaying forms.

She gazed up in shock, meeting his eyes.

And saw the impenetrable walls in place once more.

She sighed, fingers curling in, nails pressing her palms, the pain an anchor in the raging sea, the smoke on the water obscuring her view of the shoreline.

He glanced away first, gazing down at his bloodstained hands, and then to the table against the wall.

“I’ll clean up, then we leave.”

She nodded mutely, doing her best to avoid the sight in the center of the room, the blood pooled along the floor, the trail leading up to the man it came from.

Tom cut a precise and graceful path to his medical case. She averted her gaze, unable to watch him handle the blades with such precision now that she knew all he was capable of with the instruments.

“Greyback will keep for another few hours,” he supplied over his shoulder without preamble or emotion. “Plenty of time to accomplish our next task.”

Her heart jolted painfully in her chest.

“Dolohov,” she whispered, a lifetime’s worth of pain, terror and misery crashing over her like a tidal wave.

From the corner of her eye, she saw his back go rigid, every muscle tensed.

And then he slowly turned, pinning her in place with his predatory stare.

“Dolohov.”

* * *

Draco had just exited the black staircase onto the main floor when he was grabbed by the collar and jerked backward, nearly ripped clear off his feet.

He swung blindly, fist connecting with solid muscle and fabric, earning a satisfying grunt of pain from his attacker.

“Get off-”

“Shut up, Malfoy.”

Draco blinked, body tensing as he gazed over his shoulder with wide eyes.

“Potter?”

Harry let him go, stepping back and clutching his side. They stood beneath the staircase, hidden from view of the floor, cast in shadow.

“You didn’t have to apprehend me, you bloody bastard.”

Draco straightened his jacket, eyes narrowed.

And then he saw the murderous expression on Harry’s face. He stepped forward, face pale.

“What is it?” His hands clenched. “Is she hurt? Where is she?”

Harry blinked, the hard edges in his expression softening.

“I don’t know.” He studied Draco’s visage carefully, looking for any trace of duplicity.

“Then why do you look like a red hot poker’s been jammed up your arse?”

Harry rolled his eyes, shoulders dropping.

“You’re the most annoying ponce on the planet and it’s not even an act.”

Draco arched a pale brow. “Excuse me?”

“Which means what I’m about to say is going to be a real blow, so brace yourself.”

Draco drew back, spine ramrod straight.

“What the bloody hell are you on about?”

Harry’s jaw tensed as he held the man’s bemused gaze.

“There was a party held at Malfoy Manor a couple weeks ago. Lavender attended with McLaggen. She saw some shite she shouldn’t have seen and drew the attention of your aunt and uncle. She was murdered a few days later.”

Draco opened and closed his mouth, body eerily still as his eyes darted between Harry's as though searching for something beyond the words he was hearing.

“I-” he wet his lips, then shook his head. “There was no party at the Manor.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “You sure about that?”

Draco scowled. “Yes, idiot. I fucking live there, I’d be the first to know.”

Harry blinked, glancing away and crossing his arms, wheels quickly turning in his mind.

“Who told you there was a party?” Draco asked, arms crossing.

“Someone who spoke to Lavender before she was killed.”

Draco tipped his head.

“She’s mistaken.”

“She was repeating what she heard. And I believe her.”

“Then the Lavender chit was mistaken.”

Harry pinned him with a calculating look. Draco glared.

“I’m not lying to you, Potter. I want to figure this shite out as badly as you do. But I’m telling you, there was no-”

He stopped abruptly, jaw snapping shut with an audible click. Harry’s pulse thrummed, adrenaline surging.

“What is it?”

“There was a party.”

Harry opened his mouth but fell silent at Draco’s raised hand.

“But it wasn’t at the Manor.” His silver gaze ignited. “And it wasn’t our party.”

Harry’s jaw ticked. “Explain.”

Draco bristled beneath the command, voice dripping in acid.

"We rent out properties to various blue-bloods who can't afford their own estates in the West End, usually during Seasons and holidays, but some rent throughout the year and use it as their primary residence, often because they don't have a country estate to retire to."

Harry nodded.

“How many of these properties are rented on the west side?”

“Dozens.”

Harry groaned.

“But only one had a party last week. A big one, I know because my father got pissed, threatened to evict Avery if the fool ever did it again.”

Harry blinked.

“Jonathan Avery?”

“The human termite, yes.”

Harry drew back, head spinning with the revelation.

Draco continued on, shoulders tight.

“The property still has the Malfoy insignia on the gates, the girl probably recognized it and assumed we were hosting the event.”

“Do you know where this property is?”

“Yes.”

“We’re going.”

“Naturally.”

Draco started to turn, Harry reached out and grabbed his arm.

“Wait.”

Draco shrugged free of his grip. “Stop accosting me, prat.”

“I need to grab Neville and Parvati.”

Draco raised a brow. “I’m sorry, did you say Longbottom?”

Harry ignored him, already striding past and scanning the crowd with his eyes.

“Why the bloody fuck did you bring _him_ with you?”

“Because I needed help looking for Mione, and he’s one of the few people I could think of who can recognize her even in disguise.”

“Why not recruit your ginger lapdog?”

Harry’s jaw clenched.

“Whatever, I couldn't care less. We need to hurry.”

“Then why don’t you shut up and help me look?”

“Fucking tosser.”

“Slimy ponce.”

They moved forward, submerging themselves into the crowd.

“Parvati’s waiting in a private room. I’ll get her, you meet Neville at the bar.”

Draco huffed in annoyance. “Fine.”

“Meet me out front in ten minutes.”

“Make it five.”

And then the blonde turned on his heel and disappeared into the wall of bodies.

Harry sighed, making his way through the red curtains once more, heading for the room he'd spoken to Katie in.

Only to run into another member of their defunct party.

“Zabini?”

The man glanced up, a wide smile breaking free and gleaming in the light.

“Potter, there you are.”

“I forgot you were here.”

His declaration only made the grin widen.

“You really know how to make a bloke feel special. No wonder Theo can’t keep his hands off you.”

Harry staggered back, heart beating through his chest, making him light-headed.

“I-” he shook his head, trying to regain his equilibrium. “What do you-”

“Relax, Potter. I’m just taking the mickey out of you. I didn’t intend to cause a heart attack.”

Harry wet his lips, mouth dry as a desert.

“I take it you didn’t find Granger?”

The question drew him from the depths of the water he was treading, a lifeline in the midst of drowning.

He swallowed heavily.

“No.” He ran a trembling hand through his hair, desperately trying to recalibrate. “But we have a lead on where she may be. Possibly Luna as well.”

Blaise blinked.

“Luna?”

Harry shook his head, striding forward on numb legs. “I’ll explain in the carriage. Assuming you want to come.”

“Of course.” Blaise gracefully spun on his heel and skipped along the hall in Harry’s wake. “This is by far the most eventful evening I’ve had in at least a week.”

Harry’s jaw tensed as he glanced over his shoulder, pinning the man with his most seething glare. Blaise winked.

“This is serious, Zabini.”

He nodded dramatically.

“This is my serious face.”

Harry sighed and faced forward again, reaching the room at the end of the hall and knocking a singsong pattern against the wood.

“Oh!” Blaise sidled closer, bouncing on his heels. “A secret code! The plot thick-”

He fell instantly silent as the door swung open and the person standing on the other side came into view.

“You!” Parvati shouted, dark eyes narrowing to menacing slits.

Harry took no small pleasure in the sound of Blaise’s audible gulp before the man schooled his expression into a rakish grin.

“We meet again, pretty minx.”

Her hands curled at her sides.

“You’re about to meet my fist again.”

Harry stepped between them, directing his focus on Parvati.

“While it pains me to deny us both the immense pleasure of seeing you break his nose a second time, we have to get going.”

Her eyes flickered to his, hostile expression turning worrisome in the space of a heartbeat.

“What is it? Did you find Malfoy?”

“Malfoy?” Blaise straightened, glancing between them. “As in _Draco_?”

“Again, I’ll explain in the carriage, but we have to leave _now_.”

He started up the hallway towards the main room, both companions falling in close step behind him.

“Wait!” Parvati reached out, placing a hand on his back and prompting him to stop, turning to face her. “We have to find Hannah.”

Harry blinked. “Hannah?”

“Another resident who came with me tonight.”

Harry dragged a hand over his face, tearing off his mask and groaning deeply.

"This night can't get anymore-"

“Nah ah ah,” Blaise interrupted, holding a finger aloft, earning both of their scornful glares.

He smiled brightly.

“You know better than to finish that sentence, Potter.”

* * *

Antonin tied his smoking jacket closed with an elegant knot as he walked to his front door.

“Yes, yes, coming!” He called out, the delicate rapping ceasing immediately.

He sighed, setting his cognac aside as he unbolted the lock and wrenched the barrier open.

“What do-”

His jaw hung slack, eyes wide with shock.

The figure before him trembled lightly, hands laced together.

She licked her lips, prompting him to find his voice once more.

“Hermione?”

“Hello, Antonin.”

He swallowed thickly at the sound of his given name on her sensuous lips. His knuckles turned white against the door.

“What- how did-”

“Can I come in?”

He blinked rapidly, lurching back. “Yes… yes, of course.”

He held his breath as she took a tentative step forward, glancing briefly over her shoulder into the darkness of the empty street beyond, he followed her gaze, brow raised, but in the next moment she was stepping fully into his home, shoulder brushing his chest, and he was lost.

He quickly closed the door, turning the lock, eyes never straying from her face.

“Would you like a drink?”

She spun on her heel, meeting his gaze, shoulders set.

“I know you sent Greyback for me.”

He jolted, heart skipping a beat. He opened his mouth but fell still as she held up a staying hand.

"I know he took Luna instead." She wet her lips anew, her arm dropping like a dead weight at her side. "Please, let her go."

Then she inhaled sharply, blinking quickly, eyes gleaming bright.

“And I’ll stay with you. Willingly.”

His jaw snapped shut, eyes carefully roaming her figure, as though trying to determine if she were truly there or merely a figment of imagination.

“I…” He licked his own his lips, running a hand across his face. “I didn’t want to resort to such barbaric practices. But I knew of no other way to get you free of that hellhole.”

A crease appeared between her brows.

“You…” She shook her head, mind reeling. “You did it, for _me_?”

“Of course, Hermione.” He started towards her. She started walking back. “Everything I do, I do for you.”

Her shoulders hit the wall. She gasped. He continued his approach.

“From the moment I first laid eyes on you, I vowed to protect you at all costs.”

Her pulse raced madly, causing her vision to haze at the edges.

“I _will_ do anything for you. Surely you know that by now.”

She fought to breathe through the rising terror, the gut-clenching dread. Her hands pressed into the wall, nails gouging crescent grooves into the wallpaper.

“Why?”

“ _Why_?” He laughed, deep and unrestrained, reaching her at last. He pressed his hands to the wall on either side of her body, caging her, chest pressing in, expelling the air from her lungs. “Because you're mine.”

He rested his lips at her temple, hot breath cascading down the side of her face, causing her to shiver in revulsion. Flashes of memory appeared before her mind's eye, the past overlaying the present, blurring the lines of nightmare and reality.

“And now that you’ve accepted that fact, we can begin our lives together.”

Her gaze widened.

She had always thought it was just about sex.

“ _What_?”

He drew his head back, lowering his chin, examining her closely.

“We’ll need to leave England immediately.” He took one hand off the wall to play idly with her curls. “We should avoid Europe entirely, at least for a few years.” Cold fingertips traced a path along her cheek and down her neck, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. “We’ll get married right away, of course.”

She jolted, inadvertently pressing harder against him, bile rising in her throat as a purr released from his.

“We’ll be able to collect your fortune. Combined with my sizable estate, we can live anywhere we desire.”

His hands grasped her waist, squeezing, kneading, restraining. She tipped her head back, attempting to open her airway, desperate for oxygen. He dipped his head and licked the exposed flesh of her throat. She choked back a sob.

“You pick the place. Anywhere you want, Hermione. Anything you want. I’ll give you the world.”

She swallowed, working past the constriction, feeling faint, held aloft only by his pinning weight.

“I’ve been dreaming of this for so fucking long.”

His erection prodded into her hip through her skirts as his hands drifted down, bunching the fabric, pulling it up, cool air meeting her stockinged calves.

“I’ve fantasized about being inside of you for years.”

He groaned into her ear as he continued to gather and lift her dress, his eyes unfocused, hungry.

“To be your first. Your only.”

She began to pant, hands clawing at the wall.

“I know you never let the Malfoy brat inside you. You’re too smart, too pure. He’ll never touch you again.”

Her heart stuttered at the mention of Draco, but she was lost for words, succumbed to the terror of her mind.

_I should have let Tom do it his way…_

She blinked rapidly at the ceiling, phantom smoke appearing before her eyes.

 _No_.

Her nails lengthened, striking grooves in the plaster.

_I can do this._

Adrenaline surged.

_He’s mine._

Her resolve snapped back into place with an audible crack.

Her skirts were pulled higher yet, his fingers clutching at the thin linen of her shift.

“I understand why you ran, why you cut me.” His lips grazed her neck with every word. “I forgive you, little one.”

He pulled the shift over her bloomers.

She pried her hands from the wall as he began to rut against her like a dog in heat.

“I deserved your wrath then. But tonight... tonight I want your passion.”

His head rose, lips searching for hers. She turned her face away sharply, leaving him panting against her cheek. She slid her hand into the hidden panel sewn inside the folds of her skirt, fingers wrapping around the narrow cylinder concealed within.

“Tonight, we finally get to finish what we started.”

She ground her teeth, gaze reflecting the ghostly flames dancing around her.

“Yes,” she hissed.

He nipped at her neck.

She tore her hand free from the fabric, the syringe gleaming in the moonlight as she drove it into the side of his neck with all the strength contained within her body.

His shocked, pained scream was music to her ears.

He staggered back immediately, releasing her skirts, dress falling back into place, all evidence of his sickening touch erased.

He blinked rapidly, tipping sideways into the back of the sofa, clutching the cushions desperately. He swallowed heavily before reaching up with a trembling hand and pulling the needle from his neck, staring upon it with wide, glazed eyes.

She watched him drop to his knees, the syringe falling to the floor as his hands went numb.

Then he met her gaze.

She started a slow path towards him, expression sinister in the fading light. A dark, avenging angel.

Her every footstep was marked by ash, the entire world burning at her feet.

She came to stop directly before his crumbling form, eyes glowing in the darkness as she delivered a promise of her own.

“Tonight we finish it for good.”


	19. Original Sin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, loves.
> 
> **Here it is.**
> 
> Just remember… 
> 
> Be careful what you wish for.
> 
> ;)

_Truth is always bitter to those who fear it._  
.   .   .

“Move your hand, pervert.”

“Sorry, darling, thought that was my thigh.”

Parvati’s eyes narrowed dangerously from her corner of the carriage. “The next time you make such a mistake I’m going to break every bone in your body.”

“You seem wound rather tight, might I suggest some relaxation techniques from the Orient-”

"Blaise, shut the hell up." Draco rubbed his throbbing temples, glancing at Harry. "This is ridiculous, we should have dropped the others at Grimmauld."

Neville bristled from his spot on the opposite end of the bench. “If Mione’s in trouble I’m not going anywhere.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, you’re the first person I think of when it comes to saving the day, Longbottom.”

Neville shot him a scathing look even as he flushed brightly. Hannah adjusted awkwardly in her seat, biting her bottom lip and drawing her shoulders in as though to make herself as small as possible.

Harry sighed. “We need every pair of eyes we can get to search the house.”

The carriage rocked precariously, sending the jam-packed occupants bumping into one another. Draco scowled.

“How the bloody hell are we supposed to sneak five people in? Avery may invite me inside but he’ll most certainly have reservations regarding the circus at my back.”

Parvati sat straighter, the darkened interior casting half her face in shadow. “I’m good at breaking and entering, and I can scale the side of the house if need be.”

Her announcement earned an appreciate once over from Blaise, which she pointedly ignored, while Draco merely raised a pale brow, voice unenthused. “What a colorful CV you must have.”

She rolled her eyes.

Harry directed his focus upon her. “You aren’t scaling anything with a fractured rib.”

Zabini blinked, expression sobering as he gazed upon her carefully. “You’re hurt?”

“Mind your own business,” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. He raised his hands in mock surrender, their tight confines causing his elbow to lodge into Harry’s side. He forcefully pushed the offending limb away.

"Draco will go in the front," he instructed, tone firm. "The rest of us will find a way in through the back." He met the blonde's irritated, mercurial gaze. "Just keep him distracted long enough for us to search the premises."

"Shouldn't he help us look?" Parvati asked, arms lowering to her lap. "It is his house, after all, he must know the layout."

“It isn’t _my_ home. My father owns the building, along with half of the West End. I’ve never set foot inside.”

Harry peered out of the window, shoulders tensing. “We’re here, everyone act natural while I pay the driver.”

“Act natural?” Parvati scoffed. “Hannah and I are dressed like tarts and you lot look like a Renaissance Fair took a hot shite all over you.”

Blaise burst into laughter while Draco sighed deeply, carding his fingers through his hair. “I’m dressed like a normal member of society, _I’ll_ pay the driver. Everyone else start heading for the back.”

The moment the carriage came to a stop everyone piled out eagerly, stretching their limbs and shifting apart, desperate for personal space. Draco departed their company as he walked to the front, reaching into his coat for his billfold.

Hannah shifted from foot to foot, crossing her arms tightly, eyes averted. Neville gazed at her for a long moment before quickly shrugging out of his coat, clearing his throat as he did so.

“Um… here.” He held out the garment, a slight tremor in his arm.

She gazed up, brown eyes widening before a smile unfurled across her face. “Thank you.”

Blaise smirked, glancing at Parvati and grasping his lapels, starting to remove his own jacket. She met his eye, expression pinching.

“ _No_ thanks.”

Harry sighed, shaking his head and removing his emerald coat, handing it over to her without a word. She accepted it with an appreciative nod.

The gravel crunched beneath the carriage wheels as it pulled forward. Draco walked back to the group, brows creased.

“What the hell are you all doing standing around?”

Parvati’s dark eyes narrowed. “I hope for your sake Mione smacks the shite out of you.”

“She already has and he’s still an arse.” Harry tipped his head toward the house. “Alright, let’s head around the side.” He met Draco’s eye. “Remember, keep him-”

“Distracted. I’m not daft like most of your friends, Potter. Now go.”

Harry suppressed a groan, glancing at the others.

“Alright, follow me.”

.   .   .

Draco’s jaw tensed as he watched Potter and his Merry Band of Idiots head around the side of the building.

He sighed deeply, starting a path up the drive to the front door of the large Estate.

He still thought it was a huge mistake allowing the others to tag along.

Especially Blaise and Longbottom. The girls seemed clever and amenable enough to avoid wreaking total havoc on the evening, but six people on an espionage mission were just asking for trouble.

He gazed at the large, gleaming black door, pulse thrumming at the mere thought of Hermione being inside.

The idea disturbed him, but he also sent a silent prayer to a god he rarely believed in that she would, in fact, be on the grounds, saving him from having to tear the city apart looking for her.

He lifted a fist and brought it down on the door three times before tucking his hands casually in his pockets, body tensed.

A distant shuffle sounded, followed by sliding metal, and then the barrier gave way.

Avery stood before him, adorned in casual wear, blinking rapidly.

“Draco?”

“Jon. Good evening.”

The man shifted back, eyes darting around the porch before settling. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to ask a favor, actually.”

He blinked again, brow arching high.

“A favor? From _me_?”

“Yes, involving the upcoming debate. Surely you’ve heard my father is allowing me to speak before the entire committee?”

“Oh…” he wet his lips, shifting again. “Well, yes, I did. But I don’t know what I can do to-”

A distant thump jolted and rendered him silent. He spun around, peering over his shoulder into the home. Draco closed his eyes with a silent groan.

_Fucking idiots._

He shook his head, gazing forward once more.

“Jon.”

Avery spun to face him. Draco smothered his annoyance with every ounce of willpower left within him.

“Are you busy? I just a need a few minutes to ask you some questions about-”

The explosive sound of shattering glass echoed loudly down the hall.

“What the hell?” Avery spun on his heel, eyes wide. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Did you hear that?” The man asked, stepping away from the door and walking further down the hall.

“I’m pretty sure the Queen heard it from Kensington.”

Avery opened and closed his mouth before clearing his throat.

“Give me just a minute, Drake, I need to check on something.”

Draco nodded with resignation. “You go do that.”

He watched the man take off down the hall and turn the corner before crossing the threshold and closing the door, sliding the heavy lock into place, silently berating his evening’s companions all the while.

He started a leisurely stroll down the same route Avery took, finally emerging in the parlor.

A broken vase littered the wood floor, the table beside it askew.

Avery stood stock still, gazing down upon the mess in utter bewilderment.

He glanced up at Draco’s entrance, mouth agape.

Draco sighed, voice dry.

“I’m as perplexed as you are.”

Floorboards creaked in the hallway beyond the room’s other exit. Avery spun around, fists clenched at his sides, spine rigid.

"H-hello?" He practically squeaked.

Draco rolled his eyes.

Avery glanced anxiously over his shoulder. “You heard that, right?”

Draco bit his tongue to keep his scathing remarks at bay. Instead, he creased his brows, feigning confusion.

Avery gazed at the empty doorway once more, taking a tentative step forward.

He barely made it to the archway before an arm shot out of the darkness, a fist colliding with the side of his square jaw, knocking him clear off his feet.

Draco reared back, blinking at the sight of the toppling body.

Avery hit the ground in a heap, limbs askew, head lolling to the side as he plunged into unconsciousness.

And then Potter was entering the room, running a hand through his wild mane as though nothing was amiss.

Draco stared upon the limp figure for another deafening beat before finding his voice.

“What the bloody hell, Potter?”

The fool raised a dark brow, eyes guileless. “Our cover was blown, what was I supposed to do?”

The others began to trickle into the room from the hall.

Longbottom’s expression was stricken. “It was my fault. I tripped.”

“How hard is it to walk in a straight fucking line, idiot?”

The blonde girl stepped forward. “It was an accident-”

“Enough!” Potter’s voice caused them all to jolt. “He’s going to come to any moment, we need to get organized. Draco, help me move him. Blaise, Nev, find something to bind him with.”

Blaise casually stepped over the body. “I love this bossy, domineering side of you, Potter. Devilishly attractive.”

Parvati arched a brow as she stepped over the prone figure next. “Swing both ways do you? Shoulda known, you look like you’ve been bent over a few barrels.”

Blaise tipped his head back and laughed. “I assure you, if I were to ever sample the wares from my own gender I would be doing the-”

“Blaise, shut up.”

His friend shot him an annoyed glare. “Why do you keep yelling at me? It takes two to-”

“Potter, please knock him unconscious as well.”

Harry sighed, leaning down and sliding his hands under Avery’s shoulders. “This is going to be a long bloody night.”

* * *

Hermione gazed down at Dolohov’s prone form.

And started to hyperventilate.

She stared at the unnatural angle of his limbs, then slowly brought her eyes to the discarded syringe at his side.

She swayed on her feet, overcome with panic-

A heavy knock sounded at the door, jolting her from her stupor.

She gasped sharply, covering her mouth, blinking rapidly as she gazed at the large silhouette on the other side of the curtain covering the inset glass.

And then she crossed the entryway rug on numb legs, hands trembling at her sides as she fumbled with the heavy lock, sliding it back and wrenching open the door, listing her weight against it.

Tom stood before her, expression lethal, every muscle clenched as though poised to attack.

When his eyes took her in he relaxed, shoulders lowering.

“Are you alright?”

She swallowed heavily, trying to process his words in the thick fog contained within her mind.

His eyes darted past her shoulder, peering into the darkness of the home.

“Where is he?”

She swallowed thickly, shuffling back and glancing over her shoulder, giving him a clear view of Dolohov's sock-clad foot peeking out of the drawing-room doorway and into the hall.

Tom’s eyes darted back to her.

“You were supposed to let me in immediately after. I was getting ready to break through the glass.”

She gazed up, opening and closing her mouth. His dark brows creased as he stepped inside, gently pushing her away from the door so he could shut and lock it.

“Hermione,” he spoke slowly, “did he hurt you?”

She quickly shook her head, even as her eyes filled with tears. His jaw tensed as he held her watery gaze.

“Say something.”

She wet her lips, throat tight.

“I…”

His eyes darkened, shadows spreading upon the wall at his back, expanding all the way to the ceiling.

“I’m going to kill him.”

“He didn’t- I wasn’t-” Her chest burned. “It was like last time, against the wall.” Her body trembled, hands clenched tightly at her sides. “But I stopped him. It’s okay. I stopped him.” She tried to regulate her breathing. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

He started to reach out a hand, only to stop midway, leaving his arm hovering in the air halfway towards her, his expression stricken, hesitant.

She leaped forward, mindless in her need for comfort. She pressed against him, burying her face in his chest, inhaling deeply, relishing the darkness beneath the fabric of his coat as she burrowed in deep.

She began to shake uncontrollably, overcome with emotion, unable to quell the torrent crashing down upon her. As she bit back broken sobs she felt his arms slowly encase her, his movements stilted, unsure.

She reveled in the heat of his body, its solid, unmovable presence. She clung to him, grabbing handfuls of his coat and anchoring herself in place.

He held her for an eternity of fleeting seconds. And then his hands were gently encircling her arms, pushing her back.

She tilted her tear stained face upwards, meeting his calming gaze.

“You did well, Hermione. I’m very proud of you.”

He stroked her hair. She leaned her face against him once more, eyes closing. His voice rumbled through his chest and into her skull, echoing through her mind.

“Now your role is done, I’m going to-”

“No!”

She shot back, shaking her head, adrenaline suffusing her.

“I want to question him. I _need_ to question him.” Her shoulders tensed.

“I need this, Tom.”

He held her gaze, breathing deeply, one hand at her arm and the other at her lower back.

Until finally, he nodded.

“You’ve certainly earned the right.”

Her muscles relaxed with a powerful sigh of relief.

“Thank you.”

He tilted his head, eyes slowly roaming her face. “There’s no need to thank me, Hermione.“ A weighted pause. "We’re partners in this.”

The word caused her heart to skip. She blinked.

And then began to smile.

“Partners.”

They held each other's gaze for another sweltering beat...

He swallowed heavily, releasing her and stepping away.

“Search the home for Ms. Lovegood or any clues to where he took her. I’ll get him situated.”

Her expression sobered as the reality of their situation came flooding back with stunning swiftness. She nodded quickly, arms dropping to her sides, nails digging into her palms as she turned away.

Her eyes landed on Dolohov’s limp foot.

She glanced away sharply. Tom started forward, arm brushing her as he passed. Their gazes met and she opened her mouth to speak, though she hadn’t the slightest idea what her mind planned on saying.

He stopped, waiting patiently for her words.

But they never came.

She closed her mouth, looking away with a blush and striding to the stairs.

She heard his footsteps behind her, the rustle of fabric as he moved into the drawing room. She swallowed thickly, darting up the stairs as quickly as she could, desperate to put distance between herself and the scene unfolding below.

She paused on the landing, clutching the railing so tightly the bones in her hand ached.

“Luna!”

She already felt the girl’s absence from the home in her heart. Luna was a bright light, a warm glow. Everywhere she went she brought her illumination with her, bathing everyone in her presence.

But this house felt cold, barren, dark. A mausoleum.

Still, Hermione wouldn’t leave until she searched every single room herself.

She paused outside the first closed door, hand flexing at her side before gripping the knob tightly and jerking it open, braced for whatever horror may await.

It was his office.

Books were piled everywhere, the desk a violent explosion of papers.

No sign of life.

But just in case-

“Luna?”

Frigid silence greeted her.

She sighed heavily, pulling the door shut and moving onto the next one.

The water closet.

Larger than most, every square inch covered in pale marble and gold hardware.

But no living being.

She slammed it shut, heading to the next.

Her heart rioted in her chest at the sight within.

The master bedroom.

Covered in unlit candles…

… and rose petals.

They started on the carpet near her feet, leading a crimson trail to the bed like droplets of blood to a crime scene.

The mattress was covered in them.

Hermione pressed a hand to her mouth as bile-filled her throat.

He had prepared the room for her.

Like some grand romantic gesture.

It was the most disturbing sight she’d ever witnessed.

More gruesome than the eyeless apparition, more frightening than the ominous warning scratched along the wall of the attic.

This was a terror unlike any she’d ever experienced before.

She turned away from the sight, gasping for breath, desperately trying to calm her nerves and keep the contents of her stomach situated where they were.

After a few moments of solace staring blankly at the wall, she was able to direct her attention over her shoulder once again, breathing steadily through her nose, forcing her eyes to the bed.

The quilt remained neatly pressed, free of wrinkles. The petals smooth as silk. Untouched.

The mattress unused. The decorations undisturbed.

He hadn’t raped her.

_At least not on the bed…_

She cringed at the dark thought, tears filling her eyes anew.

_Even if he didn’t touch Luna, the next man to get his hands on her might-_

She felt faint, listing against the dresser, trying to stay upright.

Trying to avoid the petals on the ground. Their sight was perverse. Their touch acidic. She’d never be able to tolerate their scent again.

Suddenly, a whisper filled her head, unbidden.

_“Scream for me, luv.”_

She inhaled deeply, feeling the unforgiving door at her back, the brass doorknob bruising her spine.

Hands tearing at her dress, ripping into her flesh, consuming her like a feasting, feral beast.

She clawed at the phantom wall, nails breaking, body and soul dying.

And then her eyes had landed on a bright beacon of hope. She’d scrambled forward for the items on the desk, barely reaching the edge, having just enough leverage to grip the silver letter opener before he was grabbing her arms and slamming her back into the door, her ears ringing with the impact of her head against the solid wood barrier.

She struck forward on instinct, blind in her panic, slicing him clean across the eye as his hand clawed at her shift.

Blood blossomed across the split skin a stuttered heartbeat before his scream vibrated the walls.

He dropped her dress, rearing back with a hand clutching his face, red oozing out from between his fingers and dripping onto his vest. She blinked at him like a terrified, wide-eyed doe, unaware of the blood marring her own clothing.

He stared at her in shock.

And then the anger set in.

He lunged forward.

She screamed and dropped to the ground, causing him to ram his shoulder into the door before he could check his momentum, the joint popping loudly, earning another strangled shout of pain.

She scrambled on her hands and knees to the center of the room before lurching to her feet, breathing manically, still clutching her blood tipped weapon tightly in her fist.

He spun around, directing the full force of his wrath upon her. She paled, heart trapped in her throat.

And then he’d done the most terrifying thing yet…

He laughed.

Deep, belly shaking laughter that peeled the skin from her bones as she stared on in shock and bewilderment.

He'd finally settled, licking his lips and leering at her through the eye not covered by a blood-soaked hand.

“I knew you would be as wild and passionate as you are brilliant.”

She blinked, tears cutting scorching paths down her cheeks.

“This isn’t over, sweetling. Not even close.”

She swallowed heavily, hands shaking so badly she stabbed herself in the leg with the letter opener.

His jaw tensed.

"You speak a word about this to anyone and I'll-"

_Stop!_

Hermione clutched either side of her head as she bent forward, forcefully wrenching herself from the dark waters of her memory and clawing her way to the shores of the present.

_It’s over._

She gasped for breath, eyes squeezed tightly.

_Tom is here._

She wiped roughly at her wet cheeks.

_I’m safe._

She slowly rose to her full height, reddened eyelids parting, vision centered on the petal-strewn bed.

And suddenly, from the ether, or perhaps from the far recesses of her mind where the truth was always buried, a realization dawned upon her.

Crushing the air from her lungs and snapping every bone in her body.

The devastation was immense. So much so that it went beyond crying, beyond screaming.

Rendering her mute. Trapped within her own mind with nothing but cold reality and festering hatred.

She slowly exited the bedroom, body numb even as her pulse thrummed.

She made her way down the hall and staircase like a ghost, feet levitating above the ground like the apparition that led her to the attic. She was one with the haunting figures now. A creature of both realms.

She hovered outside the drawing room, silently taking in the scene before her.

Dolohov was tied to a dining chair in the center of the rug, sofa and table pushed across the floor to make way.

Tom was finishing up an elaborate knot binding the man's wrist to the armrest. The steady intensity in his gray eyes were mesmerizing.

She watched on mutely, afraid to break his concentration, afraid of losing this moment, this calm before the storm.

She tilted her head, unconsciously shifting her weight.

A floorboard creaked.

She held her breath, braced for his gleaming gaze to alight upon her.

But he didn't flinch a muscle. Merely continued with his work.

She sighed, shaking her head.

He’d already known she was standing there. Watching him.

Of course, he did.

She walked inside as he gave the end of the rope a final tug before rising to his full height.

He met her eye, the question clear in his gaze.

She inhaled deeply, shaking her head.

His jaw tensed.

“We’ll find her.”

She bit her lip, nodding. And then she glanced down at the bound figure between them. Her earlier resolve came flooding back, solidifying within her veins. Tom's voice was hard but calm. Grounding her to the reality of what lied ahead.

“Whenever you're ready.”

She released a breath filled with smoke, spine lengthening as her eyes narrowed upon her prey.

“Wake him up.”

* * *

Draco tilted his head, pale brow raised.

“He isn’t waking up, Potter.”

Harry sighed, running a hand over his face.

“I can see that, Malfoy.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t rammed your fist into the side of his head like a bloody Neanderthal we’d be able to actually question the man.”

“Instead of bitching why don’t you make a suggestion on how to rouse him?”

Parvati shifted forward.

“Why don’t we slap him around a bit?”

Blaise’s expression brightened eagerly. “I second that motion.”

“Brain injury is the entire reason we’re in this mess. No one is hitting him,” Draco snapped. His jaw tensed, eyes narrowing upon the limp figure tied to the upholstered chair. “Christ. Is he even alive?”

“Yes, I felt his pulse when we were binding his wrists.”

“Excuse me if I don’t take your word as gospel, Longbottom. Do you even have any medical training?”

“Check if you don’t believe me then, Malfoy!”

“Everyone just calm down.” Harry flexed his shoulder blades, trying to alleviate the growing tension in his neck and back. “We’re going to leave him be while we search the house for Mione and Luna.” He released a long breath. “Or anything that can point to their whereabouts.”

He glanced at each of them.

“Understood?”

“We should pair up,” Neville said, hands curling at his sides. “Just in case anyone gets into any trouble.”

Harry nodded.

“Good idea. Alright, everyone grab a partner.”

No one moved a muscle.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Fucking hell.”

Draco rolled his eyes, stepping forward.

“I’ll go with Potter. We’ll split up the girls for their safety.”

Harry blinked, raising a dark brow. “Thanks.”

“Don’t bother. I just want to get this over with.”

Still, the others didn’t budge an inch. Draco scowled.

“Christ, you lot come crashing in like a herd of stampeding elephants, but when it comes time to actually do what we came here for you turn into a bevy of blushing virgins.”

Parvati groaned, stepping forward.

“Fine.”

She glanced at a smiling Blaise, eyes narrowing. “I won’t subject Hannah to your wandering hands. Just remember my warning in the carriage.”

“How could I forget such an enticing offer, pet? It’s not every day a woman threatens to maim and dismember me.”

“That’s shocking.”

She glanced at Harry.

“We’ll take the west wing.”

“Good. Draco and I will take the east.” He looked to Neville. “You and Hanna take the upstairs.”

His friend nodded, even as he flushed brightly as Hannah shifted closer, her thin frame swimming in his coat.

“And this idiot?” Parvati kicked Avery’s shin with more force than strictly necessary to make her point. He didn’t react in the slightest. “What if he wakes up while we’re still searching the house?”

Harry’s jaw tensed. “I have a feeling he'll be making quite a bit of noise when he comes to. We’ll hear him.”

Parvati tilted her head. “I can gag him.”

Blaise exploded into laughter at her back. She didn’t pay him any mind, maintaining Harry’s gaze. He smirked.

“Thank you for the offer, luv, but I’d rather know when he wakes.”

She shrugged, stepping away from the chair.

“Whatever.”

She started to exit the room, whistling a dog call over her shoulder.

“Come on, boy.”

Blaise’s smile grew tenfold as he followed with an eager trot to his step. Harry sighed.

“Remember, we’re here for information, Zabini, not for you to hit on women in the hopes of being assaulted by them.”

Blaise spun on his heel, walking back to the doorway.

“I’m excellent at multitasking, Potter.”

He winked and disappeared around the same corner as Parvati.

Harry shook his head, glancing at Draco.

“How are you friends with him?”

The blonde rolled his eyes.

“Oh, as opposed to Longbottom and his endless supply of wit and debonair charm?”

As he spoke, Neville tripped over the corner of the rug while exiting the other end of the room. Hannah leaped forward to help steady him with both hands on his arm. He blushed every shade of crimson as he thanked her profusely.

Harry closed his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Let’s just get searching.”

* * *

Hermione squeezed the syringe with a trembling hand, hesitating just before the bare expanse of neck.

She glanced over her shoulder.

Tom held her gaze steady, nodding once.

She inhaled deeply, setting her shoulders as she faced forward, pressing the needle to the skin before she could second-guess herself.

The pointed tip slid in smoothly. She pressed her thumb against the depressor.

Injecting pure adrenaline directly into Dolohov’s bloodstream.

He awoke instantly, jerking so violently she lost her grip on the syringe, rearing back as he thrashed in his binds, a shocked yell echoing off the walls.

He settled a moment later, blinking rapidly.

And directing his focus upon her.

“Hermione?” He blinked again, trying to lean forward. “What-” He tried to lift his arms, glancing sharply at his bound wrists, then down to his ankles.

“What are you doing? What is this?”

He glanced wildly around the room.

And spotted Tom.

His brows creased.

“Riddle?”

Tom remained poised against the wall, tipped back in a casual lean with one knee bent, foot perched against the paneling, arms crossed, eyes gleaming as he watched the scene unfold before him with predatory stillness.

Dolohov paled at the sight.

“What the hell is going on?”

His struggles renewed, realization dawning in his dark eyes.

“You son of a bitch.”

He began to thrash wildly, the chair wobbled but stayed grounded. Hermione then noticed the back legs were anchored with rope to the sofa table at his back.

She wondered absently how many times Tom had tied men to chairs to learn that little trick.

Dolohov’s enraged voice drew her gaze back up.

“I’m going to kill you, you bastard!”

Tom tilted his head, expression placid. “I suggest you direct your focus upon the lady. After all, she’s the one holding the knife.”

Dolohov blinked twice, eyes snapping back to Hermione.

And down to the scalpel clutched tightly in her hand.

His eyes widened to comical proportions, jaw working silently before he forced the words out, tone beseeching.

“Hermione, sweetling-”

“Don’t call me that.”

He swallowed audibly.

“Please-”

“My father used to call me that.”

Her voice was edged in steal, driving him back in his chair as she took a menacing step forward, propelled by the force of her rage.

“All those times you brought paperwork to the house. Claiming you were in the area, that you wanted to save them the trouble of having to come to your office. All those times you sought me out, pretending to be interested in my studies…”

"I wasn't pretending-"

“Shut up!”

He jolted back, jaw snapping closed.

Her chest heaved.

“All the dinners you were invited to, all the trust they bestowed upon you. And the entire time… the entire time you were watching me… thinking about me… fantasizing about-” Her stomach twisted painfully, tears mottling her vision. “You were lying in wait the whole time. Just _waiting_ for an opportunity. Just biding your time until you could strike.”

She swallowed heavily, tears dropping off her chin and soaking the collar of her dress.

“But you got tired of waiting, didn’t you?”

He paled considerably.

She nodded, gripping the scalpel so tightly her knuckles turned white.

“So you created your own opportunity.”

She was breathing heavily now, lungs filling with phantom smoke.

“They said the fire started in my father’s office. A tipped over candle.” She wet her lips. “But he checked every room of the house each night before he went to bed. He would never have left a candle burning. _Never_.”

Her teeth clenched, muscles tensing in her face, transforming her visage into a hellish mask of vengeful rage.

“Did you break in and set it yourself, or did you hire someone to do your dirty work for you? Like you used Greyback to take me? Too much of a fucking coward to get your hands dirty!”

His breath stuttered. “Hermione, I never-”

“Choose your words carefully, Dolohov.” She held scalpel aloft, arm shaking with the power of her conviction. “They may be your last.”

He swallowed heavily before speaking.

“I would never risk harming you. Never. The blaze nearly took you with it.”

Her spine straightened, chin lifting as she peered down her nose at his bound form.

“You’re such a masterful liar. No wonder you pulled the wool over their eyes for so many years.” She shook head. “Over _my_ eyes.”

“Hermione-”

“I wasn’t supposed to be home that night. Not yet at least. I was at a party. A party you knew I'd be attending." She blinked. More tears fell. "It would have been easy enough to ask around and make sure I was there. Maybe even plant a spy, ensure I was out of the house."

He leaned towards her. “I had no idea-”

“But I got into a fight with Draco that night and left early.”

Her admission rendered him mute. From the corner of her eye, she saw Tom's foot come away from the wall, leg lowering as he stood tall, as though on alert. Until that moment she’d forgotten he was even there.

She forged on.

“You meant for the house to be a pile of smoldering ash on the ground by the time I made it back. You never planned on me running inside while it was still burning.”

His chest rose and fell rapidly.

“I-”

She lifted the blade once more.

Her hand was perfectly steady.

“The time for lies is over, Dolohov. Look into my eyes.” Diamond points shone in her gaze. “I _know_ the truth.”

His own gaze narrowed, face pinched in acute agitation.

“Your parents were smothering you. So terrified of losing you they let you skip your Season... _selfish_ fools.”

Her chest alighted with the old familiar pain that plagued her since the fire. She resisted clutching it, transfixed by his rage-fueled words.

“Your father refused to entertain the notion of a marriage contract between you and _anyone_. I knew if I made my interest known he’d never let me see you again.”

His neck strained, throbbing pulse visible through the skin, face reddening.

“I knew you’d never escape their clutches. Never be free to leave that house. I did the only thing I could think of to set you free. To give you an opportunity for a future.”

He licked his lips, expression turning to beseech once more.

“I did it for _you_ , Hermione. I already told you. Everything I do, I do for- ah!”

He reared back as she sliced forward with the scalpel, slashing across his unscarred eye, creating a twin gash across his face.

He moved away in time to spare the eye itself, but the wound bled profusely, covering half his visage in red, a gleaming mask of death.

“Hermione-”

“Stop saying my name! I can’t stand the sound of your voice, little less hearing my name on your lips!”

He seethed, eye squeezed closed as he brought the other to focus on Tom.

“And what’s your part in this, Riddle?”

Tom didn’t so much as blink.

Dolohov growled low in his throat, glancing rapidly between them. His posture changed.

“No…”

He began to thrash anew.

“No! You deny my touch but you let that vile bastard close to you!”

She lifted her chin, jaw tensed. “He’s a thousand times the man you could ever hope to be.”

He laughed darkly, shaking his head, blood dripping off his chin, falling onto his smoking jacket.

“So naive. Look at what he’s gotten you to do for him. Drug me, assault me. He’s manipulating you, Hermione. Making you perform his dirty work. When all is said and done the crimes will fall on your head.”

Her pulse thrummed. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m a man. I know _exactly_ what I’m talking about. He’s only after one thing. Just like Malfoy. They all want the same, precious part of you. To defile your innocence. And then they’ll leave. They’ll use you, destroy you and discard you.”

She barely quelled a scathing laugh. “Says the man who attempted to rape me _twice_.”

“You came to _me_ tonight.”

“Just like I came to your office to sign my inheritance paperwork?”

He sighed deeply, sweat dripping down his face, mixing with the congealing blood.

“I got carried away then. I deeply regret what transpired.”

“So much so that you threatened to destroy an innocent man’s livelihood to buy my silence.”

He leaned back, the chair creaking.

“I only meant to stop you from doing anything rash.”

"You meant to blackmail me into keeping the attack a secret, leaving the truth to fester away inside me like a rotting, black abscess on my very soul, withering it away into nothing!"

His eyes narrowed.

“I had hoped with time you’d come to understand-”

“Then you were grossly mistaken. And more importantly, your time is up.”

He blinked, leaning back.

“Hermione, look at what you’re doing.”

“I’m well aware of my actions, Dolohov. I’ve apprehended the man responsible for my parents’ murder and my attempted kidnapping in an effort to extract the whereabouts of another victim. I dare say the law would be on my side if any of this were to come to light.”

Her eyes darkened.

"Which it won't. Because we now have leverage on each other."

He swallowed heavily. Her breath remained steady, voice calm.

“Where is Luna?”

He opened and closed his mouth like a gaping fish, shaking his head.

“I don’t want you getting mixed up with these people.”

“I don’t care about what you want.” She raised the scalpel, resting the blade at his cheek, pressing just enough to dimple the skin. “ _Where is she_?”

He panted, sitting deathly still, both eyes wide and focused upon the glinting metal.

“I don’t know-”

She flicked her wrist, drawing the blade through the meat of his cheek with focused precision, heart skipping as the blade collided with bone.

He screamed, head jerking away, blood soaking his face from the long, narrow gash.

“I don’t know! Honestly!”

“I don’t trust anything that comes out of your mouth!”

“I would tell you if I knew, I swear it!”

She leaned over him, driven half mad with rage and misery, tears dripping from her eyes and onto his crimson soaked face.

“She was brought here. Greyback delivered her to your door.”

“Yes, yes he did. And once I saw it wasn’t you I told him to-”

He stopped abruptly, swallowing thickly.

Her heart swelled, fit to burst through her ribcage at any moment.

“Told him to _what_?”

He blinked rapidly. The silence festered, decayed.

She brought the blade to his neck, pressing just beneath his bobbing Adam’s apple.

“Told him to what!”

“I told him to kill her!”

She reared back, the blade slipping from her grasp and grazing him lightly, earning a sharp hiss from his lips as a single bead of blood ran down his neck.

“You’re lying,” she whispered, her entire body clenching with cold terror. “Greyback told us he gave her to you.”

Dolohov shook his head, eyes wide, brows raised.

“He’s trying to protect himself by misleading you.”

She trembled, glancing over her shoulder on instinct, seeking Tom’s guidance, needing him to fix the bad, to make things right.

He cut a dark line across the pale decor, arms crossed and back straight, body perfectly still as his inhuman gaze remained fixed upon the panting, bleeding animal before them.

“Tom-”

His gaze lifted, latching onto her with breathtaking intensity.

And then he arched a dark brow, voice deep and all-consuming, as though his words emanated from her very mind.

“I’ve thoroughly enjoyed watching you carve him up like a jack o lantern. But I think it’s time for me to take a turn.”

She blinked, falling perfectly still as he drew near.

From the corner of her eye Dolohov went wild.

“Wait, no! Hermione-”

"For every time you say her name or utter a lie I'm cutting off a finger," Tom said cooly, reaching out a steady hand and gently extracting the scalpel from Hermione’s lax grip. “Then I’ll move onto toes, and then facial features.”

She stepped back, chest tight.

Tom came to a stop directly before the chair, gazing calmly down upon him.

“Do you understand?”

“You fucking bastard! I let you into-”

"Very good." He tipped his head, eyes scanning his blood-soaked visage. "Now let's try this again. Where's the girl?"

Dolohov spit, saliva hitting the left side of Tom’s dark vest. Tom peered down at the stain with idle detachment.

And then a slow, sinister smirk curved his lips.

He glanced up, meeting Hermione’s gaze.

“Should we count that as a lie?”

Her eyes flashed.

“Yes.”

He smiled fully, expression feral and perversely beautiful.

And then he directed the look of gleeful malevolence forward.

Dolohov reared back, jerking wildly at his binds.

Tom twirled the scalpel in his fingers with graceful skill.

“The lady has spoken.”

He lowered his storm cloud eyes to Dolohov's hands.

“No! No!”

He lowered to his haunches. Dolohov curled his fingers over the armrests, knuckles turning white.

Her gaze was transfixed.

“Hermione, please don’t let him-”

“A lie _and_ her name.” Tom shook his head in mock derision, predatory intent clear in every sharp line of his face as he braced the man’s left hand still beneath his blade. “Tisk tisk.”

“I didn't mean to! It slipped! Please don’t-”

His scream was long and shrill, every vein and tendon in his neck and face standing out in stark relief as Tom drew the blade down, the snap of bone loud and distinctive to her ears.

She blinked as he tossed a small, curled item over his shoulder with careless ease, a soft thump hitting the hardwood a few feet away from where she stood.

"I hope you don't play the piano."

“Stop! Please stop this!”

“Relax, it was only your pinkie.”

Bright red ran down the chair leg in thick rivulets, pooling along the base.

Tom gazed over his shoulder, eyes gleaming.

“Any preference for the next?”

Her eyes shone just as brightly. She tipped her chin up, shoulders drawn back.

“His left ring finger. Now that I’ve broken our nuptials he won’t have much use for it.”

Tom’s laughter echoed through her head, low and dark, a soothing stroke across her fraught nerves.

“Very practical deduction.” He faced forward, setting to work.

Dolohov’s screams took the paper off the walls. Tom let the second finger drop with a dull thunk before wiping the blade clean on the man’s sleeve and rising to his full height.

Dolohov struggled to breathe, tears running from his eyes, created tracks in the dark blood. He stared at her with raw desperation.

“Please, please… this isn’t you, this is him. He’s poisoned your mind, bent you to his sick and demented will.”

She wet her lips, holding his gaze without fear or hesitation as Tom resumed twirling the blade.

“On the contrary. Be thankful he's the one wielding the knife. If it were up to me you’d be missing a very different part of your anatomy.”

He blanched. Tom chuckled darkly, gazing at her with open appreciation.

“Brilliant. It’s refreshing to have a woman’s perspective on such matters.” He glanced down at Dolohov. “I think I’ll skip your hands and feet and take up Hermione’s suggestion next time.”

“You’re mad.”

“Then you know to trust my threat.” He set his jaw, expression rapidly sobering. “Where is the girl?”

“I-” He wheezed, glancing rapidly between them before settling his pained gaze on Tom. “I don’t know what hold you have over her, but if you take this any further you’re signing both your death warrants.”

“If you deflect my question again I will consider it another lie and remove your cock from your person.”

The chair groaned as Dolohov pushed back with all the strength in his body.

“I gave her to Rabastan. He oversees external placements.”

He wet his lips, expression stricken and pale as he focused upon Hermione. He cut such a revolting sight her stomach twisted painfully.

“I was only trying to protect you.” He blinked, tears glistening in his eyes. “I would do anything for you.”

She shuddered, glancing away sharply, bile rising in her throat.

Tom moved forward, resting the blade against Dolohov’s neck, poised and steady.

“Of all the sick and depraved monsters I’ve had the displeasure of meeting, I’ve never encountered a creature quite so pathetic.”

Dolohov’s eyes darted up, flashing, hatred burning bright in their depths.

"You think you're so much better than me. But look at where you are, what you're doing. You've known her for barely two weeks and you're already committing murder for her."

“I was committing murder long before I became acquainted with Ms. Granger.”

“Keep telling yourself that. But you know in your heart it’s too late.” His jaw tensed, blood caked along his scarred and clotted cheekbone. “She’s in your bloodstream. Burrowed beneath your skin. You smell her on the wind, see her reflection on the water, hear her voice echoing through your head every minute of every day.”

Tom slowly lowered the scalpel.

Hermione blinked, glancing at him sharply, stomach-churning by the sight of his silent retreat. Dolohov continued on, clearly emboldened by Tom’s reaction.

“She’s a sickness. A disease. An infection for which there’s no cure.” He eagerly licked his lips. “But it isn't our fault. We’re just men, born with undeniable cravings, biological needs. Physically unable to deny our true nature. And she lures us into her nest like a siren to a shipwreck. Setting out to possess us, wrap us around her finger, a slave to her will.”

His brows lifted to his hairline, voice beseeching. “You and I are the same, Riddle. We’ve both been taken under by her witchcraft, blinded by her evil, manipulative wiles. We aren’t responsible for our actions.”

He nodded empathetically as Tom took a step back, blade resting at his side.

“Untie me and we can take care of her together. I won’t report you. I understand entirely. We can both go on with our lives, free of her dark magic.”

She swallowed heavily as she glanced between them, swaying on her feet with the force of her heartbeat, terror rendering her numb.

Tom avoided her gaze, tipping his head, studying Dolohov with careful precision.

“What do you suggest we do with her?”

Dolohov squirmed, breath quickening.

“Whatever you want.”

“Kill her?”

He jolted.

“I- yes, if that’s-”

“Seems a waste.” Tom gazed at her at long last, eyes black and hallow, devoid of any life. “Don’t you think?” His fathomless gaze slowly roamed her trembling figure, expression unreadable. “Imagine all the other possibilities.”

Dolohov inhaled sharply.

“We share her then. Take turns. You can go first.”

She staggered, struck through the chest with a metal rod, piercing her clean through the heart.

Dolohov didn’t spare her a glance.

“We can enjoy her until morning, then dispose of her together.” He nodded eagerly. “Our little secret.”

Tom met her gaze once more.

They were no longer empty pits.

This time, they were filled with raging fire.

Raw and destructive, wild and dangerous.

Familiar and comforting.

She rocked back on her heels with the force of her relief, eyes tearing with the onslaught.

“I was greatly looking forward to slicing your throat.” Tom gazed down at the knife, spinning it idly once more. “But after that deeply generous offering, I believe Hermione should have the honors.”

Dolohov roared and thrashed like a feral beast, teeth snapping, spittle flying.

“You think you’re special? You have no fucking idea what she’s like!” If looks could kill they’d both be rendered to ashes where they stood. “Did she tell you about the Malfoy brat?”

Tom didn’t react. In fact, he stood unnaturally still.

Hermione thought she might faint.

"I hope you aren't harboring any delusions about a future together because she's already promised herself to that little fucker." He seethed. "If I wasn't indebted to his father I would have gotten rid of him years ago." His eyes narrowed to slits. "If you want her, I'm not the one you need to eliminate. _He is_.”

Tom arched a brow, lips curving into a darkly amused smirk even as his shoulders stiffened.

“In the span of five minutes you’ve gone from professing your undying love to proposing her murder. I find myself deeply intrigued to hear what sewage you spew next.”

“You’ll find out soon enough, Riddle. You’ll know what it is to _want_. To crave for something that forever lies just out of your reach.”

“I’ve been plagued by such an affliction my entire life.”

His expression turned pointed, shadows dancing across his face, embers smoldering in his eyes. Dolohov’s gaze widened.

“You took the job at the Home to gain access to the inner circle.”

Tom’s answering smile was as sinister as it was lethal.

“You were right about my motivations. My desires are base in nature. Just not the same as yours.” The knife glinted in the light as it spun between his agile fingers. “Before all is said and done, I will kill every last one of you on my way to your leader.”

Dolohov reared back. Tom lowered his chin, gaze still and penetrating as death.

“Now. For your last and final question of the evening.”

He leaned in close, hovering over his prey.

“Who is the Dollmaker?”

* * *

Hannah smiled as Neville held open the door for her, nodding her head in appreciation as she slipped into the room.

It was a makeshift library, and the fourth room they’d explored since emerging onto the top floor.

They set off to opposite sides, eyes scanning every surface, both unsure of what they were looking for besides the missing girls themselves.

“So…” she wet her lips, gently pushing on the bookcases to see if they gave way. “How do you know Hermione?”

Neville’s ears perked, eyes widening as he turned to face her. “Oh, I’ve known Mione since we were kids. Our families spent holidays together.”

“That’s great. She’s like a sister to you, then?”

He blinked, color staining his cheeks. "Um. Well, I-" he glanced away, examining the table surface. "I mean… I suppose she’s similar…”

Hannah smoothed her palms over her thighs, his discomfort a palpable force that caused her to squirm as well. She quickly sought a new topic.

“Are you an only child?”

“Yes.” He met her warm gaze once more, shoulders relaxing. “You?”

“Same.”

He shifted from foot to foot, hands flexing at his sides. “Are your parents…”

“Both dead.”

He blinked. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

He cleared his throat, tracing his fingertip over the back of a chair. “My parents are gone, too.”

She tilted her head, taking an unconscious step closer.

“Do you have any other family?”

“My gran.”

His smile radiated such boyish charm it incited a grin of her own.

“Are you close?”

He laughed, seemingly to himself. “Very. I come home every summer to spend time with her while I still can.”

“Come home from where?”

His expression sobered, blush returning, though he managed to maintain her gaze. “I attend Cambridge.”

“Wow.” Her eyes widened. “That’s impressive.”

He shook his head, glancing down once more. “Not really.”

She took another step. “Don’t be modest.”

His blush deepened, spreading down to his neck, but she saw the corner of his lips turn upward in response. She tentatively pressed on.

“What’s your major?”

“Civil Engineering.”

She rocked back on her heels. “Really?”

He raised a brow at her reaction. “Yes.”

Now she was the one blushing, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I find that deeply fascinating. My father was an architect and I believe the two disciplines go hand in hand.”

Neville blinked, walking out from behind the table. “They do.” He continued to approach her. “Your father sounds like a very impressive man.”

She swallowed lightly. “He was.”

Neville seemed to freeze in place by the melancholy in her voice. He glanced around the room for another moment, the silence stretching thin, before asking a question of his own.

“What about you?”

She blinked, brows creasing. “What about me?”

“What are you interested in?”

She bit her lip, eyes drifting to the floor. “I…” She sighed, then shook her head, glancing back up with a small smile. “I’ve distracted us. We should be-”

“Searching.” He seemed to jolt with his own word. “Right. Of course.”

She quickly turned away, hands clenched at her sides, gaze falling on the row of windows overlooking the back garden.

And went rigid.

“Neville?”

“Yes?”

She slowly spun to face him once more.

“I think I found something.”

* * *

“So-”

“I’m not interested.”

Blaise smirked at the back of her dark head. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

Parvati maintained her steady gait down the hall, eyes cast forward. “I can take a guess.”

“You broke my nose during our last encounter, the least you can do is answer a few of my questions.”

She scowled over her shoulder. “You grabbed my _arse_ during our last encounter. The least _you_ can do is keep your pretty mouth shut.”

His smirk transformed into a full-fledged grin. "You think my mouth is pretty?"

She arched a dark brow, facing forward and striding through the next doorway. “I think it will look even better when it’s oozing blood and missing a few teeth.”

“I love it when you talk dirty.”

She rolled her eyes as he followed her into yet another guest bedroom.

“Were you dropped on your head excessively as a child?”

“It’s a possibility.” He opened the closet, inspecting the dark interior. “My childhood is a bit of a blur.”

“Hm.” She pulled the curtains aside, gazing out of the window and into the bushes below. “Growing up amidst the lap of luxury can have that effect, I suppose.”

“Most certainly.” He shut the door and headed for the bed. “Though living in nine different countries within seven years has a similar outcome, I’m sure.”

Parvati blinked, watching him as he lowered to his knees and pulled the duster aside, peering beneath the frame.

"Your father traveled for work?"

"My mother traveled for husbands."

She raised both brows, walking to the dresser and opening the top drawer.

“I had no idea there was such employment to be had. I’ve got to rethink my career goals.”

He laughed, pulling to his feet.

“You’d make a terrible Black Widow.”

“Think so?” She slammed the empty drawer shut, wrenching open the next. “I have a penchant for violence, you know.”

"Oh, I'm well aware. However to pull off such a long-term con you have to be able to control your own emotions and the emotions of others at all times.” He started a slow path towards her. “You’re too brutally honest to be so manipulative.”

Something in his tone gave her pause, fingertips curling over the lip of the wood. She met his eye as he came to a stop at her side.

"Your mum is a real piece of work, huh?”

“That's one way to put it.”

She tilted her head, inspecting his face, the strained lines of his roguish grin. “How would you put it?”

He tensed, smile faltering as something flashed in his eyes.

“I’d rather talk about you.”

She sighed, pushing away from the dresser and walking around him. “My family is dead. I live in a haunted house. My friends are being murdered and kidnapped faster than I can change my knickers.” She paused in the doorway, resting her hand on the frame and peering over her shoulder. “That about sums up my life story.”

His eyes narrowed, teeth gleaming as he pinned her with his most handsomely rakish stare.

“Now about these knickers…”

She shook her head, doing her best to feign annoyance and failing terribly.

“Idiot.” She turned her head away as her smile broke free. “Come on, we have two more rooms to search.”

He watched her exit as swiftly as she entered, wasting no time in following.

* * *

Harry shut the pantry door, sighing in resignation, then glancing sharply over his shoulder as Malfoy broke the tense silence.

“She’s not here. I can sense it.”

Harry’s body tensed. “I know.”

“This is a waste.” Malfoy pushed a chair into the wall with force, causing it to fall over with a crash. “We should be looking elsewhere.”

“Luna might still be here.”

“The girl isn’t my concern.”

Harry crossed his arms, watching the blonde pace the room in clear agitation. “Maybe not. But she’s Mione’s concern. If we find her friend then we stand a better chance at finding her... _and_ keeping her from running around the bloody streets of London half-cocked."

Malfoy continued to seethe, shoulders drawing back. “You should have tied her up, Potter. That’s what I would have done.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“I’m not joking.”

“Unfortunately I know you weren’t.”

Draco shook his head and stomped out of the room with stilted movements, every muscle strung tautly. Harry sighed, running a hand over his face and then following him into the dining room.

“How did it go with Rodolphus?”

Malfoy looked like he was going to refuse to answer, but a moment later his shoulders eased, the harsh lines of his expression smoothing at the corners.

“Shockingly, you were right for once.”

Harry raised a brow, resting his arms on the back of a chair.

“He’s going to bring you in?”

Draco shook his head, carding a hand through his hair. “I don’t know about that. But I expressed my interest in a mistress and he’s going to find something to fit my specifications.”

“Which were?”

His brows flattened. “What do you think.”

Harry nodded slowly. “I just hope you weren’t too obvious about it.”

“Not all of us are bumbling fools, Potter.”

Harry rolled his eyes, cutting through the room as the man continued on.

“Regardless, we’ll get to see what this disturbing process looks like from the client side.”

“Do you think he’ll tell your father?”

“I asked him not to.” Draco followed him into the study. “He agreed.”

“Do you trust him?”

“He cares for me in his own demented way. He won’t tell my father for the sake of harming me.”

Harry started rummaging through books and trinkets scattered around the room while studying the blonde from the corner of his eye. Several moments of searching passed before Draco threw his hands up, eyes narrowed.

“ _What_?”

Harry took a deep breath, bracing his hands on the edge of the shelf, preparing for the explosion sure to come.

“This is going to piss you off royally, but I have to ask it at least once.”

“I can’t wait.”

A heavy beat of silence followed, then Harry finally turned to face him.

“Is there any chance your father is involved?”

Draco turned to stone, limbs frozen, expression hardening into an unreadable mask even as his eyes seemed to darken.

Then, without emotion or preamble, he replied with a heavily weighted-

“No.”

Harry’s chest tightened at the intensity held within that one syllable. Draco straightened, shoulders widening.

“My father is a right bastard. But he isn’t a depraved one.”

Another oppressive, sweltering beat.

And then Harry nodded, glancing away to resume his search of the room.

After a while he heard Draco join in, pushing things around with more force than necessary.

But they both fell still at the sound of pounding footsteps on the stairs. Harry drew back as shadows approached down the hallway, heart leaping as Hannah skid into the room, followed immediately by Neville, the latter nearly losing his footing before catching himself in the doorframe.

Hannah met his emerald gaze, her face flushed, panting lightly. He stepped forward.

“Did you find something?”

She continued to catch her breath. “Maybe.”

“What is it?”

She shifted awkwardly, glancing up at Neville. He nodded, gesturing forward with his hand.

“Go ahead. Tell them what you told me.”

She nodded, facing Harry once more, wringing her hands together.

“This is a classical Georgian style residence. Each half of the house is a perfect reflection of the other. Any deviation is considered a great flaw. And given the extravagance of the home, I doubt the builders overlooked any part of the blueprint.”

Harry's pulse thrummed, it took great effort not to seize her by the shoulders to spur on her on faster. "What did you see, Hannah?”

"Upstairs. In the den there are four windows along the wall. Which means on the opposite side of the structure, in the library, there should also be four windows." She swallowed heavily. "But there's only three."

Draco stepped in close, eyes bright. "What does that mean?"

“I wasn’t positive. So I opened the panes and inspected them from the exterior. I noticed the brickwork pointing is different on the section of the wall where the fourth window should be.” She wet her lips, bouncing on her heels. “Neville and I paced both rooms twice. The library is approximately ten feet narrower than the den. Another major design flaw.”

Harry blinked, rearing back with the force of the revelation. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

She nodded quickly, blond hair dancing across her shoulders. “There may be a hidden room behind the library.”

Harry inhaled sharply, then lost his internal battle and surged forward, grabbing her arms and beaming down at her. “Hannah, you’re bloody brilliant!”

She blushed, smiling and biting her lip. Harry released her a moment later, breath quickening with anticipation.

“Find Parvati and Blaise, we’ll start looking for an entry point.”

She nodded once more, glancing up to share an enthused look with Neville before spinning on her heel and disappearing down the hall.

The three men practically raced each other up the steps and into the library. Harry darted in first, Draco right at his heels and Neville closing in the rear, all three stopping in their tracks at the center of the room, glancing around frantically.

Neville spoke first.

“If there _is_ a hidden room can’t they hear us from inside?”

Harry shrugged. “Let’s find out.”

He inhaled deeply, then shouted with the full force of his lungs- “Hermione!”

They all stood frozen.

Only still silence greeted them.

He inhaled again.

“Luna!”

They all held their breaths, straining to listen.

Nothing.

Harry dragged a hand over his face, shoulder blades tight. "There's got to be a way in, a door of some kind. Look for scuff marks, uneven floorboards, seems in the wall, anything out of place."

They each shot to a different wall, running their hands over everything in sight.

Then Neville spoke again, voice contemplative as he spun in a slow circle.

"There are bookcases on three walls." He placed his hands on his hips, eyes narrowing in thought. "But not the fourth…"

He tilted his head, eyes flickering as though reading an invisible text in the air.

"It's got to be a pulley and dowel mechanism. Which means there's a wire laced through the paneling. But it has to enter the room at some point to connect with the trigger."

His voice became animated as he addressed the other two men directly. “When you lift or pull the anchoring item the wire lifts the dowel and frees a doorstop wedge, opening a hidden door or panel.”

Harry and Draco exchanged a look, and then the blonde turned to eye the man appreciatively.

“My apologies, Longbottom. You aren’t as useless as I thought.”

Neville blinked. Then smirked. “I think that’s the closest I’ll ever get to a compliment from you, Malfoy.”

“Probably.”

Footsteps echoed down the hallway, a moment later the other three swarmed inside the room.

“What’s happened?” Parvati’s face was as stricken as her voice.

"We're looking for a trigger mechanism," Harry replied, hand twitching at his sides. "Start pulling on everything that isn’t nailed down.”

Within seconds they were all tearing the room part, books pulled off the shelves and toppled to the floor, tables flipped, chairs tossed, the rug pulled up.

And then-

“Holy shit.” Everyone dropped the items in their hands, eyes darting to Blaise. “Literally,” he added, just before a loud click sounded at his back, a wooden panel swinging free.

He gazed at the trick wall and then at the book in his hands, still attached to a thin cable running into the plaster.

A bible.

"We're not only dealing with a sick and demented pervert but a pious one as well." He shook his head. "A terrifying combination."

The others rushed to the opening, Parvati reaching it first, pulling it aside and cringing in pain, grasping her side. Harry stepped in, pulling it open the rest of the way.

To reveal a solid wood door on the other side.

He immediately grasped the handle, jerking it with all his strength.

“Shite!” He hissed, banging a fist against the surface instead.

A muffled cry answered.

His mouth ran dry, eyes widening. Parvati appeared at his side, smacking her palms against the wood repeatedly.

“Hermione! Luna!” She screamed, eyes wild.

There was more muffled shouting. Parvati fell silent, pressing her ear into the door, closing her eyes. Harry held his breath, holding up a staying hand to the others, a silent bid of silence as the faint sounds continued.

Parvati gasped, rearing back from the door with a keening cry, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“It’s Luna!”

Harry felt himself deflate, all the air wrenched violently from his lungs. He did his best to suppress the crushing disappointment, chastising himself for the selfish reaction.

Parvati started pulling violently on the knob.

“It won’t budge!”

Draco stepped forward. “Let me try.”

He threw his shoulder into the barrier, the wood rattling on its hinges but too thick to splinter.

“Luna, we’re coming!” Hannah shouted, tears brimming in her own eyes.

Harry carded both hands through his hair, mind reeling. He finally gazed up at Neville, the man's face pinched in concentration.

“Ideas, Nev?”

The man sighed, eyes narrowing. “Maybe we can create a ramp to try and-”

“Or…” Blaise interrupted loudly from his spot at the back of the group, drawing all their focus. “We can go back to basics, the ways of our ancestors.”

Harry raised a dark brow as the man sported his signature Cheshire grin.

“Use an _axe_ , Potter.”

Harry blinked, shoulders dropping.

And then a smile unfurled across his own lips.

“Glad you decided to tag along tonight after all, Zabini.”

* * *

Dolohov reared back in his chair, muscles straining in a desperate attempt to flee.

“How do you know about the Dollmaker?”

"I highly suggest you stop answering my questions with inquiries of your own, that is if you're attached to the remainder of your anatomy."

He wet his lips anxiously, sweat dripping off his face.

“I don't know who he is. I’ve never even seen him. Very few ever have.”

Tom’s keen gaze narrowed, watching him carefully.

“Such as?”

“The Lestranges.”

Tom nodded.

“Then it is fortunate they are next on my list.”

Dolohov blinked slowly, eyeing Tom speculatively, as though seeing him for the first time.

“You won’t be able to stop it.”

“So I keep hearing.” Tom sighed, glancing down at the blade. “I believe your usefulness has officially run its course.”

He glanced over his shoulder, grey eyes holding her in place.

“His fate is entirely in your hands.”

Hermione swayed on her feet, the weight of the burden driving her through the floor and deep into the earth.

And then Dolohov spoke, breaking apart her swirling thoughts.

“I saved your life.”

She looked at him sharply, eyes narrowed, hackles rising.

“By killing my parents, yes, I’ve suffered enough of your depraved logic for a lifetime.”

“I meant… I saved your life last night.” He wet his lips. “He wanted you killed outright. Mutilated and dumped in the Thames. I barely convinced him to allow me to keep you.”

Her heartbeat echoed in her ears.

“The Dollmaker?”

“No.”

She felt a phantom chill in the air, sweeping around her, a dark omen of the news to come.

He took a deep breath.

“Lucius.”

She jolted, ribs breaking, heart falling through the empty cavern at her center.

“He’s a part of this?”

“When it’s beneficial. When he can use our resources to help clean up whatever mess threatens the golden reputation of his beloved, fucked up family.”

He swallowed heavily, jaw set.

“You terrify him.”

She blinked.

“I terrify Lucius Malfoy?”

“He’s been waiting for the morning he wakes up to find his boy gone. Thought it was only a matter of time before the lovestruck idiot grabbed you and fled the country. Especially with the kid’s marriage pending.” A weighted pause. “Lucius came to us, wanting to have you eliminated entirely.” His eyes narrowed. “And I saved you.”

She shook her head, pulse thrumming madly.

“You saved me for your own nefarious designs.” Her hands clenched at her sides. “I’d rather spend an eternity at the bottom of the Thames than a single night in your bed.”

His eyes flashed.

She dismissed him without another thought, looking at Tom.

He watched her steadily, voice calm and measured.

“Dolohov won’t face the same legal process as Greyback. He’ll be tried before a jury of his Peers. Noble Lords, many of which will likely be entangled in the organization as well.”

Dolohov leaned forward, rapidly shaking his head. “That’s not-”

“If you say another word out of turn I’ll cut out your tongue.”

His jaw snapped shut.

Tom held her gaze in silence.

Leaving the decision up to her.

She took a deep breath, nodding once.

His eyes darkened.

“Will his leverage over you die with him?”

Dolohov thrashed but his pained grunts of exertion were easily ignored by them both.

She raised her chin.

“It doesn’t matter. When I made the agreement I didn’t know the full extent of his crimes.” She met Dolohov’s eye, unphased by the blatant terror staring back at her. “He has to die.”

He exploded once more, Tom’s threat a distant fear in the wake of her final verdict.

“Hermione! Please, you don’t need to do this! I’ll leave the country, you’ll never see me again!”

Tom held out the scalpel.

She gazed at it for several beats.

Then shook her head.

He tipped his face, eyes gleaming.

“Would you prefer I do it?”

She swallowed thickly, then shook her head again, rubbing her blood and sweat-slicked palms along her skirts.

“I don’t want to cut his throat.”

She faced forward. Gaze vibrant. Pupils slit.

“I want to see him burn.”

.   .   .

From the moment she announced his fate the screaming hadn’t stopped.

Begging. Pleading.

Then the anger set in.

Threats. Vile insults.

And then the bartering began.

His voice rang through her head on an endless, shrill loop, displacing her own thoughts.

Luckily he resided in a private estate far from any neighbors.

Still, they may not hear his cries, but they would certainly see the smoke.

Eventually.

She discarded the empty can beside the others, the room thick with noxious odor, making her light headed and fearful the fumes would kill them all.

But Tom's hand at her lower back kept her steady as he directed her to the entry hall, extending the box of matches just as he'd extended the scalpel earlier before they raided the storage shed, before they doused every surface of the drawing room with gasoline.

“Hermione!” The bound, mutilated man wept openly, tears streaming down his face and creating bloody tracks across the skin. “Please don’t do this! I’ll leave England! I’ll never set foot in Britain again! You’ll never hear from me-”

“But I want to hear you, Antonin.”

She extracted a match from the box, meeting Tom’s eyes, relishing their feral gleam.

She struck the side of the stick along the phosphorus strip, igniting the tip.

She stared at the flame, watched the phantom faces twist and contort within.

Trapped souls, fueled by heat and hatred.

Eager to bring death and destruction upon all they touched.

“I want to hear you scream.”

She released the stick.

The match hit the oriental rug, igniting it instantly, fire exploding across the path laid out by the gas.

Forming a perfect circle around the chair.

“Just like I heard my mother scream.” She watched his face through the flames, embers reflected in her eyes. “And my father.”

Flames climbed the curtains, crawling up the ceiling, raining sparks and ash upon the finely polished antiques.

“Hermione! Please!”

“They called my name, too.”

The flames reached his feet, igniting his pants.

His screams intensified, matching the roar of the flames.

Matching the beat of her heart.

“They screamed as they burned alive.”

His cries turned inhuman as the fire consumed the gasoline soaking his clothing, then demolished the skin and bone beneath.

Black smoke filled her vision. Burning flesh invaded her airways. His entire body alighted with flames, skin charring, blackening, mouth stretched obscenely wide, as though his jaw had become unhinged.

“Just like that.”

She didn’t blink, didn’t breathe.

Her heart swelled, feet lifting off the ground as she transcended the mortal plane-

A hand wrapped around her arm, wrenching her back as the flames spread towards the doorway.

“It’s time to go.”

She gazed up, eyes wild and glazed.

“Just a little bit longer.”

Tom tilted his head, raising a hand to her face. His knuckles traced along her cheekbone. She swallowed heavily, tasting smoke and death on the back of her tongue.

And then his blood marred hand was cupping her face. She closed her eyes, leaning into his palm, seeking more pressure, more heat.

His other hand grabbed her chin, tilting her face up.

“Hermione.”

She opened her eyes, the flames surging beside them, blinding, scorching.

“He’s dead, luv.”

She blinked, then glanced sharply into the room.

Dolohov’s blackened corpse was lifeless, the chair splintering beneath the body's dead weight as the flames ate through the wood.

“We have to go.”

His voice sounded distant, fragmented.

He inspected her face for another moment before grasping her arm once more and pulling her down the hall to the front door.

She watched him slide the lock in a trance, swaying on her feet, the flames calling to her, whispering her name, fiery hands crawling along the floor and walls, reaching for her-

Tom wrenched her out of the home and onto the gravel drive.

“A carriage will be too obvious to sight. We’ll leave by foot, stick to the trees until we reach the other side of town.”

His words were a distant hum as she spun on her heal, watching the two-story estate burn, black smoke rising high in the air.

She went rigid as her memories twisted like vines in her mind, superimposing her childhood home over the strange building before her.

She was being dragged from the flames by an officer, laid out on the grass of her front lawn to cough up black bile while her parent’s death cries echoed through her head endlessly.

Then the darkness had taken her into its cold embrace.

“Hermione!”

She jolted, turning to face him. His eyes bored holes into her, as though penetrating her mind and watching the scenes play out before him.

He sighed, shaking his head and reaching down, grabbing her hand and interlacing their fingers.

He spoke not a word as he pulled her along, leading the way through the privacy bushes lining the drive and into the low brush beyond, finally submerging their forms in the dark row of trees.

The woods were an ominous sight, filled with shadows and heart jolting noises. She stumbled with every step, slowly coming out of her daze. Tom kept slowing his gait before finally stopping altogether, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her into his side, lifting her into his body as he strode forward, half carrying and half dragging her over the rocks and shrubs.

Despite the fact he was putting in twice the effort, she was the one panting, adrenaline surging through every pore.

The realization of what she just did finally started to set in.

Her entire body began to thrum.

A moment later they emerged into a clearing.

Hermione blinked rapidly, glancing around with wide eyes.

Only it wasn’t a clearing at all…

It was a cemetery.

He navigated them through the wide expanse of tombstones, each of a unique shape and size, some buried entirely beneath overgrowth.

He came to a stop beside a large mausoleum covered in ivy, leaning against it with casual grace while Hermione slumped over, chest heaving as though recovering from an all-out sprint.

Once her lungs stopped burning she rose to her full height, glancing down at their hands, still intertwined.

She swallowed heavily, looking up, nervous and eager to meet his eye.

He was watching her steadily, the moon bright and full overhead, illuminating half his face in an ethereal glow.

The silence divided and swelled until she felt weak-kneed with it. Finally, he tilted his head.

“How do you feel?”

The question was simple enough, requiring a simple response.

Yet the gleam in his eyes told her he knew full well the magnitude of his inquiry.

She drew in a deep breath.

“Alive.”

She shifted closer, seeking his warmth, his stability.

“I’ve been chased by death ever since I was pulled from the flames.” Her hand clenched against his. “But for the first time since the fire, I feel truly invincible.”

The moonlight and shadows cast shapes across his face, transforming his visage a thousand ways over as a slow, sinister smile curved his lips.

“You made beautiful work of him.”

She licked her lips. His eyes latched onto her mouth.

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” A heavy breath. “Thank you, Tom.”

She pressed a hand to his chest on instinct, pressing hard into the muscle in an attempt to capture his heartbeat between her fingertips. He shuddered, placing his free hand on her hip and drawing her close.

“I told you to stop thanking me.”

His voice was deep, laced with an edge of intent that sent shivers down her spine, gooseflesh erupting in their wake. His head slowly tipped down, lips hovering above her own, hot breath ghosting across her lips.

“Partners,” she whispered, throat strangled by the intensity of his eyes.

The irises were lit from within, unearthly, ignited with gray flame as the hand at her hip slid around her waist, pressing her flush against him.

Her heart beat erratically, the world tipped on its axis, the ground dropping out from beneath her feet.

His arm held her aloft, hovering above the endless expanse of open time and space surrounding them.

And then his mouth descended on hers and the universe broke apart, fragmenting into a million little pieces hurtling in every direction, ripping her to shreds in its violent death.

His lips weren’t gentle or coaxing, not even close. They couldn’t be either, for the man pressed against her wasn’t capable of such a feat.

No.

The kiss was hard and demanding, unrelenting, inescapable. Just as she imagined it would be. Just as she fantasized about in the dark recesses of her mind.

His tongue traced the seam of her lips as her hands clawed at his chest, nails dragging over the linen of his shirt, pushing his coat open and away. His hands dropped, head rearing back as he tore the coat off, wrestling it from his frame and throwing it to the ground violently, descending on her in the next beat, one hand gripping the back of her neck, thumb pressing beneath her jaw, tipping her chin up, keeping her poised at the angle he wanted. His lips worked her over until she went limp, listing against him while his other arm became an iron band across her lower back.

Despite the numbness of her legs, her arms stayed busy, hands grasping at his warmth, nails clawing up his sides and across his shoulder blades, tangling in his hair, dragging across his scalp, her efforts earning a series of base growls and moans that caused her thighs to clench rhythmically.

And as though he sensed her mounting desire, he drove a knee between her legs, hard muscle pushing at the apex of her thighs, creating pressure that left her gasping into the crisp night. He took advantage of her parted lips, tongue seeking entry into her mouth, tracing the backs of her teeth, licking at the sweet caverns within.

In response she dragged her hands down his shoulders and chest, grabbing handfuls of his shirt and tearing the bottom hem free from his trousers, desperate for the heat of his body, the feeling of his bare flesh against her hands.

Her fingertips traced the smooth skin of his hips, earning a shocked gasp from both their mouths, sharing each others breath for several stuttered heartbeats while she smoothed her palms around to his back-

She reached the patchwork of scars and he jolted, leaning back as though intending to retreat, some shame ridden instinct that squeezed painfully at her heart.

She swallowed thickly, pressing her palms against the mottled flesh, keeping him in place as she held his gaze and traced the jagged lines with her fingertips, giving care and attention to every one.

His chest heaved against her, breath labored, pupils blown wide, gaze entirely black and hypnotic.

She found the largest scar yet, centered down his spine, as though purposely placed with care and precision.

The thought made her stomach churn.

She pressed both of her hands flat against the mark, letting the heat of her palms soak into his flesh, willing the darkness of his past away.

“I want to kill whoever did this to you,” she hissed, eyes brimming with tears. “I want them to suffer.”

He swallowed heavily, Adam’s apple bobbing high as his eyes flickered between hers, hands clenching upon her neck and hip.

“They’re already dead.” His exhale danced across her lips. “And I assure you, they suffered a great deal.”

She nodded, shoulders set in her conviction.

“Good.”

His eyes flashed. His hands drew her in once more. Except this time his lips hovered above hers, each word causing their swollen flesh to brush, sending sparks throughout each of her limbs.

“This wasn't supposed to happen.”

His eyes continued to search hers, frantic in their pursuit. She had no idea what he was after, but she surrendered to the quest, laid bare before him, every secret as exposed as her tender throat.

“This  _can't_ happen.”

Her hands curled against his back, nails digging into the flesh, driving a low purr from his throat.

“Why not?”

His jaw tensed, brow creasing as though in acute pain.

“If you knew the things I’ve done, the thoughts running through my mind, you would run.”

“I’ve already seen what you’re capable of, and I’m not running.” She swallowed, taking shallow breaths, lungs restricted with how tightly he clung to her. “I’m with you in this, Tom. Until the end.”

She saw the spark in his eye. The change that overcame him. The moment he made his decision.

The moment he transformed into a predator.

She felt herself tip-off that same ledge, free falling past the point of no return.

And then she was literally falling.

He plummeted down the dark abyss with her, controlling her descent as he laid her out on the ground, her back hitting his coat as the grass sprung up all around them, tombstones lining both sides.

He remained poised above her, a hand bracing either side of her body, the moon at his back, casting his face into shadow, except for his eyes which gleamed from the darkness like twin beacons. A creature hunting her through the woods, pouncing and pinning her in place, savoring the stillness in his prey the moment before he devoured it whole.

And then he was moving, eyes holding her steady as his elbow bent, half his weight pressing upon her while his hand stroked down her body in a long, luxurious pet before gathering a large handful of skirts and dragging them up and over her knees.

Thought and breath evaded her entirely as cool night air kissed along her stockinged calves and thighs.

She tipped her head back in a vain attempt to open her airway and he struck, teeth and tongue dragging along the sensitive flesh, the sting of pain and pleasure overwhelming, causing her legs to open beneath his, her hips to curl up instinctively, cradling him against her.

His hand flattened along the back of her thigh, fingertips tracing the bottom hem of her bloomers. She’d never felt another’s touch upon her in such an intimate area, electrified by the sensation, the unpredictability of his movements.

His directed her leg up and around his side, opening her center, allowing him to situate himself fully between her thighs as he continued to drag his mouth across her throat, tasting and devouring, her own hunger building and building, an insurmountable pressure from which there was no escape.

Her hands scrambled beneath his shirt once more, nails raking over his bare flesh, tracing the lines of scar tissue and muscle, feeling their movement, his reaction to her every touch.

His hips surged forward, driving her down, and she felt a distinctive pressure pressing through the mounds of fabric separating their writhing bodies. Her mouth went dry, chest swelling with the knowledge that she was responsible for such a base response in a man such as this.

Her lack of experience whispered in the back of her mind, made her hesitant and unsure for the space of a heartbeat as he continued to grind his hips against her. But his movements were too fast, too demanding to allow for any more reflection on the matter.

Their limbs became frantic, skin feverish, she was quite certain her nails pierced his flesh, creating fresh tracks along his flesh, leaving her own signature upon his body. His growl rumbled through her, large fingertips digging almost painfully into her thigh, no doubt leaving bruises in their wake. Molten heat flooded her core, scorching the earth they laid upon, the grass catching fire all around them.

Her back arched, breasts pressing against him, desperately seeking more-

And then he drew back abruptly, leaving her gaping in his wake. She started to open her mouth, protests on her lips, only for the words to lodge in her throat as he reached into his trouser pocket and withdrew a small item.

She blinked, trying to see it in the darkness, but a moment later he flicked his thumb and the object in question revealed itself in the bright moonlight.

A switchblade.

She continued to blink in bemusement, fear never gracing her mind, not even as he lowered the knife to her chest.

“Lie still.”

She barely understood his words over the gravel in his throat. She wet her lips, clutching handfuls of grass as she fought to remain motionless beneath his hands as he grabbed the bottom of her bodice and drew the edge of the blade through the fabric. It parted easily enough, as eager to rid itself of her as she was to rid herself of it.

He closed the blade just before it reached her heart, tossing it to the side as he grabbed the fabric in his own hands and tore it apart the rest of the way, the sound of ripping seams echoing loudly through her head as heat raged through her center.

She inhaled deeply as the bodice slid to the grass in scraps, only the thin material of her camisole covering her, the gauzy fabric rendered translucent in the moonlight. He gazed down upon her, still as death, eyes transfixed by the sight.

And then his weight was pressing upon her again, her exhale captured in his mouth as he took her breath into his own lungs. He dragged a hand down her body, lifting her skirts once more, moving with great purpose as he skimmed the waistband of her bloomers.

Her heart leaped into her throat with anticipation, adrenaline surging, mind and body melting. She raked her hands through his dark hair, grabbing handfuls and pulling, causing sinister sounds to tear from his throat.

And then he spoke, the words slow to process in her mind as he whispered them in her ear.

“Be certain.”

She moaned, writhing mindlessly, arching into him in desperation.

“I am.”

And then he was kissing her again. The fire raged higher and higher, smoke filling the air, filling her lungs, driving out all the oxygen and coherent thought. His hand slid inside her bloomers, tracing the sensitive seam of her pelvis and thigh before cupping her sex, causing her entire body to jolt, held in place only by his restraining weight.

His tongue slid into her mouth as his fingertip traced the opening of her body, gathering the moisture already expelled and dragging it up, circling her most sensitive bundle of nerves and causing her to keen and writhe, hands scratching and clawing at every part of him she could reach.

He hummed low in his throat as though pleased with her response, and then without warning his finger slid back down and into her body down to the bottom knuckle. She gasped, arching high, the sensation foreign and terrifying and glorious.

He drew his head back, gleaming black eyes watching her face carefully, reading every nuance of her expression as he bent his finger, kneading her walls, causing her to emit a string of broken sounds as tears filled her eyes unbidden.

She felt a sharp pressure as his fingertip reached her inner barrier. He retreated immediately, only to slide back in with a second finger added, stretching her opening to a new limit, making her eyes squeeze shut, tears leaking from the corners, lost to the sensation of discomfort and wonderful, molten heat.

Every muscle was pulled taut as she continued to arch into him, her shoes falling off as she dug her heels into the grass.

“I don’t- I don’t know what-”

“I’m going to teach you.” His voice was low and sinister, Hades speaking to her through the cold dead earth.

And then he did the unimaginable.

He crooked his fingers inside her, pressing into the back of her pelvic bone, roughly kneading the sensitive tissue, and the stars exploded above her in the night sky. Blood rushed through her ears as the most powerful sensation she’d ever experienced possessed her entire being.

She undulated her hips on instinct, the pressure mounting and mounting, tortuous. Soil collected beneath her nailbeds as she clawed at the ground.

“Don’t work for it, Hermione.” He continued to watch her, eyes unnaturally bright. “Let me give it to you.”

His words, the way he said her name, unleashed something wild inside her, the blaze reaching higher and higher.

“I can’t, I can’t-”

“You can.” He lowered his head, teeth scraping across her neck, leaving thin welts in their wake, lips pressing against her thundering pulse, whispering against the delicate flesh. “And you will.”

He pressed his hips against her, erection straining through the front panel of his trousers, causing her eyes to roll back as his weight restricted her movements, rendering her still and motionless beneath the onslaught of his rhythmic fingers inside her. The wide pad of his thumb began tracing circles around her clitoris before pressing hard into its center, and the world shattered beneath them.

“Good girl,” he whispered against her panting mouth. “Let it come.” He licked her bottom lip. Then bit down on it. “Surrender to it.”

The dam broke inside her. She fragmented into endless pieces, shattering like glass, every vein expanding, blood surging, light exploding before her eyes as her muscles clenched and released repeatedly around him, her core tightening upon his invading digits to the point of pain, as though her body was desperate to keep him within. She clawed at the earth and then at his back, then at his scalp and then her mouth was consumed once more by his demanding lips and tongue.

He worked her through her death throes, his fingers lingering inside her long after the muscle spasms ended.

She gazed dazedly above, blinking slowly, thoughts scattered, breath labored.

He withdrew from her at long last, causing her to keen softly, hands caressing his chest as he pushed up on his arms, hovering above her, his entire body wracked by tremors, blatant hunger marring his carved features.

She licked her lips, holding his feral gaze without hesitation or fear, swallowing lightly as she awaited the natural progression, her body pliant beneath his, heart rate increasing as she felt the pulse of his erection against her thigh-

And then he drew back to his knees, leaving her gaping and bereft of his warmth as he staggered to his feet, backing up several paces.

Hermione sat up, crossing her arms tightly over her front as cool air met the thin material of her shift. He dragged a hand over his face, eyes still fixed upon her, muscles twitching as though it took all his strength not to leap back onto her.

“Tom-”

“Don’t.”

His voice was cold, detached, the hand he held up was a metal barrier, a massive wall erected between them.

Tears filled her eyes.

“What-”

“Get dressed.”

She swallowed thickly, shaking her head. “I don’t-”

“This was a mistake.”

Her jaw snapped shut, pain lancing through her chest. She turned her face away, wiping at her damp cheeks, desperately trying to calm her nerves.

He turned around, tucking his shirt back into his waistband with stilted movements, adjusting himself through his pants. She lifted the scraps of her bodice, blinking numbly and dropping them back to the ground.

“Here.”

She looked up.

He held out his coat. She didn’t want to take it, but had no choice, refusing to walk around exposed as she was. Her hand trembled as her fingertips brushed against his.

He released the garment immediately, taking a wide step back. She fought to keep her breathing steady, slowly rising to her feet.

“Tom-”

“We aren’t going to talk about this anymore.”

She blinked rapidly, clutching his coat tightly as her ire rose.

“You don’t get to decide that!”

Shadows danced across his face, turning his handsome mask sinister.

“You’re in shock. We need to get you back to Grimmauld immediately.”

She drew back.

“Shock?”

“You just watched a man burn to death. The same man who attempted to rape you and murdered your parents. Not to mention the trauma of Ms. Brown’s slaying and Ms. Lovegood's disappearance. You aren’t in your right mind.” He swallowed heavily. “I took advantage of that.”

She opened and closed her mouth several times before finding her voice.

“You didn’t take advantage. I wanted you to-”

“You aren’t thinking clearly.” His shoulders drew back, spine rigid. She sensed something truly terrible on the horizon.

“And current circumstance aside, you’re too young to know what you want.”

She staggered back with the impact.

“Too young?” Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “I turn nineteen next month! Women my age are married with children!”

“Ability has nothing to do with maturity.”

Scalding heat suffused her from head to toe.

“You think I’m immature?” She glanced down at her body, humiliation setting in.

He closed his eye briefly, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Not in that way.” He sighed deeply. “Enough. We’ve had a trying evening. Our only concern now is getting you to safety.”

She wiped at her eyes, refusing to let him see the tears his callous words induced.

She shrugged on the coat, engulfed in his scent and their shared warmth from lying atop it for so long.

The sensation made her skin crawl and stomach tighten. She pressed a hand to her middle, gazing blankly at a chipped and faded tombstone.

“The main road is just ahead. We’ll find you a carriage.”

She didn’t respond, avoiding his gaze as he strode forward, falling into step behind him with great effort and reluctance.

Her pulse reverberated through her tender core, shame eating her down to the bone.

* * *

“Luna!” Harry shouted through the wall. “Stand back! I’m going to break through the door!”

He took a deep breath, sleeves rolled to the elbow, jaw set as he swung the procured axe over his shoulder and brought it down into the door with all his strength. His muscles tensed as he wrenched it free, bits of splintered wood cascading down to the floor.

He struck a second time, the barrier cracking down the center. More wood flew past, everyone took a step back as Harry continued to chip away, chest heaving and sweat collecting along his temples.

Finally, an opening appeared. He lowered the axe, catching his breath, and Parvati raced forward, peering into the narrow gap.

“Parvati!” A soft, feminine voice shouted, clear as a bell without the door obstructing her cries.

“Luna! I’m here! We’re getting you out!”

“I was so worried about you!”

Parvati's brows creased as she placed her hands flat on the wood. “ _You_ were worried about _me_?”

“He hit you so hard, I was so scared.”

Parvati swallowed heavily. “I’m fine, Luna. Nothing was going to stop me from finding you.”

A gentle sob sounded from behind. Harry glanced over his shoulder, spotting Hannah with tears running from her eyes, hand over her mouth. Neville lifted a hand as though to touch her shoulder, only to let it hover halfway there, finally letting it drop to his side as he glanced away.

Harry faced the door once more, standing beside Parvati and peering into the tiny, dark room beyond.

He saw half a pale, delicate face framed by white blonde hair.

“Hello, Luna. My name’s Harry.”

She smiled, lips dry and cracked. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Harry. Hermione has told me many wonderful things about your friendship.”

He blinked, taken aback by her calm, placid demeanor. He cleared his throat, nodding slowly and stepping back.

“Stand clear, luv, I’m going to cut through the rest.”

He heard her scuffle back, Parvati drawing away as well. He inhaled deeply, holding the air in his lungs as he battered away at the door repeatedly, his muscles burning, bones rattling with each impact.

At long last, the door splintered fully down the center, the two halves crumbling in, wood fragments littering the floor like a carpet.

He set the axe aside, stepping close to assist the imprisoned girl over the busted wood, helping steady her as she, at last, stood before them, glancing around with wide blue eyes.

Within a heartbeat Parvati was pushing him aside, throwing her arms around her, entire body shaking.

“I’m so sorry,” she quietly sobbed into her shoulder.

Luna gently patted the back of her head. “Whatever for?”

“I-”

They all fell silent as distant screaming filled the room.

Everyone turned to face the open doorway.

Parvati drew back from the blonde, eyes narrowed to gleaming slits.

“I’m going to kill that sick bastard.”

Blaise tucked his hands into his pockets, face uncharacteristically intense.

“I’d like to assist.”

Harry shook his head, wiping the hair away from his sweat-slicked forehead.

“Not before I question him. Mione’s still missing.”

Luna blinked, tilting her head like a bird.

“Hermione? Did they find her?”

Harry's heart leaped into his throat. He opened his mouth but Draco surged forward before he could fathom a response.

“Did _who_ find her?”

Parvati spun to face him, ire still etched across her face as she stepped protectively in front of her friend.

“Back off. She’s just been through hell and back, give her some room to breathe.”

Draco ground his teeth. “While she’s breathing Hermione may still be _trapped_ in hell.”

Parvati paled, shoulders lowering. Luna placed a hand on her arm, stepping out from behind her to address Draco directly. “I want to help however I can.”

Harry sighed, the axe gleaming from the corner of his eye.

“We’ll wait until we get you back to Grimmauld to discuss the details.” He focused upon the girls, all huddled together. “All three of you are staying there from now on.” Parvati and Hannah blinked. Luna started to twist a strand of hair around her finger. He pushed on. “But right now, I’m going to shake some answers out the vermin downstairs.”

Draco’s fists clenched, voice severe, leaving no room for dissent. “We both are.”

Harry met his menacing gaze, nodding once, before facing the girls once more.

“Parvati, Hannah, take Luna to the kitchen and get her some water and food.”

The former crossed her arms, expression sharpening. “Trying to keep us out of the parlor?”

“I’m trying to keep Luna away from him.”

She sighed, glancing away. “Fine.” Then she reached down and grabbed Luna’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Come on, luv.”

The girl nodded, letting her friends lead her from the room.

Only to suddenly dig in her heels, glancing over her shoulder and meeting Harry’s eye with such intensity he nearly tipped back with it.

“Your aura is very dark, Harry.”

He blinked, heart skipping a beat at the ominous statement. She tilted her head, bright eyes examining his person from boot to hairline, expression unreadable.

Then her gaze flickered to his side, giving Draco the same careful assessment. She met his silver gaze, pale brows creasing.

“Yours as well.”

Despite the shadow her words cast across the room, her gaze remained guileless and serene. “Don’t let your anger get the best of you. Think of what Hermione would want.”

Harry swallowed thickly, rendered mute. Parvati grabbed the mysterious girl’s shoulder, a smile curving her lips.

“I’ve missed you, Luna.”

The blonde smiled back, the fact that she had been rescued from a hidden chamber in the wall indiscernible on her doe-like features. "I've missed you, too." And then she placed a hand to her stomach. "I hope there are biscuits in the pantry. I've had a craving."

Parvati’s grin widened. “We’ll find you some, come on.”

Both girls turned to face the doorway, Hannah reaching out her hand, clasping palms with Luna and leading her into the hallway.

Harry continued to stare and blink at the empty air long after the girls disappeared from sight.

Draco raked his fingers through his hair, shoulders tenser than they were moments ago.

“I’m not going to dignify any of that madness with a response.”

Harry nodded slowly, finally tearing his gaze away to focus upon the others. “Probably best.”

The shouting started up again, loud and vibrant, edged with hysteria.

Blaise arched a brow, features alight with his signature grin.

“Perhaps we should deal with the hysterical man we have tied to a chair downstairs?”

Despite the humorous slant to his words, Harry could detect the unrest brewing within the man’s angular features. It was a darkness centered in each of their gazes.

Harry's jaw flexed, chest expanding with a deep, fortifying breath as adrenaline surged through his system, waking his most buried, sinister urgings.

“Let’s tear this bastard apart.”

* * *

Hermione held her breath as she squeezed through the rod iron bars, her heart stuttering in her chest as she emerged in the moonlight drenched garden behind the Home.

She'd directed the driver to take her here moments after the Doctor slammed the door of the carriage shut behind her, turning away without a backward glance and instructing the man to take her to Grimmauld.

But turning up on Harry’s doorstep in her current state was absolutely out of the question.

Her bodice was missing, torso concealed by only the thin material of her shift and camisole, her thin body dwarfed by the Doctor’s coat.

And if the evidence wasn’t clear enough by her disheveled attire, the truth was blatantly on display in her eyes.

She needed a moment to collect herself in privacy, to sort her chaotic thoughts.

Get her emotions in check.

She simply couldn’t let anyone see her like this. Least of all her best friend and protector.

She slipped into the kitchen on tiptoes, biting her lip as she slowly shut the door, then leaning over and removing her heels, padding along the tile on bare soles, straining to listen around every darkened corner as she made her way to the dorms.

The air around her felt cold, shockingly so, but she feared no ghost or apparition this night. Nor the delusions of her own haunted, twisted mind.

If anything, a bloody, mangled corpse would be a welcome reprieve from the sinister thoughts already plaguing her.

She did her best to avoid thinking entirely, trying to push and shove the memory of her evening to the far recesses of her exhausted mind.

But such a feat was impossible.

She carefully hopped along the floorboards that would render her footsteps silent as she hurried down the hallway and finally slipped into her bedroom-

Only to collapse in a heap the moment the door shut behind her.

The room was illuminated by a wide strip of moonlight cascading through the window, casting everything on either side into pitch blackness. Whatever monsters lurked in the corners and under the beds were welcome to take her, drag her under, cast her to the flames.

Anything to escape the endless pain of her current reality.

She buried her face in her hands, tears collecting along her palms, running through her fingers, dripping onto her dirt and blood-stained skirts.

She shivered, the soft material of his coat grazing her bare skin.

She swallowed heavily, pulling her hands away and wrenching the garment off violently, throwing it as hard as she could across the room, watching it land on the floor like a dark pool of water.

She breathed heavily, shutting her eyes and turning her face away, wrapping her arms around her legs and pressing back into the wall, trying to make herself as small as possible, wondering if she could get away with residing in this forgotten corner for the rest of her days, never having to face the outside world again.

After all, how could she?

Beyond her burning humiliation, she was also damaged goods. Tainted. Stained.

In more ways than one.

She’d killed a man. After seducing him in his own home. She’d drugged him. Taunted him.

Tortured him.

And then she'd watched him burn alive with a fire raging inside her own heart, propelling her forward all the while, bloodlust possessing her mind, body, and soul.

What sort of animal was she?

And then she’d-

And then she…

And then…

She swallowed heavily, wiping angrily at her cheeks.

And then she'd acted like a common trollop. Urging him on like a cheap whore. No wonder he turned away in disgust.

She had offered herself up without hesitation, without thought.

She had practically _begged_ him to-

 _Stop_!

Hermione pressed her hands to either side of her head, burying her face in between the valley of her knees.

_What is the matter with me? How could I?_

What was worse yet… he’d called her _immature._

A child.

He didn’t desire her. Her inexperience was written all over her face, advertised with every stilted movement of her body, though it hadn’t made her act any less immoral.

_I’m so ashamed._

For the first time since their deaths, Hermione was grateful neither of her parents was alive to see what their beloved daughter had become.

A murderess.

And a wanton whore.

She choked back a sob.

_I’m sick I’m sick I’m sick_

She rocked back and forth, clutching her head, willing the madness to stop.

Willing it all to just _stop_.

Voices whispered to her from the ether, a cacophony of sounds raging through her mind, yet their words were unintelligible.

She strained to make sense of it, but the more she tried to listen, the more indistinguishable they became.

She pressed both hands to her mouth and screamed with the full force of her lungs, smothering the high pitched wail, releasing all of her anguish with the long, strained breath.

By the time she ran out of air her throat was raw, eyes bloodshot and cheeks flushed.

She gasped, tipping her head back and resting it against the wall as she stewed in the tortuous heat of self-loathing.

After a few minutes, she finally sighed, slowly picking herself up from the floor and crossing the room on unsteady legs.

She drew open the wardrobe doors, staring blankly at the contents within, grabbing a dress at random.

She tossed the garment across the bed, sighing deeply as she began removing her clothing, letting the items fall in heaps at her feet, kicking them away as she reached for the dresser drawer-

Her eyes caught her reflection in the mirror.

She froze.

She looked a right mess, leaves and twigs caught in her hair, dirt marring her face and neck, tracked by tears…

And the markings.

She slowly drew her hand away from the drawer, bringing her trembling fingers to her shoulder and pushing her hair aside.

To reveal a series of red and purple welts beside the hollow of her throat.

The largest one centered over her pulse point.

Her breath became fragmented, heartbeat stuttering, making her sway precariously until she listed against the dresser, covering her neck with her hand, tears welling in her eyes anew.

And then another thought flitted through her mind…

She avoided the reflection of her gaze as she slowly spun around, straining her spine as she peered over her shoulder, gazing upon the back of her bare thighs in the mirror.

She swallowed heavily at the sight of fingerprints marring her pale flesh in varying shades of violet ink.

She stared upon the round marks for several moments, until her neck burned from the severe angle and she was forced to gaze forward once more.

The physical markings were somehow worse than the memories. They made her shameful act a reality, the tangible proof of her depravity.

She’s been marked before by men… Draco left small welts on her neck from time to time, Dolohov left a massive bruise along her side… but nothing compared to this.

Because what occurred in the cemetery hadn't been innocent, exploratory pawing between young lovers. It hadn't been violently thrust upon her by a man whom she despised.

No…

What occurred between the tombstones was utter ruination.

And she had craved it with every fiber of her being.

She blinked rapidly as the smell of smoke met the back of her throat.

She brought a handful of her curls to her nose, inhaling deeply.

And cringed, turning her face away.

_I smell of death._

She strode away from the mirror, disgusted by her reflection, and grabbed the dress off the bed, pulling it on with stilted movements, hands shaking uncontrollably.

She began to fasten the ties with fumbling fingers, the invading whispers starting anew, swirling through her mind and drowning out the sound of her own thoughts.

One haunting voice hissed louder than the others, its chilling message clear.

_No my child… You are death._

* * *

Tom wound the reins tightly around his gloved hand as he led the horse across the uneven slats lining the dock, gently rocking side to side with the creatures rhythmic gate, thighs clenching the leather saddle.

The only source of illumination was the moonlight glancing off the water, the sound of the waves soothing to his nerves, even as it reminded him of a harsh childhood spent grinding his bones with hard labor.

The warehouse finally came into view, causing his pulse to thrum and his hands to clench. The horse's steel shoes continued to clomp steadily across the ground, his chest tightening as the structure grew larger and larger until they were upon it at long last.

He ground his teeth, swinging his leg gracefully over the beast’s back and leaping down, leading the creature over to a water trough and tying the reins around the neighboring post.

The animal bent its head, golden mane cascading down as it began to drink. He patted its long neck, stroking along its ears, anything to distract his mind from wandering into territory best left buried.

But as the tamed creature brayed contentedly beneath his hand, muscles undulating beneath his palm, he was reminded of the inherent beauty in strength, the power that could be contained within the smallest of gestures…

And his bloody mind wandered.

She had felt so soft beneath him, her tiny frame emitting scorching heat that drove him half mad with fever. The way she’d clenched upon his fingers when she’d finally succumbed-

He reared back, tipping his head to gaze at the full moon, drawing a hand through his hair, the slight tremor in his limb nearly imperceptible to the naked eye but startling obvious to his own.

He swallowed thickly as he felt the phantom sensations along his fingertips, the way he’d stroked against her maidenhead, the near frenzied bloodlust that had overcome him as the urge to break through it had possessed him. The need to taste her, claim her, mark her…

Make her bleed and scream and writhe and beg-

 _Enough_.

He drew away abruptly, fists clenched at his sides, just as he’d pulled away from her.

For her own safety.

She was too pure, too light, too fragile.

He couldn't ravish her in the dirt, above centuries-old corpses buried just below their gasping, clawing bodies.

She’d never forgive herself. She’d never forgive him-

_I said enough!_

This was madness. A disease.

_Just as Dolohov described._

The mere notion that he may share any of the same proclivities as that disgusting beast made him physically ill.

He inhaled sharply, doing his best to focus upon the smell of fish and grease and salt, the sounds of the water and distant ships, anything, _anything_ else...

He sighed with resignation, shoulders lowering as he continued to stare at the front of the warehouse unseeing.

This night had been nothing but a gross comedy of errors. One foolish mistake after the other, each more catastrophic than the last, each the result of his own stupidity, his own pathetic longings.

First, he’d been fool enough to allow Greyback to live. Just because her tiny hand had alighted upon his chest, just because he felt the echo of his heartbeat centered in her palm, felt the heat and scent of her body washing over him, cleansing him of his misdeeds, releasing him from his sins. The naked desperation in her eyes had driven his mind startling blank, the sincerity of her plea as she begged him to leave the monster alive…

His second mistake of the night had been awarding her the moniker of _partner_.

Tom worked alone for a reason and propelling her to such a position had wreaked havoc on both of their psyches. Paving the way for the third, and by far greatest error of their evening…

He was a true fool for touching her.

Because now he knew the heat and softness of her hips as they canted up to cradle his body.

He knew the sounds she made as she came undone beneath him.

And he knew the tightness of her body as she clenched rhythmically, the sharp sting of her nails biting into his flesh as she gave herself over to the passion entirely.

Over to _him_ entirely.

And the memory would haunt him for the rest of his days.

For as much as he longed, craved, _wanted_ … he would never take her innocence. He would never take anything from her again.

And after this mission was complete, once the Dollmaker lay dead and bloodied at his feet-

He would never lay eyes upon Hermione Granger again.

It was the only way to ensure her safety.

And his sanity.

Though both seemed to be tipping precariously at the given moment.

He rotated his head around his shoulders to alleviate the building pressure in his neck, striding for the warehouse door, withdrawing his switchblade from his pocket.

At least he would be able to right one of his wrongs before the night was through.

But when he reached the barrier, he saw that it sat ajar.

He drew back against the wall, arm poised defensively across his front, knees bent and ready to pounce, blade tipped down, glinting in the light, ready to strike.

He strained to listen, hearing nothing but the whistling backdrop of wind and sea.

Slowly, he pushed open the door.

It swung back into the darkness, banging off the wall, echoing loudly through the vast room.

Moonlight streamed in through the busted windows, providing just enough illumination to see the chair in the center of the floor.

Tipped over.

Empty.

Blood stained ropes lying in pieces along the ground.

Fire exploded in his gut, rushing up his esophagus and expelling from his mouth and nose in a puff of steam.

He strode into the warehouse, braced for attack, eyes frantically searching-

And then he gazed down, heart skipping.

He lowered the blade, kneeling low, inspecting the trail of dark blood leading to the door, the giant-sized boot prints outlined in dirt and dust…

But it was the second set of tracks that drew his gaze.

That caused his eyes to narrow, his features to morph into a mask of inhuman rage.

Bloodlust rose once more, surging like acid through his veins.

_Fucking hypocrite._

He drove the blade into the wood floor, red clouding his vision.

_I’ll kill them both._

But then another thought struck, a much more pressing matter that drew him to his feet abruptly, heart racing.

The old fool had no idea what he was dealing with, no concept of the danger he’d just unleashed upon his former charge.

Or upon-

He spun on his heel, running from the room, emerging onto the dock with determination in his step, murder in his eye.

He untied the horse and swung atop the saddle, kicking its flanks, sending it galloping wildly into the night, his plans for the evening dissolving away into thin air.

Only one thing mattered now.

Finding her before the Wolf did.

* * *

Hermione looped the scarf around her neck once more, carefully tucking the end into the collar of her dress as she reached the bottom of the steps.

Filch was making his rounds near the kitchen, which meant she’d be exiting through the front door.

She quickly crossed the stone, mindful of the echoing click of her heels. The whispers in her mind grew louder and louder with every step, almost as if they were trying to warn her…

She shook the chilling notion away, reaching for the door handle-

When the soul grating sound of a throat being cleared emanated from just behind her.

Hermione jolted, spine rigid, arm hovering mid-air as she closed her eyes, willing the sound to be another twisted figment of her imagination.

Only for that fantasy to be shattered as the she-demon spoke, words clipped and venomous.

“Ms. Granger. What a pleasant surprise.”

Hermione cringed, slowly lowering her arm and turning to face the rotund woman standing only feet away, gazing up at her through gleaming, predatory eyes.

Hermione wet her lips, mouth a barren wasteland of wind-strewn words and half-formed excuses.

“Tell me, how is Ms. Patil doing? I’ve been ever so worried about her.”

Hermione blinked twice, taking an instinctual step back.

“Parvati’s doing better, now that she’s had proper medical treatment.”

The Madam quirked a brow. “Hm. Is that so? St. Mungo’s is treating her well, then?”

Hermione’s heart fluttered wildly in her chest as she took another slow step back, shoulders colliding with the heavy door.

“Yes.”

Umbridge’s eyes flashed.

“How peculiar. You see, I sent Filch to the hospital to check on her status.”

Hermione’s jaw tensed, hands pressing flat against the barrier blocking her escape.

“Imagine my surprise when he returned only to inform me that Ms. Patil was never admitted.”

Her nose twitched, lips unfurling into a sinister grin, revealing a long row of short, white teeth.

“Which leaves me quite baffled as to _your_ response.”

Hermione tried to swallow past the tight constriction in her throat.

“We didn’t check her into Mungo’s. We decided to use the local clinic, it was closer and we thought she would be treated sooner.”

Umbridge's lips pulled tauter, a marionette's grotesque grin.

“ _We_?”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, foot hovering above the steel-toothed trap.

“The Doctor and I.”

“The Doctor…” Umbridge folded her hands behind her back, taking a slow step forward. The shadows danced along the wall, taking strange shape at her back. “Don’t you mean _Tom_?”

Hermione blinked, heart jolting painfully, causing her entire body to rock.

The smile began to crack along the edges, ripping in half, venom dripping from the ends.

“That _is_ what you call him, is it not?”

“I… I don’t-”

“At least in private, when discussing your _relationship_ with friends.”

Hermione’s lungs stopped working, her brain rapidly deprived of oxygen, vision hazing at the corners.

The shadows shot high into the air, bleeding from the walls and across the ceiling, creating a solid black backdrop from which the Matron seemed to levitate in the center of.

“There’s no point in denying it, my dear.” Another step closer, the click of her heel sending powerful shivers down Hermione’s spine. “Marietta overheard your little conversation this morning.”

Her smile somehow grew larger, more lethal, the ends of her lips extending well beyond her face like a caricature of madness.

“She also overheard something else _profoundly_ intriguing.”

She halted just before her, sweet, brandy-seeped breath ghosting against Hermione’s trembling chin.

“She also heard about your _worrisome_ affliction.”

Hermione pressed hard against the door, willing her body to melt through it, for her limbs to fold in and flesh to compress until she slid through a seam in the wall.

“M-my affliction?”

The Matron’s eyes narrowed, her pointed teeth shimmering in the candlelight.

“Your hallucinations, Ms. Granger.”

Hermione gasped, hands clenching, nails scraping along the wood.

“You're a very disturbed young woman, aren’t you?”

Dark smoke lifted from the floor, slowly rising all around them, darkness pulsing with the Matron’s every word.

"I understand the Doctor's perverse interest in you now." A muscle in her jaw ticked, her gaze as sharp as the blade that severed Dolohov's fingers from his hand. "He was obviously fascinated by your lunacy, trying to treat you himself."

She tipped her round chin high, glaring down her nose even as she continued to peer up.

“A noble endeavor. But a harmful one all the same. You clearly are in need of professional psychological help, my child.”

Hermione shook her head rapidly, curls obscuring her vision.

“No, no I don’t-”

“Silence!” A vein throbbed in the woman’s forehead, red mottling her pale face. “I will _not_ be subjected to the ramblings of a mad woman. And I will not subject my innocent charges to it either.”

She took a deep breath, inhaling the phantom smoke in her mouth and nostrils, only for it to billow out on her weighted exhale like an agitated, pink dragon.

“It isn't safe to house you here any longer, Ms. Granger. To let your madness continue to go untreated would be an act of gross negligence. You are a danger to yourself and to others.”

She arched a brow, her smile returning with malevolent glee.

“You must be put away.”

Hermione staggered in place, heart skipping too many beats to keep her upright. She listed heavily into the wall, mouth agape.

“You can’t do that!”

“I’m afraid it’s the only way, my dear.”

Terror gave her wings.

Hermione lurched away from the door and grasped the handle with both hands, tearing it open with trembling arms, adrenaline making her heavy and weightless at the same time, propelling her forward on stumbling feet-

Only to collide face first with two large men dressed in grey uniform.

Their large bulk blocked her path, the intent in their eyes clear as they strode forward.

“No!”

She staggered back, colliding with the Matron, a pudgy hand ensnaring her ribbon-clad wrist, squeezing until the circulation waned, sharp nails piercing her skin like talons.

“As you can see, gentlemen, the girl is _quite_ unwell. Feel free to use as much force as necessary to get her under control.”

One of the men reached out a large, meaty hand.

“Come along, Miss.”

“I’m not mad!”

She slapped the hand away, wrenching her arm from Umbridge’s metal claw, blood blossoming along the broken skin.

“Ms. Edgecomb has already provided us all with her witness testimony, Ms. Granger. I assure you, this is for your own good.” She watched Hermione’s vain attempts to flee with sheer delight. “I only want what is best for you.”

“She’s a liar!” Hermione screamed, barely dodging the other man’s arm as he tried to grab her. “She hates me! She hates all of us!”

“Miss, if you don’t come willingly we’ll be forced to sedate you.”

“Please listen to me!” She held her hands up, body vibrating with the force of her terror. “The Doctor who works here, he’ll tell you I’m not mad! Please wait for him to return-”

“Dr. Riddle is currently detained at St. Mungo’s,” Umbridge supplied in a sugary sweet voice. “Checking on the welfare of another resident, as you well know.”

“She’s lying!” She thrashed wildly as one of the men grabbed her arm, wrenching her nearly off her feet entirely as he pulled her into his large frame. “She’s lying! You-”

The second man plunged a syringe into her bicep, choking her with fear even before the massive fatigue crashed over her head and down her spine in an ice cold wave.

“No… please…”

The first man adjusted his hold on her, half carrying and half dragging her to the exit, her limbs quickly falling numb.

“May I please say farewell?” Umbridge wrung her hands in distress, brow creased. “She’s so very precious to me.”

The man holding her upright nodded. “Of course, Ma’am. Best make it fast, though. She’s going to be out any second.”

The click click click of heels drew in closer and closer, and then a sickly sweet perfume was invading her airways, making her wretch internally.

Umbridge’s smug visage filled her vision a moment later as the Matron leaned in close, whispering directly into her ear, lips brushing the skin.

“I knew you would return tonight, you filthy little harlot.” The harsh whisper echoed through the endless caverns of her mind, thoughts rapidly washed away by the drug.

“You're desperate for attention, eager to cause me misery at every turn. I knew you couldn’t stay away for long.”

Umbridge reached up, grasping the scarf around her neck and pulling it free, revealing the marks Tom left upon her body. The witch’s eyes lingered upon the discoloration for a long moment, black flames dancing in their depths.

Hermione came to the slow, abstract realization that the matron had known what she was hiding all along. Shame mingled with the terror, making her physically nauseous.

Umbridge’s beady eyes flickered up, holding her gaze as a cruel, feral smile stretched her face.

“But you _lose_ , you stupid, stupid girl. Do you hear me? You’re nothing but gutter trash, and within a few days time you’ll be drooling and pissing all over yourself, eating off the floor and painting the walls with your own excrement.” She licked her lips, hot breath scalding the shell of Hermione’s ear. “We’ll see how much he wants you _then_.”

She drew back, arms rigid at her sides, scarf clutched tightly between white knuckles.

“Thank you, gentleman.” She bestowed them both with a tittering coo. “I appreciate that more than you know.”

“Of course,” said the man at Hermione’s side, something in his voice sounding darkly amused and causing her heart to jolt even as it slowed.

And then he leaned down, sweeping an arm beneath her limp knees and hoisting her into the air, cradled against his large chest.

Her vision rapidly faded, head lolling lifelessly against his broad shoulder as she was loaded onto the bench of a carriage. She heard the horses bray, the driver saying something unintelligible, as though underwater.

The interior of the car was dark, cold and ominous. She glimpsed Umbridge on the steps, face flushed and eyes bright, practically bouncing on her heels as the two attendants climbed in after, shutting the door and submerging them all in shadow and faded moonlight.

The carriage started to pull away and her vision turned to smoke, the Matron dissipating within it.

But before the black cloak of unconsciousness took her completely under, she felt movement all around, one man seated beside her, the other across, lifting her legs into his lap, large hand lingering upon her thigh, sliding up up up and grasping her hip.

“Don’t worry, Miss.”

The man beside her stroked the hair from her face, the pad of his thumb tracing along her cheek and across her bloodless lips.

“We’ll take good care of you at Rutledge Asylum.”

And then she plunged headfirst down the dark, endless rabbit hole.


	20. Path of Descent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit. I can't believe the overwhelmingly positive response for the last chapter! A few hysterical passengers jumped overboard but the majority of you decided to strap in and ride out this burning ship! Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to leave a comment. Each of you is absolutely wonderful and a touch depraved and I adore you endlessly ❤︎

_Off_

_With_

_Her_

_Head_

.   .   .

The frantic screaming reached migraine inducing heights as Avery heard the approaching footsteps down the hall.

Only for the cacophony to cut off abruptly as their owner rounded the corner and entered the room.

He gasped, shoulders dropping with obvious relief even as his face glistened with sweat and tears.

“Draco! Thank god! I’ve been attacked! Did you see who-”

His mouth opened and closed like a gaping fish as another person entered a few paces behind, posture set with open hostility.

“P-Potter?”

Harry narrowed his gaze, following Draco across the floor as yet two more men appeared from the darkness beyond the doorway, one looking perturbingly amused and the other nauseatingly anxious.

“What… what is this? What are you all doing here?” He began to thrash anew, straining in futility against his binds. “Untie me at once!”

In the next moment, Harry closed the distance between them and drove his fist into the side of his jaw, snapping his head back so hard his neck cracked.

Draco grabbed the assaulting arm and wrenched the man back with a scowl.

“Are you fucking daft? He just woke up from the last hit!”

Harry shrugged, eyes still fastened ahead as he watched Avery slowly recover from the blow, blood running from his split lip.

“I couldn't help myself.”

"What else is new?" Draco snapped, releasing him and positioning himself between both men. "He's undoubtedly concussed already, at this rate we'll scramble his brain before we elicit the information we need."

Harry’s jaw tensed, finally glancing up, only to have his attention diverted back down as Avery began to scream.

"You fucking bastard!" He spat blood and saliva onto the priceless rug, eyes and voice turning pleading as his gaze shifted. "Drake, please, help me!"

The blonde ignored him as he continued to address Harry.

"Why don't you let me take over? Afterward, you can rend him limb from limb for all I care."

Avery reared back, face paling, jaw already swelling.

“What do you want? Please-”

"I must say, the shrillness of your voice is nearly as unbearable as your taste in decor." Blaise leaned casually against the grand piano, hands resting in his pockets. "A striped settee and floral ottoman atop an oriental rug?" He shook his head with a deep sigh. "Don't get me started on the color palette-"

“Blaise.” Draco stood before the chair as Harry paced restlessly at his back. “Alright, Jon. I know you already suffered from limited brain function before Potter knocked your remaining screws loose, so I’m going to make this nice and simple.”

He leaned in, eyes gleaming menacingly.

“How did you come to acquire a girl in your wall?”

Avery swallowed convulsively, eyes bugging.

“I- how- I don’t-”

“We both know you don’t possess the requisite skill to compose an eloquent or convincing lie. And even if you did…” His gaze narrowed dangerously. “I’m my father’s son. You stand no chance of talking your way out of this.” His jaw tensed. “Tell us about the girl.”

Avery shook his head, sweat running past his temples.

“I didn’t hurt her. I never even touched her!”

Blaise continued his careless repose, but his voice grazed their skin with a sharp edge. “She walled herself into a hidden chamber of her own accord?”

“Rab put her there!” His frantic gaze darted between the four men imploringly. “I swear, I barely saw what she looked like!”

Draco blinked, drawing back, Harry stopped in his tracks and tensed.

“Rabastan brought her here? Was Greyback with him?”

Avery’s jaw hung open for a moment as a deep rivet appeared between his thick brows. “Greyback? No, I haven’t seen him since the game.”

Harry's fists clenched at his sides.

“How many girls have you imprisoned here?”

Draco scowled, flashing a heated look over his shoulder.

“That isn’t important-”

Harry ignored him, taking a sinister step towards the chair. “Answer the question. How many?”

Avery shook his head so hard droplets of sweat flew free.

“I don’t know!”

Harry began methodically cracking his knuckles, the emeralds in his eyes reflecting with dagger points.

“Take a guess.”

“Please, I don't touch them! I just hold them until they-”

He stopped abruptly, eyes widening to comical size. Draco and Harry froze in place.

“Until they _what_?”

The man’s pale lips pressed tight. Draco sighed, stepping back and gesturing to Harry.

“Have fun.”

The man wasted no time cocking his fist back. Avery flinched violently, trembling so hard the chair legs rattled on the hardwood.

“Until they sell!”

Harry’s fist continued to hover as the blood drained from his face. Draco felt his own chest constrict until his ribs screamed in protest.

“Sell to whom?”

“I don’t know…”

Harry scowled, fist tightening.

“They don’t tell me!” Avery cried in earnest, fresh tears welling in his eyes. “I never know who the buyers are or where the girls are shipped!”

Draco surged forward. “Shipped?”

Avery panted, breathless as the last dregs of resistance fell away. “Rab brings me the ones who are purchased by international buyers, I keep them here until travel arrangements are made.”

Harry lowered his fist, glancing over his shoulder and meeting Draco’s eye.

A heavy weight pressed upon them.

And then Draco took a deep, steadying breath, directing his focus upon the bound man once more.

“Where is Hermione Granger?”

Avery blinked, staring up in silence for several seconds, bemusement clear in his strained features.

“Herm… Richard’s girl?”

Something within Draco gave way, he felt the restraints snap along with what was left of his sanity. He leaned in, bracing either side of the chair with all his strength in a vain attempt to keep his violent urges at bay.

“Where is she!”

Avery paled, pressing back as far as possible, hands curled around the armrests. “I have no idea! If she was selected she was never brought to me!”

A growl emanated from deep within Draco’s chest, teeth grinding. “She was Greyback’s true target tonight. You’re telling me Rabastan mentioned none of this to you when he brought the other girl by?”

“Luna.”

The interruption startled him, causing him to release his death grip on the chair and glance back.

He met Neville’s gaze, a heavy beat passing before he nodded slowly.

“Luna,” he repeated, the raging fire in his gut settling into a steady simmer. Avery drew his attention forward once more, voice high and urgent.

“He would never tell me anything like that! I’m just a placeholder for them! I’m not high up, I’m not in control of anything that happens!”

“Poor thing.” Blaise’s voice was light but the gleam in his eyes was most unsettling. “You don’t even get to rape the girls you starve and imprison.”

“I’m merely doing as told-”

The flames burst to life anew, clouding Draco's vision with red.

In the next moment, his fist was balling of its own accord, arm swinging forward with all the force in his body. He caught Avery dead center of the face, driving his head back and snapping cleanly through the cartilage. Blood exploded out from behind his fingers, staining his alabaster skin and arcing across the man's pain twisted visage.

“Jesus Christ!” Avery sputtered through the river of red pouring from his bent nostrils and into his gaping mouth. “You’re a fucking lunatic!”

Draco snarled like a feral beast, vibrating with the force of his rage, reaching forward and grabbing a fist full of his sweat-drenched hair, hauling his head forward and he hovered menacingly before him, holding the man's terrified gaze steady.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t know where she is.”

“I swear!” Avery sobbed, eyes clouded with tears. “I would tell you otherwise! I have no idea! Please stop hitting me!”

Draco shook his head, releasing him with disgust.

“You’re pathetic.”

Avery’s wet sobbing filled every corner of the room. Draco ran his hand through his hair, trying to slow his rapid thoughts, unknowingly tinging a strip of white blonde pink with wet blood.

Harry sighed deeply, gazing upon him with a deep sympathy before silently taking the reins from his grasp, addressing Avery with disturbing calmness.

“Tell us about the party you hosted here.”

Avery blinked several times.

“P-Party? W-Which party?”

Draco spun on his heel, causing the man to jerk back, jaw snapping shut. “The one that nearly resulted in your eviction, idiot.”

"Rab threw it!" Avery leaned forward, tendons along his neck stretched tautly. "I told him it was a bad idea but he-"

“I don’t care who hosted it, I want to know its true purpose.”

Avery licked the dark blood from his lips, shirt soaked through with sweat.

“They’ll kill me for telling you all of this. They’ll kill you if you try and-”

“Enough,” Harry said, the two syllables unleashing a frozen tundra upon the room and its occupants. Draco glanced at him sharply on instinct, sensing the menacing presence of what was to come before his mind fully processed what he was seeing.

Potter reached into his coat and extracted a gleaming revolver, holding it loosely at his side despite the tight set of his back and shoulders.

Neville took a wide step back even as Blaise released a short bark of laughter.

“Bloody hell, Potter, I can always count on you to show a bloke a good time.”

Avery’s struggles took on a hysterical quality as Harry awarded him his unwavering focus.

“I don’t have time for your bullshite. You answer our questions or I start putting bullets in you.”

Neville shifted anxiously. “Harry-”

“Hermione is still missing, she could be tied and gagged in the belly of ship seabound for America for all we know.”

Neville paled considerably even as he fell silent. Avery’s shrill pleas continued.

“She isn’t! If she was sold to an international buyer she’d have been brought to me-”

He choked on his words as Draco stepped in, a shadow passing across his sharp features, silver eyes gleaming from the darkness. “Tell us about the party, Jon, or I step back and let Potter demonstrate his precision with a firearm.”

Avery continued to gape for another wild heartbeat before speaking so quickly he barely broke his words apart. “The party was to showcase our products to new members, we invited other people as a cover and held the viewing in the library.”

Blaise tilted his head, standing from the piano. “Products? You mean the girls?”

Avery wet his lips eyes flickering. “Y-yes…”

Draco scowled, stance widening as though braced to strike again. “What aren’t you telling us, Jon?”

“N-nothing! I mean, I’m telling you everything! Honestly!”

Harry traced the butt of the gun with the pad of his thumb. “Why were the girls acting so strangely?”

Draco blinked, rearing around to face him.

“ _What_?”

Harry didn’t miss a beat, voice even and unenthused as though delivering a financial report. “Lavender recognized some of the girls from her old neighborhood. But they didn't have any memory of their past, some didn’t even respond to their names.”

Blaise glanced between them, brow arched. “Fucking hell.”

Draco shook his head, thoughts caught in a violent whirlwind once more. “How is that possible?”

Harry’s jaw tensed, gaze narrowing as he focused upon the chair’s bloodied occupant. “Why don’t you tell us, Avery?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know how he does it!”

All four men standing went rigid.

Harry recovered first. “ _He_?”

Draco was quick on his heels, fire burning in his eyes as his heart galloped out of control. “Who are you talking about?”

Avery wet his lips slowly, face crumpling into a mask of unmistakable terror.

Which was deeply unsettling to each of them, as the man hadn’t reacted with such blinding fear at any other point in the evening, not even when the gun had made its appearance.

Draco braced himself for whatever new chaos was about to be unleashed upon them, heart and mind stuttering when Avery spoke at last.

He whispered, but the ominous words echoed through his head at deafening volume.

“The Dollmaker.”

* * *

Sirius gripped his hair by the roots with both hands, pulling the dark strands taut as he walked endless circles around the entryway.

_What the hell was I thinking? Letting Harry wander off into the city to contend with an organized crime ring by himself!_

_If anything happens to him-_

_Stop thinking like that! He's a smart kid, much more brilliant than you were at his age-_

_Brains have nothing to do with this. This is life and death. And you let him dive headfirst into Charybdis._

He sighed deeply, holding the air in his lungs until they were consumed with fire and needles.

_I’m so sorry James… Lily… I promised to protect him at all costs…_

_I’ve failed you._

His eyes began to burn as badly as his chest, the tears kept at bay only by his rapidly churning thoughts and undulating emotions.

_You gave him until nine… half an hour more._

_Then I bring in the cavalry._

He nodded, heart swelling at the notion.

_I’ll visit Dumbledore first. He’ll be able to wake the bloody Queen if need be._

The thought gave him hope, enough to continue standing upright even as his limbs threatened to collapse. He'd never been rendered so numb with fear. Not when rifles and swords were aimed at his heart, not when cannons exploded overhead. Not even when he buried his best friends, becoming a parent overnight.

No, this was a horror the likes of which man was not made to endure. The pain of losing Harry would be absolute, all-consuming, His soul would blacken and decay, his heart would cease to beat. He'd become yet another ghost cursed to haunt this ancestral tomb of a home…

A knock sounded at the front door, loud and persistent. Sirius staggered back with the powerful blow of his relief, running for the door so quickly he nearly wiped out across the edge of the rug, catching himself against a marble statue of Dionysus before regaining his footing and grasping the brass knob.

"Thank you, God!"

He slid back the lock and wrenched open the door.

“You have no idea the grey hair you’ve given-”

He blinked rapidly, muscles tensing once more, his entire body submerged in the Arctic waters as he came face to face with a man decidedly not his godson.

“Who the hell are you?”

The man standing on his front step was clad in dark trousers and a white linen shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow, no coat in sight.

Making the dried blood splattered across the pale fabric a mesmerizingly haunting sight.

Further unsettling, the man seemed completely unaffected by his current state, though there was a tenseness to his shoulders that caused Sirius to widen his stance, braced for a fight.

“Lord Black.” The stranger tipped his head, eyes unnaturally bright as they reflected the full moon above. “My name is Doctor Thomas Riddle. I-

“I _know_ who you are.” Sirius’s eyes narrowed dangerously, hands bracing either side of the wood frame. “You've got some real nerve coming here.”

Riddle drew back, moving beyond the shaft of moonlight, shadows dancing along his face.

“I presume you've spoken to Ms. Granger?”

The calculated calmness of his tone was an abrasion to Sirius’s spent nerves.

“You bet your arse. I know that you took her to Amortentia dressed in nothing but under clothes and a mask, dragging her deeper into this tangled mess until she can’t determine up from down.”

Riddle’s spine somehow straightened further, making him taller yet. Sirius wasn’t intimidated in the slightest.

"The only reason I haven't reported you to the Yard is so I can have the satisfaction of beating the ever-loving shite out of you myself."

The man’s eyes narrowed in turn, something predatory in his stillness, a silent warning Sirius recognized all too well.

“Hermione isn’t a child, she chose to join me on the-”

"She's eighteen. Think back to when you were that age and the complexity of your decision-making capabilities."

Riddle's jaw ticked, hands curling at his sides. "I believe you're letting your personal feelings for her cloud your rational judgment."

Sirius inspected him from top to bottom and back up again, seeing the truth of his festering suspicions in every strained line of his body.

“You would certainly know.”

Riddle blinked, seemingly thrown off guard for the space of a fractured heartbeat before expertly schooling his features into a mask of cool indifference.

“I merely came to ascertain that she made it back to the Manor safely. I won’t bother you any further.”

He drew away towards the horse, though he seemed reluctant to turn his back on Sirius just yet.

_He knows how to fight._

_What kind of Doctor is this?_

He ran a hand through his hair.

_Fucking hell, Mione, what have you gotten yourself into, luv?_

He was keen to let the man continue on his merry way, anything to get him out of their lives.

But thinking of Hermione only brought the crippling fear and uncertainty crashing upon him, and he spoke before he processed the words fleeing his mouth.

“She isn’t here.”

Riddle turned to cold, unforgiving marble before his very eyes. Sirius took a deep breath, releasing the doorway to lean against it, crossing his arms.

“My kid is tearing the city apart looking for her, putting his life in danger as well.”

He exhaled deeply through his nose.

“If anything happens to either of them, I’ll rip you apart with my bare hands, you hear me?”

The statue split at the seams, the Doctor breaking free, chin tipping up as he pinned Sirius with a keenly assessing eye.

“If you could direct even a fraction of that rage on the individuals who truly mean your children harm then perhaps we stand a chance at beating them.”

Sirius shook his head, pushing away from the threshold and crossing the gravel, arms tight at his sides.

“What the hell is going on? You obviously know more than Harry.” A weighted, resigned pause. “More than he was willing to share with me, anyway.”

Riddle didn’t back down from the rapid approach, feet holding firmly in place as the raging man advanced.

“I know that Hermione is in grave danger, more than you could possibly comprehend.”

Sirius paled, stopping just before him and rearing back as though struck. And yet the verbal assault continued.

“I also know that if you notify the authorities of her disappearance, the powers that be will be notified as well. They’ll smuggle her away on a cargo vessel or simply kill her outright.”

Sirius staggered in place, feeling suddenly faint, pressing the heels of his palms to his throbbing temples.

“I can’t just sit here and do nothing. She’s like a daughter to me. Harry is my son. I _can’t_ do nothing.”

The silence stretched, Sirius became lost within the raging hurricane of thoughts and was startled by the placid voice that echoed clearly over the fray.

“I’ve seldom encountered biological parents with such devotion, little less an adoptive one. I know waiting here is madness. But someone must remain at the Manor in case Hermione returns.” Something feral shone in his eyes, there one moment and gone the next. “Arm yourself. She may be bringing company on her heels.”

Sirius slowly lowered his hands, jaw suspended in disbelief, a torrent of questions fighting to be the first out of his throat. Finally, he settled on something simple and direct, which seemed to be most effective with the man standing before him.

“What the bloody fuck is going on?”

Riddle sighed deeply, stoic mask cracking along the edges, raw emotion brimming just beneath the surface, something wild and palpable and somewhat disturbing.

“I don’t have time to explain. But if you are faced with an adversary this evening, I hope you are willing to pull the trigger.”

Sirius didn’t hesitate.

“If someone is threatening Harry or Hermione I won’t hesitate to kill them.”

The Doctor nodded, his gaze tinged with open approval.

“Good.”

And suddenly, he stepped back once more, beginning to turn away. Sirius jolted forward, starting to reach for the man’s arm only to think better of such a movement, letting his grasping hand hover in the air between them.

“Wait! Where the hell are you going?”

Riddle didn’t glance back, making quick work towards his horse.

“To continue my search.”

“Hold on!”

He strode forward, only stopping when Riddle groaned and spun to face him, irritation clear as moonlight across his sharp features.

Sirius tilted his head, gaze narrowing as it slowly traced each line and curve of the man's face.

“I’ve seen you before.”

Riddle’s eyes narrowed briefly, shoulders drawing back before he forced himself to relax, all of which provided more of an answer than his actual words.

“It’s possible.”

Sirius crossed his arms once more. “Where.”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

"I know you're lying, But there are more pressing issues at the moment, so I'll let it slide."

The Doctor shook his head, spinning on his heel as he reached for the reins and braced one boot in the stirrups.

“You don’t scare me, Riddle.”

He watched the man swing his leg gracefully over the saddle, situating himself atop as he directed the horse into a slow gait forward.

He peered down at Sirius as he passed.

“Good.” His fist tightened on the reins. “You’ll need to be fearless to survive the battle to come.”

And then he urged the creature on, taking off like a shot across the driveway and into the dark street beyond.

* * *

“Biscuits, biscuits, biscuits…”

Parvati opened the pantry for the third time, standing on tiptoes as she peered at the top shelf, reaching her arms up and sweeping her fingertips across the items organized within, knocking boxes and pouches to the floor with a groan.

“This fucker has everything _but_ biscuits.”

Hannah smothered a laugh while Luna sighed, both girls seated behind the breakfast counter.

“It’s alright, Parvati, the bread is fine.”

Parvati shook her head adamantly, slamming the pantry door and storming to the row of cabinets on the other side of the expansive kitchen. "You wanted biscuits, I'm going to find you biscuits."

Luna pivoted in her stool, watching her friend’s tight fist crusade unfold before her eyes. “Parvati, it’s alright.”

Parvati groaned as she strained to reach the top row of cubbies.

“I can’t reach the damn things!”

“Parvati.”

She settled back on her heels with a resigned huff, slowly turning around.

Luna smiled, though the edges were tinged with uncharacteristic sadness.

“Please sit with me.”

Parvati opened her mouth as though to argue, only to catch Hannah’s eye, the girl giving a subtle shake of her head. Parvati nodded reluctantly, giving up the search and making her way across the checkerboard tile to the empty stool on Luna’s other side.

She took her seat, crossing her stocking-clad legs and reaching out a hand, brushing the loose and tangled blonde hair from Luna’s delicate shoulder before gently grasping it.

“Are you…” She shifted, forcing herself to ask the question without inflection. “Are you okay?”

Luna reached for the glass of water sitting before her, bringing it slowly to her mouth and taking a dainty sip before nodding, licking the moisture from her top lip.

“Yes, the bread is staying down quite well.”

Parvati exchanged another loaded look with Hannah. She bit her lip, pressing on.

“I meant…” She swallowed beyond her control. “Are you… hurt?”

Luna blinked, blue eyes clear and guileless as she tipped her head.

“Hurt?”

Parvati removed her hand from the girl’s shoulder and rested it atop her knee instead, the pale skin chilled beneath the thin nightdress she still wore.

“Did he _harm_ you?”

Ripples appeared in the placid lakes of her gaze, realization finally dawning.

She quickly shook her head.

“No. The man who brought me here gave him strict instructions not to.” She glanced to the countertop, fidgeting with the perspiring glass. “They thought I was still pure.”

Hannah leaned in, placing a hand on her back.

“You _are_ pure.”

Parvati nodded, pain lancing through her center, causing tears to well. “The purest heart and soul I’ve ever known.”

Luna continued to keep her eyes averted.

“Thank you both. That’s very kind. But my body…” A faint tremor ran through her thin frame, echoing into her companion’s arms, all of them shook by the same torrent of unspoken emotion. Luna wet her lips, gently clearing her throat.

“After they made the assumption I didn’t say anything. One of the men told me virgins were worth a fortune.”

Parvati’s hand squeezed her knee on instinct, expression sharpening to a lethal point.

“I’m going to grab one of those knives and slice his cock off.”

Hannah tensed in her seat. “Only after I use the vegetable peeler on it.”

The other two girls glanced at her sharply, blinking.

And then they both smiled. Parvati nodded her approval.

"You're just shrouded in surprises tonight, Abbott."

The girl smirked even as she blushed, glancing down at her scantily clad chest. “If only I was shrouded in more clothing.”

Luna’s brows drew in and she examined their attire carefully, seeming to take in their appearance for the time properly.

“What happened to Hermione?”

The innocent question caused both girls to jolt.

Hannah sighed, hand dropping to her lap where her fingers fidgeted anxiously with her garters. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

Parvati took a deep breath, seeming to surprise both girls as she glanced over her shoulder, eyeing the empty doorway before facing them once more, leaning in and keeping her voice low.

“Actually, there’s something I need to tell you both. But you can’t say anything to the boys…” She released the breath, her friends leaning forward eagerly as she continued, hands clenched at her sides.

“It’s about the Doctor.”

* * *

Harry and Draco reared back at the jarring revelation, both rendered silent. Blaise tipped his head, intrigue gleaming in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, the _what_?”

Avery panted as though exhausted by his announcement. “The Dollmaker.”

Harry regained his voice next, his classic subtlety in full effect.

“Who the fuck is that?”

Avery wet his blood soaked lips. “He’s at the head of everything.”

Draco’s jaw tensed. “What’s his real name?”

“I don’t-”

“Of course you don’t,” he bit out. “As useless as you are pathetic.”

Harry stepped forward, the gun still resting at his side, a heavy shadow cast across the room. “What is he doing to the girls?”

Everyone tensed at the question, glancing to the chair bound prisoner with perverse fascination.

Avery inhaled slowly, hands flexing upon the armrest, Adam's apple bobbing high.

"It's like dark magic... I've seen its effects but never its application."

Draco blinked, mind reeling, slowly turning to face the others. “It must be a form of brainwashing.”

Harry shook his head, brows creasing even as he spoke with conviction. “That’s only in science fiction.”

“Not necessarily.”

They both spun to face the unwavering voice at their backs. Neville shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, flushing beneath everyone’s undivided attention.

“I mean, all fiction is at least partially based in reality. The popularity of hypnotism is rapidly on the rise at hospitals, it’s possible this… _person_ found some way to modify the technique.”

Harry’s shoulders drew back. And then he tilted his head, gaze speculative.

“The military started recommending hypnotism for soldiers suffering from nightmares and trauma, I suppose it’s a possibility.”

"I'd say these girls harbor as much trauma as any soldier." Blaise slowly stepped forward, inserting himself in the center of the room. "Besides, hypnosis dates back to the birth of Hinduism. The sick and dying would flock to holy temples to be cured of their ailments using the technique. There are numerous accounts of worshippers overcoming illness through nothing but the power of their minds."

Everyone stared at him in bewildered silence.

He shrugged.

“Mum’s third husband was a Doctor from India, loved to drone on about that type of shite.”

Draco arched a pale brow. ”The one she stabbed?”

“Drugged and pushed overboard.”

“Ah.”

Neville glanced between them, jaw hanging open. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath.

“It still doesn’t make any sense.”

Draco spun to face him, eyes narrowed. "I don't give two gold-plated fucks about the practicality of hypnotism. All I care about is finding Granger."

Avery surprised them all by clearing his throat, intentionally drawing their attention for the first time since the chaos began. Once all eyes settled on him he wet his lips, squirming in his binds.

“I _might_ have a suggestion…”

Draco blinked, stepping towards him with explosive violence clear on his visage. Avery pressed back, eyes wide as he croaked out a haunting sound.

“Dolohov.”

Draco froze in place, every muscle solidifying to stone, heart sinking to the depths of the dark abyss at his center.

Harry glanced between them, eyes lingering on Draco’s rigid form. “Her solicitor?”

The question shattered the spell. Draco exploded to life once more, grasping Avery by the lapels and pulling him forward as much as the rope would allow, lips spitting white hot flame like his legendary namesake.

“What does he want with her?”

Avery opened and closed his mouth, eyes glazed with horror.

But as Draco tracked every nuance of his expression with transfixed precision he saw the truth hovering just beneath the surface.

The answer Avery was terrified of delivering.

Draco released him as though burned, staggering back with numb legs and great purpose. He began to cross the room for the exit, nothing mattering but one thing-

“We have to go.”

Harry blinked rapidly, mouth hanging open for several stuttered beats before the unspoken truth took root in his mind, dark vines spiraling out and possessing his limbs and tongue. He clenched the gun until his knuckles turned white, hand trembling, voice calm, steady and utterly hostile.

“I’m going to kill him.”

Draco shook his head, shoulders set, braced for war. “Not if I kill him first.”

Harry began to follow him towards the doorway.

Blaise loudly cleared his throat, jolting them both into stillness.

"As much as I enjoy watching this testosterone-fueled display of murderous chivalry, we should probably determine what to do with our current hostage before obtaining a new one."

Draco groaned, dragging a hand over his face.

There wasn’t time for this shite.

“Shoot him.”

Neville somehow managed to trip while standing still.

“What!”

Avery exploded with movement and noise, most of which went ignored by the room’s additional occupants.

“Wait, please, I’ve told you everything I know!”

Harry ground his teeth, gazing at the weapon in his hand for a long moment, wheels visibly turning in his pensive eyes.

“I can’t just kill him.”

Draco scoffed indelicately, hackles rising. “No? You seemed quite keen on the idea after you freed Luna with nothing but an axe and your bare hands.”

Harry swallowed heavily, gazing up at last. He opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by Neville’s earnest plea.

“We can turn him into the police-”

“Yes!” Avery continued to thrash like a man possessed. “Take me to the Yard, I’ll confess!”

“Shut up.” Harry didn’t spare either man a glance, running a hand through his hair and closing his eyes

Blaise stepped forward, voice more resolute than they’d heard all night. “I agree with Draco. If we allow him to live he’ll just run off to this Dollmaker chap and put a target on all our backs.”

Neville shook his head, stepping inside the turbulent cluster of debate. “Harry, you can’t kill him! He’s a creten but he deserves a fair trial, the same as anyone-”

“There’s no such thing as a fair trial within the British Empire, Longbottom,” Draco supplied without scorn. “Trust me, I’ve seen countless Peers and their mates walk free with blood still gleaming on their hands.”

“That doesn’t mean we can just kill him in cold blood! If we do this then we’re no better than-”

“We can’t risk-”

“Perhaps if we-”

“Please don’t kill me!”

“I won’t stand by and watch Harry shoot-”

“- so bloody naive!”

"Everyone shut up!" Harry unleashed at the top of his lungs, rendering them all mute mid-sentence.

Avery continued to pant like a wild man while Harry took a steadying breath.

“Nev, go to the kitchens and grab the girls.”

His friend's face crumpled. “Harry, please don’t-”

“I’m not going to kill him.”

Neville visibly deflated while Draco burst into flames, a burning effigy of rage. “Un-fucking-believable, and you’re the soldier among us.”

"I'm a sailor." Harry remained remarkably composed, content in his final determination. "I kill to protect our national security. Shooting a man dead in his home for his involvement in a crime ring is an entirely different matter." The raw emerald housed within his gaze began to glow eerily. "Beyond that, we may still need him."

“ _Need him_?" Draco laughed, tongue dripping a scorching trail of acid upon the finely woven carpet. "You're bloody kidding, right? He's a brain-dead, disgusting piece of shite!"

“I don’t disagree. But he may have his uses yet.” Harry seemed to grow taller before their very eyes, spine set with resolution. “Regardless, I’m not killing him.”

Draco took a deep breath, sensing a losing battle in his midst, his normally unparalleled powers of persuasion rendered impotent in the wake of his blinding fear for _Her_.

“This is a mistake, Potter.”

Harry tilted his chin up, darkness settling in his gaze.

“I’m not setting him free either.”

Draco blinked.

Harry glanced to the man beside him. “Neville, get the girls.”

His friend quickly nodded before darting out of the room as though powered by steam.

Draco took a deep breath, questions brimming on the tip of his tongue, but Blaise articulated them first.

“Alright, Potter, what brilliantly idiotic scheme have you dreamed up this time?”

Harry slowly turned to face their captive, the menacing intent in his gaze powerful enough to send the man as far back in his chair as the restraints would allow.

And then he smiled.

“We’re taking him with us.”

* * *

Tom pushed open the front door of the Home with added force, still reeling from the confirmation of his greatest fear.

He racked his brain since leaving Grimmauld trying to make sense of what happened to Hermione after they parted company. The chance of Greyback intercepting her carriage was slim to none, based on the staggering footprints on the warehouse floor it appeared the man couldn't even support his own weight following his release.

Which meant she opted to stop somewhere else.

He ran a hand over his face.

_I should have ridden the entire way with her, no matter the supreme discomfort of sharing close confines so soon after…_

His jaw set, eyes narrowing.

_I’m a fucking coward and now she’s suffering for it._

He started down the main hall, traversing through moonlight and shadows as he went.

As far as places she may have decided to go instead, only a one came to mind.

The Home.

Which would be astoundingly foolish. But she certainly wasn’t in the keenest state of mind when they paid their awkward farewells.

Neither was he.

Nothing else could explain the idiocy of allowing her to leave the cemetery unaccompanied, and his short-sightedness for believing she couldn't possibly have a massive enough deathwish to risk her freedom once again.

He took the stairs two at a time, heart galloping wildly in his chest as he emerged on the top floor of the dormitories, walking swiftly for the room he knew to be hers thanks to Greyback’s earlier attack.

The door stood ajar, he held his breath, bursting inside, braced for war, prepared to grab her and toss her over his shoulder if need be.

But the room sat empty, void of anything but faded moonlight.

And something else.

On the floor…

His pulse spiked at the familiar sight. He leaned over and grabbed a handful of the dark fabric, lifting it up to examine it beneath the window.

His coat. Still encrusted with dried blood, grass stains and smoke.

He squeezed the bundle until his knuckles cracked.

She was here.

But why?

He blinked, turning to face the wardrobe.

_To change obviously. You shredded her clothing like an animal._

He ground his teeth.

_Foolish foolish girl._

But the guilt was inescapable.

_She wasn’t thinking clearly, you said so yourself. You shouldn’t have sent her off alone._

_Everything that follows is your fault._

He swallowed thickly, images of another woman flashing through his mind.

_You failed her as well._

_You fail all of them, every time._

He dropped his coat to the ground, striding back into the hall and taking a deep, steadying breath.

_Keep your head. Dredging up the past won’t mitigate present damage._

He quickly descended the stairs, cutting a quick path to his room, intent of changing out of his blood and dirt sullied clothing as well. He imagined he would have more success ascertaining her whereabouts if he didn’t look like he just got done flaying a man alive.

As he cut a path down the hall leading to his room he saw a rectangular light cast across the opposite wall, emanating from a doorway that shouldn’t be open.

His steps slowed along with his heartbeat, hands clenching as he made his way to the opening of his office.

And gazed down upon the woman seated within, lounging behind his desk with a glass of dark liquid resting between her fingers.

Their gazes met.

She leaned back, rotund body framed by stacks of stolen resident files on either side of her chair.

“Good evening, Doctor.”

He stopped at the threshold, tilting is head.

“Madam.”

She swirled the contents of her glass, the sweet scent of brandy permeating the small room. “And where have you been this evening?”

His eyes narrowed.

She smiled, leaning back, cheeks flushed with drink.

“Yes, I know you didn’t admit Ms. Patil to Mungo’s. Just as I know you didn’t deliver Ms. Granger to Greyback.”

He drew back.

“How do you know that?” His eyes flashed. “Did you speak to the Lestranges?”

“And forfeit my life for allowing an imposter to pull the wool over my eyes?” She took a sip of her drink. “No. I fear them far more than you.”

“Then you’re more foolish than I ever gave you credit for.” He stepped fully into the room, tucking his hands in his pockets. “And I’m not an imposter. Everything I told you about my background is true.” The corner of his mouth rose with sardonic amusement. “I merely left out a few details.”

“I always knew there was _something_.” She shook her head, examining the contents of her glass. “How idiotic I was to trust a man. I thought you would be different. That you _were_ different. But I see now you’re all the same.”

Her face pinched as she gazed up, meeting his eyes with brimming malevolence.

“You just can’t bear to see a woman in a position of power. In a role superior to yours. You’re all slaves to your crippling ego. And I am done making accommodations to ease your chauvinistic mind.”

His smirk rose along with his dark brow.

“You’re as deluded as you are moronic. I imagine the relationship is analogous.”

She hissed like a feral cat, throwing the glass with all her strength into the wall, the glass shattering in an impressive explosion, dark liquor marking the pale wall like blood splatter.

She missed him by a wide mile, clearly with intent.

She didn’t mean to harm him…

Because deep down, she still harbored hope.

He couldn’t keep the disgust off his face. She drew back at the sight, face crumpling.

“Who are you?”

His spoke without inflection, knowing the effect it would have upon her. “Thomas Riddle.”

“You know what I’m asking!”

He took a calculative step forward.

“How did you know Hermione wasn’t given to Greyback?”

She drew back, hands twining on the desktop. “Was it all a lie?” She gazed at him imploringly. “Every encounter? Every exchange? Was any of it real?”

Her pleading drone caused his mask to drop away, expression turning murderous as the shadows grew along the walls.

“I spent my youth thinking I could never hate anyone as much as the bastard who sired me, and then I learned who the Dollmaker was. I spent the next decade believing such a powerful disgust could never possess me again.”

She drew back as he moved forward, the candlelight flickering as though caught in a powerful breeze.

“And then I met you.”

Her eyes widened. He wet his lips, teeth sharpening as the stench of fear permeated the room, overpowering the sickly sweet of the brandy.

“You are the vilest creature I’ve ever had the fortune of encountering, Madam. That someone entrusted with protecting destitute youth could willingly turn them over for abuse and slaughter for nothing more than a sense of superiority is the height of all evil.”

He stopped at the other end of the desk, leaning forward and bracing his hands against the ledge, gaze unnaturally bright as he directed the unyielding intensity of his focus upon her.

“Furthermore, every single one of our encounters was genuine. Every word, every promise.”

He leaned further in. “My desire for you has never been greater.”

She swallowed thickly, pupils blown wide, hands bracing the counter as though poised to spring forward or flee at a moment’s notice.

Still holding out hope…

He decided to make his intentions perfectly clear once and for all.

“From the moment I first learned what you were, I wanted nothing more than to peel the skin from your bones and leave you for the dogs.”

She paled, pushing back into the chair until the wood groaned beneath the strain.

“I-I’ll scream.”

His smile was predatory, eager. “Oh, you most certainly will. But first, you’re going to tell me where Hermione Granger is.”

And then to his great shock and amusement, she released a shrill scream.

But not in fear.

Her face turned beat red in the space of a heartbeat, hatred contorting her face into a demon’s mask as she swept her arms across the tabletop violently and knocked all the piles to the ground, papers exploding upward in a cloud of fluttering white smoke before covering the floor in a sea of death and despair, the evidence of decades worth of brutality.

“Stop saying that name!” She pushed to her feet with such force the chair went crashing to the floor. “I never want to hear that bitch’s name again!”

His jaw tensed as he rose to his full height before her, all traces of amusement long faded from his hardened expression.

“ _Where_ is she?”

Her answering laughter was as feral as her scream, tinged with gleeful hysteria.

“I killed her.”

His fists clenched beyond his control, even as he knew the words to be a lie the moment she uttered them.

“You lack the courage and vision for such a task. I’m going to ask you one more time, and then I’m going to demonstrate the depth of vision I possess.”

She took a step back. “She’s as good as dead.” Her shoulders collided with the wall. “I shipped her to the Asylum. Where she belongs. Bloody lunatic that she is.”

He blinked, heart skipping a beat.

“ _What_?”

Her eyes narrowed even as she continued to burrow into the wall as though intending to move through it.

"Surely you know about her hallucinations. You let your desire for the trollop lead you down the path of gross negligence. Regardless of my hatred for the wretch, she belongs in a padded cell, away from proper society. It was only a matter of time before she took a kitchen knife to the other girls' throats."

He barely suppressed a mocking laugh of his own. “I know how deeply concerned you are for your charges' safety.”

His words triggered her possession once more, the brimstone sparking to life in her gaze, smoke spilling from her mouth. “I did what needed to be done! You can’t deny she needs professional treatment!”

He shook his head to dispel his wandering thoughts and emotions, reaching his limits all at once.

“Which Asylum did you send her?”

She continued to glare and press backward.

"You won't be able to set her free. Now that she's been admitted her only legal discourse is for her solicitor to discharge her, and I assure you, Dolohov has no motivation to do so. Once she's deemed incompetent by the Commonwealth her fortune will be transferred to him."

He drew in a deep breath.

“Once again, the depth of your stupidity astounds me.”

And then he reached down, grabbing the edge of the desk and wrenching it back so hard it flipped onto its side and collided against the wall with a bone-jolting crash, splitting the wood and cracking the plaster.

She screamed in shock, then began to shake violently as her only barrier was removed. He crossed the meager distance between them, each step causing her to jolt harder than the last.

"I sent her to Rutledge!" She held up her hands in surrender, sliding against the wall down to the floor, trembling with broken sobs. "Please don't kill me! Please, I beg of you!"

He gazed down upon her with gleaming eyes, the shadows merging and expanding at his back, equal parts mesmerizing and terrifying to her tear-stained gaze.

“I would love nothing more. But to my endless frustration, you are more valuable to me alive than dead.”

Her arms dropped as she deflated in relief.

“For now.”

She tensed once more, averting her face into the corner.

“Remember this moment. This desperation for life.” Every word made her flinch. Tom tilted his head, examining her like a page in a medical book. “Because soon enough, you’ll be praying for death.”

In the next moment, he reached down and grabbed a handful of her hair, dragging her away from her hiding spot before she could choke out a shocked, pained scream. He pulled her across the floor kicking and thrashing, papers scattering in their wake.

She clawed futilely at his wrist, desperately sobbing out broken pleas as he wrenched her into the hallway and began dragging her down the runner. Her feet scrambled, trying to find purchase, one shoe falling off as they turned the corner and entered the abandoned corridor Hermione had led him down only days prior.

He clipped her shoulder against a side table, the vase resting atop tipping over and shattering to the floor, converging with her sharp shriek of pain. Tom ignored her entirely, the muscles straining in his arm and back as he continued to haul her like a sack of grain.

As they steadily progressed down the corridor towards the trap door the temperature dropped substantially. Tom blinked, glancing at the windows, wondering where the draft was coming from.

Then they reached the end of the walkway and he redirected his focus, dropping her suddenly and earning a wet sob for his efforts. He reached up and pulled the sconce, easily reaching the trigger. Umbridge glanced up with wide, red-rimmed eyes, clutching her scalp as she cringed.

“What is this?”

The paneling swung free.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

He leaned down and grabbed her arm, jerking her to her feet without warning and hauling her alongside him as he traversed the narrow, darkened staircase.

She tried to dig in her heels, succeeding only in knocking her other shoe free. It tumbled down the steps with deafening thuds before resting lifelessly at the bottom. Her nails raked his bare forearms as she tried to pry him free, her shrill cries ringing in his ears.

“Stop! Please, Tom!”

He jolted violently, rendered frozen. His sudden change seemed to startle her more than their ascent. She reared back, gasping, already sensing her mistake but unable to flee.

He slowly turned his head, meeting her gaze, holding her still and silent in his dark thrall.

And then he leaned in close, his words hissing off her lips.

“Don’t you _ever_ call me that.”

She blinked twice and then nodded frantically, struggles ceasing as he continued to drag her to the ominous, gleaming onyx door. It still sat ajar from the last time Hermione pried it open. He pushed the barrier and felt her stiffen as it swung open, revealing the eerie, moon-bathed interior.

Before she could voice a thought he threw her inside with such force she lost her footing and rolled in a heap, limbs splayed out as she scrambled for balance, hair falling free of its pins at long last.

He watched her try and get her bearings as her momentum finally slowed and she got her hands and knees beneath her.

And then she saw the items littering the floor.

Dozens of hollow, glass eyes stared up at her from the sea of broken, defaced dolls.

Tom blinked at the sight.

It was as if their heads and limbs all faced inward, sitting on alert.

Watching her.

He blinked again, dispelling the ludicrous notion.

“Wha-” She scrambled back, face twisted in horror as she continued to gaze around frantically. Her back collided with the massive dollhouse and she shrieked, toppling over. “What is this?”

He watched her steadily from the top step. “Your holding cell until I have time to deal with you properly.” He tilted his head. “Do try and conserve your energy. The human body can only last a few days without water. It would be disappointing if you dehydrated before I have the chance to kill you myself.”

She screamed anew, pushing to her bare feet, fists clenched.

He smiled. Then reached forward and grasped the knob, slamming the door closed.

Her shouting reached new volumes as he heard her charge across the room, the door rattling on its hinges a moment later, pounding fists and clawing nails echoing through the stairwell.

He braced the knob with his hands, holding the barrier shut with his strength.

He didn't have the lock for the door. He flipped through the pages of his mind for items to barricade it with-

He jolted as a loud, metal click rang through his ears.

The knob jerked in his hands.

He stared down in shocked silence, hands still clutching it tightly, mind unwilling to accept the fact that it had somehow locked itself.

_Don’t be foolish._

And yet…

He slowly dropped his arms.

The frantic pounding continued unabated.

The knob rattled as she tried to turn it on her end.

But it wouldn’t give way.

He continued to stare upon it carefully, heartbeat spiking.

_There has to be a logical explanation._

Suddenly a cool draft rushed up the stairs and across his skin. He drew in a sharp breath, the air seeming charged, full of static.

He ran a hand over his face, shaking his head.

 _Enough_.

He quickly descended the steps, emerging into the hall and snapping the decoy panel back into place.

And then went still and rigid, hand still bracing the wall.

Low whispers filled the air, swirling around him on all sides, distinctly feminine but unintelligible.

He slowly wet his lips, entire body throbbing with the force of his heartbeat.

_No…_

_Hallucinations aren't contagious. This is nothing but a stress-based delusion built upon the foundation Hermione set._

He swallowed heavily, unable to deny the low voices as they continued, seeming to grow in volume and speed.

Until he spun around.

And staggered back at the image of a woman at the end of the hall.

Watching him from the shadows.

Half her body cast in darkness…

The other side glowing in the moonlight, making her easily identifiable.

Every muscle in his body strained to the point of hypertension, spots appearing before his vision.

_It’s not her._

His breath quickened.

_It’s not her._

His hands flexed restlessly.

_She’s dead._

He swayed on his feet.

_… she’s dead._

He blinked rapidly, rubbing his eyes, limb trembling.

And then he gazed into the shadows once more.

The figure remained.

But it was no longer his mother staring back at him.

He drew in a sharp breath and the girl leaped out of her hiding spot and took off around the corner like a shot.

 _Shite_.

He sprinted after her, heart still thudding manically from the haunting mirage.

He turned the corner and caught sight of a white nightdress trailing behind a fleeing body before it disappeared behind a door.

He sighed, slowing his gait as he approached, reaching for the handle before hesitating.

He lowered his arm, quickly recalibrating his mind in the aftermath of this hellish evening.

He stepped back, giving the door wide berth.

"I know you're in there. There's no way out unless you feel like scaling a drain pipe, and as your physician, I highly discourage such activity."

Silence.

He rubbed at his eyes once more, bone-weary exhaustion setting in.

_Patience is a virtue._

He cringed at his own musing.

_But mostly, you don’t have time to throttle anyone else tonight._

He took a deep breath, trying again.

"There's no need to be afraid. I promise I won't hurt you."

He heard a faint shuffling from within, but the knob remained frozen.

“I imagine you overheard a very frightening commotion. I assure you, I wasn’t harming a resident.”

He wet his lips.

“Only the Matron.”

A beat.

Then two.

The knob slowly turned.

He held his breath, fighting to remain still and calm as the door opened just enough for a set of wide, gleaming eyes to stare through.

He tipped his chin down, scraping together every ounce of self-control to keep his face and tone void of any predatory intent.

“It’s alright. Come out.”

A long beat followed, his hands clenched, but eventually, the door opened more, and the girl finally emerged into the hall, body strung taut as a bowstring. Her thin fingers twisting her pale nightdress, long hair falling forward and hiding her face from view.

Tom nodded his approval.

“And your friend.”

The girl glanced up sharply, eyes wide and fearful.

“I know someone is in there with you. I heard two sets of footsteps.”

She bit her lip, stepping back. He raised his hands, tone deep and soothing, as though coaxing two frightened foals from a ravine.

“I won’t harm either of you. I merely want to talk. I promise to stay on this side of the hall the entire time.”

The girl pressed into the wall, throat working silently as the door beside her opened once more, another girl of a similar height and stature emerging, looking just as horrified.

They both stared transfixed at his chest….

He blinked, glancing down.

_Fucking hell._

He’d forgotten his shirt and skin were stained brown with dried blood, not to mention the fresh claw marks marring his arms from the Matron’s sharp talons.

He loosened his hands at his sides, trying to keep his posture eased, eyeing them carefully.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.”

They shifted from foot to foot, arms pressing as they huddled close.

“What are your names?”

The first girl bit her lip, mouth parting but no sound emerging. He continued to wait patiently.

Finally, soft whispers filled the air.

“Megan.”

Her companion met his eyes with more confidence.

“Sophie.”

He tilted his head.

“How old are you?”

“Twelve,” Megan provided, voice clearer than before.

“I’m twelve and a half,” Sophie said, standing a bit taller.

Megan bounced on her heels, eyes widening. “I’m almost twelve and a half!”

He smirked. “And are close with your Matron?”

They both paled, deflating into the wall once more.

He nodded. “I thought as much. I take it you heard her screams and came to investigate?”

“We didn’t know it was her.” Sophie rubbed her arm. “We thought another girl was being taken. We came to help.”

Tom felt something tighten in his chest at the innocent declaration. He ignored the strange sensation, keeping the mask firmly in place.

“That was very brave of you. I am glad you came out, that you’re taking responsibility for your safety and the safety of your friends.”

They both smiled, visible preening. He imagined neither had been praised by an adult in quite some time.

Perhaps ever.

His chest twinged once more.

“However I’m sad to say your Matron doesn’t have the same concern for your welfare.”

“She hates us,” Megan said at once, a surprising amount of venom in her voice. The light visibly dimmed from their eyes despite the bright moonlight streaming through the windows at his back.

“That she does. And she’s guilty of much worse. I’m going to make sure she gets the punishment she deserves, but I have something important to take care of first.” He smiled at the wonderment taking root in their guileless eyes. “I’m going to leave the Matron in the attic while I’m gone. I think that’s a fitting locale for her, don’t you think?”

“You should have chained her in the cellar.”

He couldn’t contain his laughter. “I like your way of thinking. But this room ensures no one can hear her scream.”

Despite the disturbing nature of the conversation both girls rocked back on their heels with excitement. His smile widened at their enthusiasm.

“Right now only the three of us know where she is. And it must stay that way. Can I trust you both to keep this secret?”

“Yes!”

“We won’t tell anyone!”

He nodded once more, tucking his blood-stained hands in his pockets.

“Very good. I knew I could count on you.” He tipped his head toward the end of the hall. “Now head back to your dorms, no one can know where you were tonight.”

They both nodded, grasping hands and shuffling away quickly, leaning in to whisper to one another.

He strained to listen, to make sure it was, in fact, their voices he heard earlier in the night.

_Of course, it was._

_Now focus on what matters._

He turned on his heel, starting down the corridor in the opposite direction.

And then-

“Doctor?”

He stopped and turned back around, brow raised. The girls shifted anxiously, sharing a charged glance before meeting his eye.

“When you get back, can we help you punish her?”

He blinked.

Then smiled.

“I’ll think about it.”

They squealed with excitement before spinning on their heels and darting down the hall at full speed, seeming to race each other and giggling all the while.

He waited until they turned the corner and disappeared from sight.

The resilience of children was truly remarkable.

He let his thoughts linger on the encounter a heartbeat longer before resuming his route to his chamber, intent on scrubbing the evidence of his violent evening from his skin before setting back out into the feral, scarred streets of London.

He certainly wouldn't be able to convince the Asylum to release a patient to his custody if he looked like he needed to be admitted alongside her.

* * *

The carriage bounced along the uneven dirt road as they traversed further and further from the heart of the city.

Harry adjusted his grip on the reins, directing the horses at a quickened pace from his perch in the driver's seat, Draco standing on the footboard beside him, holding onto the side rail, face pinched in supreme annoyance as yet another groan sounded over the pounding footsteps of the horses.

“Why didn’t we let the others take the bastard back to Grimmauld with them?”

Harry sighed. “Because when Sirius sees Avery gagged and trussed like a Christmas turkey he’s going to have a few questions. I need to be the one to explain things, keep him calm and rational.”

Draco scoffed. “We’re a bit past calm and rational, Potter.”

Harry adjusted his grip once more, pulling the right side to steer them around a hill, the land becoming more rugged as they neared the solicitor's private estate.

“Let’s just stay focused. What’s the plan when we get to Dolohov's?”

The blonde tipped his head back, wind in his hair and moonlight in his eyes. “You mean who gets to beat the bastard to a bloody pulp first?”

“Precisely.”

“I do.”

Harry’s emerald gaze narrowed. “Since I struck Avery I suppose I can let you have the first hit. But I get a chance at him before you knock him unconscious.”

“I don’t want him unconscious, Potter. I want him dead.”

Harry’s heart jolted. Not at the words themselves but rather the tone in which they were delivered. He glanced beside him, studying the blonde's profile as the backdrop of dark hills and trees rushed past in the foreground.

“You were pretty keen on seeing Avery meet that same fate.”

Draco scowled, meeting his eye with cold resolution. “Why do you sound confused? These men are predators, they all deserve to die.”

A heavy beat passed. Harry wet his lips tentatively.

“If I had handed you the gun, would you have been willing to pull the trigger?”

Draco’s jaw tensed, eyes flashing. “Without hesitation.”

Harry gazed forward once more, trying to keep his voice even, unaffected. “Even if it was someone you knew?”

“What are you on about? I've known Avery since I was a boy.”

He took a deep breath. “I mean someone you were close to. Like Rodolphus or Rabastan.”

“We have vastly different interpretations of _close_.”

“You said yourself Rodolphus cares for you in his own twisted way.”

“I assure you the feelings are not reciprocated in the slightest.”

Harry was reluctant to believe him but let the subject drop, detecting the note of hostility in the man’s voice and wanting to keep them focused on the task ahead.

Suddenly his thoughts were driven to the side by a heavy cloud in the air. Harry stiffened.

“Do you smell that?”

Draco tipped his head back, sniffing the air.

“Smoke.”

He glanced around while Harry kept them on route.

“Over there.” He gestured with his chin. Harry followed the line of his gaze.

His eyes widened at the orange glow emanating over the top of a distant hill.

“Holy shite. The blaze looks massive.”

“It’s in the direction we’re headed.”

Draco turned to face him once more, sharing a loaded glance.

Harry inhaled deeply through his nose, spurring the horses on faster. The carriage shook precariously as he steered them off the road and across the grassy field leading to the hill. Avery screamed anew, the shrillness cut by the gag, as his bound form bounced off the walls and floor.

The horses finally reached the hill, panting hard as they ascended. Harry held his breath, leaning forward, desperate to catch a glimpse of the fire in person.

He gasped as they reached the peak, pulling the horses to a stop, awarding them a bird’s eye view of the burning mansion below.

“Is that…”

“Yes.”

“Oh my god.”

The scene was littered with fire department trolleys, volunteers and spectators alike.

No one bothered trying to extinguish the flames.

There was no point.

The home was burnt down to its crumbling frame, everything within charred black.

Draco and Harry watched on in silence, orange reflected in their eyes.

The unfolding chaos reminded him of Hermione’s home, the day he received the news. He’d been abroad, requesting emergency leave immediately so he could return home and sit with her in the hospital.

And attend the funerals.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the melancholy memories. He could tell by the tense lines in Draco’s posture he was suffering from a similar disposition.

The blonde continued to gaze down upon the hellish inferno as he spoke, voice low and haunted.

“Potter…”

“She’s alive.”

Draco jolted, head snapping around, their gazes locking. Harry set his shoulders, saying the words aloud for both their benefit.

“I can feel it. Feel her.” He swallowed heavily. “Can’t you?”

Draco wet his lips, glancing away.

“I’m not sure. All I feel is fear.”

Harry nodded.

“I feel that, too. But I would know if she was dead. My soul would break apart, no matter how far away she was.”

He watched Draco’s chest expand with a deep breath.

“What are we going to do now? Dolohov was our only lead.”

Harry wrapped the reins around his hand. “We drop Avery off at the manor and then figure out our next step.”

Draco nodded, lips pressed thin as he gazed ahead, pointedly ignoring the blaze. Harry spared it one last glance as he directed the horses in a half circle, watching the roof cave in just before they descended down the hill, the fiery storm disappearing from sight, though phantom flames still lapped at his vision in the surrounding darkness.

And though they didn’t speak a word as the carriage rolled back onto the dirt road, the city skyline sitting ahead, backdropped by moonlight, his thoughts ran rampant, one thing in particular plaguing his mind more loudly than the rest.

_Mione… where the hell are you?_

The carriage pushed on through the smoke-filled night.

* * *

At that given moment, Hermione was floating atop a river of black ink.

It saturated her skin, filled her insides, consumed her entirely.

And then arms were scooping beneath her legs and back, lifting her from the dark liquid, her mouth parting wide as she gasped for air, desperate to fill her lungs with oxygen once more.

She felt the vague sensation of being carried, the gentle rocking motion, the warmth and scent of a stranger’s skin.

Footsteps echoed loudly in her head, she could only assume they were not her own since she couldn’t feel her legs.

A door opening, low voices. A door closing. More footsteps, this time across a different surface, more clipped, more precise.

And then clear and concise words filled her head, flashing before the dark, vacant expanse of her vision as though written in flame.

“What the bloody hell is this?”

“I told you we were gonna try and pick her up tonight.” She felt the rumbling of the words against her cheek, echoing into her skull.

“I mean why is she drugged out of her mind?”

“She put up a fight.”

“She’s barely ninety pounds soaking wet, you had to inject her to get her under control?”

“I don’t tell you how to do your job.”

“That’s because I’m competent at my work.”

A loud scoff. She tried to cringe away from the offending noise but couldn't lift her head.

"Well, now you're fucked because the Doc wants to see her."

“Tonight?”

“Right now.”

“It’s after curfew.”

“I know. But what the Doc wants the Doc gets.” A low sigh. “And he wants her. So _we_ have got to get her lucid, fast.”

“Give her some-”

“I’ll think I’ll pass on whatever keen medical advice you were about to share.”

“Arsehole.”

“I’m helping you, idiot, you’re the one who drugged her.”

“It wasn’t just me, Carter was there, too.”

"At least we know the answer to the age-old riddle _how many idiots does it take to fuck up entirely?_ ”

Another scoff. More movement, more footsteps.

“Set her down over here. Let me see her arm.”

She tried to scream, to retreat, but was trapped in the dark prison of her own mind. She resumed feeling in her limb when she felt it pulled away from her body, something pressing the skin, restraining, and then a sharp pain. A bee sting.

Her eyes flew open, vision blurred by a white haze of light.

“ _There_ she is.” A face hovered above her, the features undistinguishable except for the dark line of a mustache set over a mouth. She blinked rapidly, panic setting in. The hand at her arm squeezed. “Hello, poppet. Welcome back to the land of the living.”

She opened her mouth but the words wouldn’t come.

"Your vocal cords are still numb. Sorry about that. Wilson has issues with restraint."

She swallowed thinly, feeling the press of phantom hands upon her, gripping her thighs and tracing her lips. She felt sick.

The face before her floated away, the hand releasing her arm as the stranger stood.

“You should be good as gold in about half an hour or so. We just need those pretty eyes open for your meeting with the Doctor.”

Chills raced across her skin. She struggled to sit, but her stomach muscles wouldn't comply. The man moved behind her, causing the panic to rise as he disappeared from view. A moment later hands were grasping beneath her arms and lifting her up. She released a sharp gasp, screaming in her mind for him to release her, the sensation of strange hands upon her more terrifying than anything else she faced this night.

Tears of frustration welled in her eyes as she was forced to suffer his assistance in silence.

“Up we go.” His hands released her arms, awarding her only temporary relief before he was sweeping loose curls off her shoulder. “Wonderful. Don’t you look nice.”

The words felt hollow. Mocking. Her stomach twisted painfully, bile rising in her throat. She tried to bring a hand to her mouth but her limbs felt leaden.

“Feeling nauseous?”

She nodded quickly, tears overspilling her eyes at the prospect of vomiting all over herself.

“Shite.”

The man scrambled for the bin in the corner, placing it beneath her face just in time. She hurled forward and expelled all the acid from her stomach, throat and nostrils burning with the bile sting. She gasped for air, wracked by dry heaves and broken sobs.

He eventually pulled the container away, pressing a tissue into her hand. She tried to thank him but only managed a weak croak.

She wiped clumsily at her face and eyes, finally gazing up and taking in her surroundings.

They were in a makeshift clinic, the room small and brightly lit by several gaslights lining the walls, somehow making the space feel even more claustrophobic. She sat atop a cot, a medical pantry to her left, and the door to freedom just ahead.

Blocked by a giant in a grey uniform.

The same man who carried her out of the Home.

He watched her in the festering silence, a smirk on his lips and a gleam in his eyes.

Her stomach twisted anew, but it was blissfully empty this time.

The mustached man stood before her, his features still slightly blurred but his voice was tinged with genuine-sounding concern.

“Feel better now?”

She wiped again at her eyes, nodding weakly.

“You still look a bit green, but I doubt you have anything left in your stomach to discharge. What do you eat, once a week?”

She glanced away, trying to keep the tears at bay, swallowing past the numbness in her throat, willing her vocal cords to wake, desperate to scream away this torturous pressure welling within her.

Not that anyone would hear her cries.

Or offer help even if they did.

"Alright, beautiful, let's get you in with the good Doc. I'll complete your admissions paperwork and have your room prepared in the meantime."

She opened her mouth, leaning forward, frantic terror clear in her eyes. The man merely sighed, nodding slowly.

“I know, I know. You aren’t crazy, right?”

She blinked, jaw snapping shut.

“Of course you aren't sweetheart.” Her heart jolted at the endearment. “Crazy people are left to their own devices, free to wander off cliffs and bridges to their heart’s content. It’s the sane ones they lock away.”

She drew back, body pulsating with her stuttering heartbeat.

The blur of his mustache widened in a smile, revealing a streak of white teeth beneath.

“Alright, off you go.”

He grabbed her wrist and wrenched her forward. She slid off the table easily enough but stumbled into his side as soon as her weight was settled on her feet. He placed a steadying hand to her back, his touch meant to stabilize, not wander, yet she squirmed away nonetheless.

His low laugh echoed off the walls.

“Ah, a shy one, how refreshing.”

She closed her eyes, desperate for an escape, but the darkness only tipped her more off balance, more dependant on his strength to hold her upright.

“Christ. You’re still a hot mess. Fan-fuckin-tastic.” He shifted her awkwardly. “Wilson, you moron, help her!”

Terror revived her voice at last.

“N-no!”

It was a pathetic excuse for a whimper, easily ignored by both men, but she felt triumphant all the same, committed to regaining her faculties before they had a chance to lock her away entirely.

She would claw her way out of this prison if need be.

But at the present moment, she was rendered helpless as the hulking grey figure drew near, arms snaking around her waist and ushering her forward. She tried to twist away in vain, finally settling into his unyielding hold, realizing she was better off outside of this room anyway.

“Oh, and Ms. Granger?”

She jolted, the man at her side groaning at the interruption but pausing in the doorway as well. She looked over her shoulder, meeting the blurry eyes of the other stranger.

He smiled once more, the sight cutting straight through her.

“Welcome to Rutledge.”

Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes as she was hauled past the threshold and down a long, barren hallway lined with gaslights. Numerous closed door lined either side of the expanse, the utter silence and stillness deeply unsettling.

But the most ominous sight of all was the gleaming red door situated at the far end of the corridor.

Somehow, she knew that was where they were heading.

_“The Doc wants to see her.”_

She began shaking uncontrollably, her already clumsy footsteps failing her entirely. The man at her side squeezed her waist to the point of pain as he began dragging her the rest of the way.

And then they reached the red door.

But made no move to enter.

She cringed as she felt him lean in close, breathing in the scent of her hair. She imagined it still reeked of smoke.

“Welcome to Rutledge, pretty one.”

She gagged on instinct, stomach rioting once more. He tensed beside her, voice sharp as a dagger.

“If you upchuck on me I’ll-”

“You’re already late, Wilson,” a deep voice spoke from beyond the door, distant yet precise. “I suggest you not delay our evening any further.”

Wilson paled as he drew back, adjusting her weight to afford some distance between them before opening the door at last.

And revealing the room beyond.

An office.

Barely lit, filled with dancing light and shadows.

“My apologies, Sir.”

“I’d rather have your common sense, though it appears you have very little to spare.”

Wilson flushed deeply. Hermione followed his line of sight to a shadow-strewn figure seated behind a large, ornate desk. The wall behind his dark silhouette was filled to the brim with medical books. Stacks of paper surrounded him on either side, a table lantern illuminating only half his face.

Between her weakened vision and the poor lighting, she was only able to discern his general age and handsomeness. A sharp jawline, salt and pepper hair, dark eyes. And then he was leaning back in the chair, his visage submerging into a pool of darkness from which his eyes gleamed.

“Bring her in.”

Fear rendered her useless. Wilson had to drag her forward, the toes of her shoes scraping across the wood floor before carefully depositing her in the chair on the opposite side of the desk. She breathed a heavy side of relief as his hands left her at last as he stepped away.

“She’s heavily sedated.”

“I had no choice, Sir, she was a danger to herself-”

The room fell into eerie silence as the Doctor raised a staying hand.

“Leave us.”

The orderly nodded quickly, turning on his heel and disappearing from sight.

“And Wilson?”

The footsteps stopped.

“Ms. Granger is a patient under my specific care.” A weighted pause. She swallowed thickly. “Nothing is to interfere with her treatment. Do I make myself clear?”

"Yes, Sir." Wilson's voice was laced with disappointment, causing her intestines to twist anew. She pressed a hand weakly to her stomach, feeling light-headed.

“Good. See to it that the others know as well. Anyone in violation of my orders will answer directly to me.”

“Of course, Sir.”

He continued out of the room, closing the door in his wake.

She jolted at the deafening click, pressing back into the chair with a full body shudder.

She felt his eyes upon her, the dark, shadow encased gaze a physical weight pressing upon her entire body like a vice. And then long, pale fingers drummed atop the table, following a rhythmic beat.

“Good evening, Hermione. Do you mind if I call you that?’

She swallowed heavily as his deep baritone filled the room, vibrating the very walls, blinking several times in an attempt to clear her vision and get a better view of him.

Several moments of silence passed before he tilted his head.

“Ah. Your voice hasn’t returned to you yet.”

Her hands curled over her knees, nails digging into the fabric of her skirt.

"I shall attempt to stick to yes or no inquiries. But first, allow me to introduce myself." He pushed a stack of paperwork aside, the oil lamp glancing off his features for the space of a heartbeat before he was leaning back once more.

“My name is Doctor Angus Bumby and I am the lead physician at Rutledge. I will be overseeing your rehabilitation throughout your stay.”

He laid his wrists on the armrests, seemingly at ease.

“I specialize in mental illness and find your case rather intriguing. I look forward to working with you in the coming months.”

She drew in a sharp breath.

“I know, such a length of time seems deeply discouraging, but it is nothing compared to the patients who are confined to lifetime residency.”

Her nails dug grooves into her flesh. The pain was distant, dimmed by the drugs coursing through her system.

“But I am confident you will be able to recover and heal. Your mind is strong, resilient, I can discern as much from your medical file as well as your mere presence before me.”

A weighted pause followed. His eyes continued to shine unnaturally, unblinking, causing her to squirm, feeling like a slide beneath a microscope.

And then he released her from his unsettling thrall without warning, glancing down and picking a thick file off the top of a nearby stack, bringing it to the center of the desk and flipping the cover with unhurried grace.

“Allow me to express my deepest condolences for the loss of your parents. What a tragic demise.”

She swallowed once more, sitting upright in confusion as she tasted the unmistakable tang of smoke of the back of her throat. She glanced around the dark room in confusion, suddenly transfixed by the shadows swaying like tentacles across the walls.

"Your father was a successful researcher in the medical field if I'm not mistaken." Her eyes snapped forward again, chest tight as her lungs filled with the phantom cloud. "I believe I've read one of his treatises in the past. Your surname sounds familiar."

He hummed low, leaning in and resting his forearms atop the desk, fingers interlacing before him. The light illuminated his side once more, her vision returning in phases, his features slowly becoming more defined, more real.

“Are you interested in the medical field as well?”

She opened and closed her mouth, heart rioting beneath her sternum.

He was clearly awaiting a response.

She bit her lip, nodding slowly.

“Then I hope you will find Rutledge an educational experience, as well as a therapeutic one.”

The shadows undulating at his back changed, transforming to lapping flames that licked across the shelves and book spines, consuming everything in a blaze of darkness.

And suddenly, Hermione wondered if she was exactly where she belonged...

An asylum for the mad.

“You’re an educated young woman, Hermione. Tell me, have you read The Divine Comedy?”

The question took her so off guard she was rendered motionless.

“At the very least I’m sure you’re familiar with it. I myself am not a natural proponent of poetry, but Dante is the exception. I became rather transfixed by his depiction of hell in my youth.”

He pushed away from his desk, rising to his impressive height with elegant grace.

“The structured chaos appeals to a mind such as mine a great deal. I imagine it does to you as well. Someone who is passionate about medicine must have a firm grasp on the human condition, and what is the human body if not the living embodiment of organized chaos?”

She drew back as he walked around the desk, stopping just to her right and leaning back against the edge, crossing his legs at the ankles, his dark suit slightly rumpled but obviously of high-quality craftsmanship.

"I am most fascinated by the pathway through hell itself, rather than Dante's many adventures. In the opening of the poem, Dante reveals he has lost the path that does not stray. The path of God. The way of ascension through virtue, repentance, and forgiveness."

She drew in a slow breath as he gazed down upon her with bone-chilling intensity, the feeling of ants crawling across her skin causing her to shift anxiously.

“Instead, he must embark on the path of descent.” He wet his lips. “The path through the nine circles of hell.”

The smoke thickened in the air. She could practically see the dark haze surrounding them.

Closing in.

“At first, the reader is led to believe this journey will be torturous, that it will tear apart Dante’s very soul to traverse such terror.”

The pressure in the room changed. As though someone else had entered.

"Instead, his travels afford him greater knowledge, wisdom and clarity. The path through hell is, in fact, his way back to redemption."

She felt the presence of something to her left, the urge to glance beside her strong, but the fear of taking her eyes off the Doctor was even stronger.

“Purgatory becomes his salvation.”

His words held a haunting cadence that only added to her deep seeded terror.

“The ultimate message being, Hermione, that in order to get to Heaven, one must first traverse through Hell.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the hint of movement from her peripheral. The smoke filled air became charged against her skin.

She knew what awaited her.

And she refused to recognize its presence.

"Of course, it's merely a poem, written a very long time ago. But I find its message and symbolism to be far-reaching and widely applicable to the plight of mankind."

He folded his arms casually, tipping his head as he examined her in a detached, clinical fashion.

“Let’s take you for instance. You’ve most certainly been trapped on the path of descent for some time, haven’t you? I imagine you’ve been feeling quite hopeless in your grief. Perhaps even enraged by the injustice of your circumstances. I have seen countless young woman like you, left at the mercy of a cruel and unforgiving world after being struck down by the indifferent hand of fate.”

She pressed back further, legs trembling, but blissfully alert, the numbness fading at long last.

“Undoubtedly, in your mind’s desperation to cope with the sudden and tragic changes in your life, it developed a rather unhealthy coping mechanism. The hallucinations perhaps started as a way in which to not feel so alone. A means of escaping such a harsh reality.”

He rubbed thoughtfully at his chin.

“Or perhaps the illness was lying dormant inside of you all along, waiting to be awoken by a traumatic, triggering event.”

She played out a grand series of vivid escape scenarios in her mind, wondering how far she could get before a uniform-clad orderly captured her.

He seemed to detect the nature of her thoughts, standing from the desk and stepping closer, hovering just at her side with his hands tucked into his trouser pockets.

Placing himself between her and the door.

“I assure you, Hermione, we will find the source of your madness, and we shall cure you of the affliction.” His eyes flickered, the pupils slitting. “At all costs.”

Her vision was all but normalized again, the Doctor’s face taking its true form above her.

“Your path of descent shall lead you back to salvation. And I shall be the Virgil to your Dante. Your guide in the darkness, your way through the fire and brimstone.”

She gazed upon him with full clarity at long last, heart racing.

The man towering before her was a stranger.

And yet her very soul recognized him for what he was.

For who he was.

She couldn’t resist the urge to look to her left any longer.

Her heart stuttered at the sight of the ghostly apparition sitting in the corner.

Charred flesh falling from the bone, jaw hanging loose, eye sockets empty, endless caverns in a blackened, hairless skull.

She panted heavily, too shocked to speak, to run, to do anything but sit utterly transfixed.

And then to her greatest horror yet-

Dolohov smiled.

His lipless mouth parting to reveal a row of startling white teeth framed by bloody gums.

She was hardly aware of the movement at her back as the Doctor crossed to the door and opened it, admitting Wilson back inside.

"Thank you for your time this evening, Hermione. I shall allow you to get situated and enjoy some much-needed rest."

The orderly grabbed her by the arm and pulled her lifeless body from the chair, her bones a sack of dead weight rattling around in her skin.

“And despair not, my dear.”

She finally tore her gaze from the mangled corpse in the corner when a cold hand gripped her chin, turning her head up.

She met the Dollmaker’s black, fathomless gaze, orange flames roaring on all sides of the office, deafening in their raging hunger to kill and consume.

His smile was more haunting than the ghost’s, each tooth sharpened to a fanged point.

“Tomorrow, your new life begins.”


	21. White Rabbit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been reading some _pretty_ intriguing predictions in the comments… let’s see if I can surprise you clever foxes yet ;)

_Wonderland's become quite strange._  
_How is one to find her way?_  
_.   .   ._

Tom dismounted the horse with swift efficiency, leading it by the reins to the ominous rod iron gates ahead.

He drew in a deep breath as he peered through the bars at the three-story grey brick building beyond. Gaslights lit the large entry, the rest of the utilitarian building outlined by moonlight.

The sound of crunching gravel at his back caused him to spin around, muscles tense and limbs coiled, ready to strike.

A man in uniform stood at the edge of the drive, face half illuminated by lantern. He gazed at Tom with a quizzical expression.

“Visiting hours are from ten to four, mate, you’re way past the cutoff.”

Tom drew in a slow, steadying breath, doing his best to keep the beast at bay.

“I’m not visiting. I’m here to discharge a patient.”

The man blinked.

“Excuse me?”

Tom took a step forward, movements slow and calculated.

"I'm the physician of a patient who was recently brought in. However, the person who admitted her was mistaken about her condition."

He reached into his leather satchel, withdrawing a thin file. “I have the proper paperwork proving-”

“Whoa, slow down.”

The man held his hands up and Tom’s fingers clenched around the folder, the urge to throttle nearly overwhelming his senses.

“I’m just on gate duty. You gotta speak to the administrator about that.”

“I’d be happy to once you let me inside.”

The man’s arms lowered to his sides as he slowly shook his head. “The building’s closed, everyone’s gone home for the night. You’ll have to come back when it opens at nine.”

“Nine?” He reared back with the force of his shock. “Are you joking? She was admitted barely an hour ago!”

“I’m sorry, mate, I can’t let you in past hours, no matter who you are. Only authorized staff can get in and out once the sun goes down.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed, mind rapidly spinning as he deftly switched tactics.

“You’ve been manning the gate all night?”

“Yes.”

“Then surely you saw the girl they just brought in.”

The guard glanced away.

“I saw the carriage come through, but I didn’t see the patient.”

Tom’s jaw tensed, the file bending in his hand. “You can clearly see the front doors of the asylum from where we’re standing.”

The man swallowed, eyes still averted. Tom’s chest tightened.

“What condition was she in?”

The guard rubbed the back of his neck.

“I don’t-”

"Just tell me. Was she restrained in any way?"

Tom held his breath as the man sighed deeply, at last meeting his gaze.

“She was unconscious. They had to carry her in.”

Red flooded his vision. He blinked rapidly, pulse spiking. The guard took a step back, seeming to sense the dangerous transformation taking place. His hand moved to his side, a discernible bulge beneath the grey coat. Tom's spine went rigid as he forced his reaction to quell.

The fact the asylum felt the need to arm their guards was a disturbing notion, combined with their practice of drugging patients in order to admit them, Tom could only imagine what went on behind closed doors.

“What will it cost to let me through those gates?”

The man blinked, hand hovering halfway to his weapon. He opened and closed his mouth before dropping his arm entirely.

“I would lose my job.”

Tom ground his teeth, forcing his grip to loosen on the folder.

“I just need you to deliver this paperwork to whatever administrator is working tonight.”

With any luck, it would be a junior member of staff too nervous to defy a Doctor's orders.

The guard looked apprehensive as he stared upon the offered pages. Tom’s eyes narrowed.

“I’ll give you a pound.”

The man jolted, gaze darting up.

“A pound just to deliver the papers?”

“Yes.”

He wet his lips, covetous greed taking root in the depths of his eyes, much to Tom’s relief.

“It doesn’t mean she’ll be released.”

“The money is yours regardless.”

The guard sighed, putting on a piss poor performance as he pretended to deliberate the offer. Tom tasted the sweet nectar of victory on his tongue before the man finally closed the distance between them.

“Alright. Give them to me.”

Tom handed the file over and then fished his leather billfold out of his coat lining, removing the note and handing it over as well. The guard’s eyes flashed as he accepted the money, staring upon the paper for a long while, as though he’d never encountered a pound so close up. Tom imagined he was paid in shillings.

After a few more seconds the man seemed to collect himself, pocketing the note with great care before glancing back up.

“I’ll be right back.”

Tom stepped away from the gate as the man removed a set of large iron keys from his belt and slid one into the lock.

The urge to knock him out and proceed inside by himself was strong.

So strong he found himself taking an unconscious step forward.

The horse brayed at his back, as though sensing the direction of his violent thoughts and warning him against such action.

The guard quickly slid through the narrow gap and relocked the barrier.

Tom took a deep breath, stewing in his ire.

It would do no good rendering the guard unconscious.

Even if Tom made it into the building he’d have to bypass an unknown amount of guards and orderlies while searching for Hermione. The building was massive, easily housing hundreds of patients. It would be a fruitless task.

Better to play this one by the book.

Or at least partially by the book, considering the papers he’d handed the man were forged in the span of five minutes. He’d scrawled out the necessary forms before departing the Home in a rush of adrenaline only moments ago. But he was confident in his skills at forgery, having earned pocket change in school by creating false immigration documents for fellow students and their families.

It would take a keen, professional eye to recognize the documents as false. And Tom highly doubted such a person was working the graveyard shift at the local asylum.

But on the off chance they were, Tom expected them to be equally motivated by cash. He harbored no doubt the guard would be eager to earn more money and favor with his colleagues by granting them the opportunity for wealth.

Everyone had their price.

Whether they were being bought or sold.

Within a few minutes, he saw the front door open once more and a familiar figure emerge.

By the stilted pace of the guard’s walk and tight set of his shoulders Tom already knew the message he held. His fist tightened around the reins, the horse keening softly beyond his shoulder, obviously attuned to his dismay.

The guard unlocked the gate, movements quick and clumsy, as though dreading the exchange ahead.

He cleared his throat as he slipped back through.

“Sorry, mate.”

A shadow passed across Tom’s face, fire unleashing in his chest. “This is ridiculous, I’m her primary physician-”

“They say only her legal guardian can release her.”

His blood percolated in his veins. “She’s eighteen.”

“But still a ward of the Commonwealth.”

He ran a hand over his face, forcing himself to switch gears once more, the tight pressure of the reins cutting off the circulation in his fingers.

“Who gains custody if her legal guardian is d-” He stopped short, wetting his lips. “If her guardian is indisposed?”

The guard shook his head. “I don’t know. You’d need to ask a solicitor or-”

Tom drew back swiftly, shoulders set.

“I’ll be back at nine.”

The guard blinked, taking a step back as well.

“I don’t doubt it.”

Tom mounted the horse as the lapping flames reached his eyes, smoke billowing from his lips as he commanded the animal forward, shoulders drawing tight at the realization of what he had to do next.

His gaze narrowed as the horse picked up speed, racing along the gravel drive back to the main road.

It was just the same.

He’d been meaning to pay another visit to his former benefactor anyway.

* * *

Harry breathed a heavy sigh of relief as the carriage rolled to a stop before Grimmauld.

He’d never felt such a flood of comfort infuse his veins upon seeing the Black ancestral home, even when returning from months away at sea.

The journey he was returning from now felt more treacherous than any he’d faced before. And knowing the battle that continued to lie ahead, crouched in wait, only made him more eager for the comforting embrace of home. Of the familiar and expected.

The front door burst open before he had a chance to fully step down from the driver seat.

Sirius threw his arms around him with such force he staggered back with the impact.

“You have no idea the hell you’ve put me through, kid.” Strong hands braced his shoulders as his godfather drew back, gaze narrowing and voice sharpening. “You said you’d be back by nine.”

“I sent Nev and the girls ahead.”

“I don’t give a shite, you told me _you’d_ be back by nine!”

Harry sighed, glancing away.

“I’m sorry. Something important came up.”

Sirius released him, eyes darting to the figure leaning against the carriage in careless repose.

“You recruited Draco as well?” He arched a dark brow, glancing between them. “Lucius is going to shit a brick.”

“Potter and I crossed paths while looking for Granger, and my father has no idea where I am. It’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.”

A low moan sounded at Draco’s back.

Both young men pretended not to hear.

Sirius took a slow step back.

“Bloody hell. What have you done?”

Harry held himself with such forced ease it made Sirius tense further.

“It looks a lot worse than it is.”

“Harry James Potter. Who’s in the carriage?”

Before his godson could respond Draco pushed away from the paneling and opened the door.

A rope bound body toppled out, landing on the packed earth with a dull thud, a muffled shriek of pain emanating from behind the gag.

Harry exchanged a brief but loaded glance with the blonde before looking to his godfather, silently bracing himself.

For several moments Sirius merely blinked.

And then he found his voice.

"Thank god. I thought you'd gone and kidnapped someone, but obviously, Avery is here of his own free will."

More muffled screaming filled the air.

Draco stepped forward, using the toe of his boot to roll the man to his back.

“I wanted to kill him.”

Sirius nodded. “Fantastic, that makes me feel so much better.”

Harry drew in close. “He had Luna held hostage in his house.”

“Then why the hell did you bring him here? He needs to be at the Yard!”

“We can’t involve the police in this.” Draco’s eyes gleamed brightly beneath the full moon. “Hermione could be captive with these people, we can’t let them know we’re onto them.”

“Fucking hell.” Sirius ran both hands through his hair, eyes briefly closing. “Get him inside before the neighbors see.”

Harry visibly deflated, looking much the ten-year-old boy his godfather still considered him to be. "Thank you, Sirius."

“Don’t thank me yet.” His eyes snapped open, jaw tensing. “I haven’t decided what I’m going to do, but if we linger out here any longer a pedestrian is going to make the decision for us.”

Harry and Draco stepped forward and hauled the thrashing figure to his feet, dragging him up the stairs and over the threshold while Sirius rounded out the end of the procession, sweeping his gaze over the empty street before promptly closing and bolting the door.

Neville met them in the entry, shifting anxiously.

“Can I help?”

“You can look dumbfounded in the corner,” Draco snapped, elbowing him aside as they continued to drag the man across the marble floors, nearly losing grip on his arm as he convulsed as though in the midst of a seizure. “Stop thrashing! You’re arms and legs are bound, how far do you think you’re doing to get even if you shake me off?”

“Come now, Drake,” Blaise called from the room beyond, sprawled across a chaise with his arms folded behind his head. “It’s poor manners to taunt a man after you’ve gagged him with his own sock.”

“What the hell are you doing here, Zabini?” Harry panted as he fought to maintain his hold on their hostage. “I only sent Nev back with the girls.”

The man shrugged casually, eyes darting across the room so fast Harry thought he imagined it. As they moved deeper into the foyer he caught sight of Parvati on the opposite couch.

“I wanted to make sure the dames made it home safely, proper gentleman that I am.”

Parvati rolled her eyes, earning a cheeky smirk from the man that caused Draco to scowl.

“Fine. If you insist on staying then you’re helping us move him.”

Neville followed at their heels. “I just offered to help!”

“And while I appreciate the sentiment, Longbottom, you’re more likely to cause damage to yourself and the furniture than the actual prisoner.”

“Prisoner?” Sirius shook his head, hands tucked into his pockets as he trailed at a leisurely pace. “Let’s avoid certain terms now so it’ll be easier to convince a judge in the future.”

“No one is being arrested!” Harry groaned, hauling the dead weight with added force. “Let’s just get him locked in the parlor.”

“No.” Parvati stood from the couch, her voice a winter chill that seeped into all their bones. “The parlor is too good for him. He locked Luna in a room no larger than a wash closet. I say we stuff the bastard in the linen pantry.”

Blaise smiled like a jester as he sat up. “I like that idea.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “That’s a shock. Why don’t you try and win the damsel’s favor by getting off your arse, Galahad?”

Blaise sighed deeply in mock offense as he stood, at last, crossing the room with an easy expression and determined step.

“Fine, I’ll grab his feet. You gents pick the destination.”

Between the three of them, they were able to haul Avery with much ease.

Until they reached the hallway.

As Sirius watched them wedge themselves into the narrow corridor with their prisoner stuffed awkwardly between them he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“It’s moments like this I wish parenting came with a manual. I thought giving kids the sex talk would be the greatest hurdle to jump.”

Harry grunted with exertion, trying to fit his shoulder through the door frame. “You never gave me the sex talk.”

“I don’t like jumping hurdles.”

"Can you at least open the door?"

“I’m reluctant to aid and abet. One of us needs to be able to post bail.”

“Close your eyes and open the door,” Blaise panted from the far end, trying to keep hold of the man’s bound ankles. “You can claim you thought we were moving a rug into storage. Legal amnesty.”

Sirius tilted his head. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“Mum’s fourth husband was a criminal defender, knew all the legal loopholes to protect his rich arse clients.”

Draco huffed, cheeks red. “The bloke she poisoned?”

“No, that was the one she stabbed.”

“Will you both shut up!” Harry shouted, teeth clenched. “Someone needs to open the goddamn door!”

“Fuck, I’ll do it!” Parvati stormed around the opposite corner, coming up behind Blaise and earning a wink for her troubles.

“I like a woman who takes charge.”

“I think you’ll settle for anything with a pulse.”

She pushed past him and swung open the door, quickly scrambling out of the way as they began to pile into the parlor.

“Not necessarily.” Draco adjusted his hold. “I’ve caught him wanking to portraits of Louise de Kérouaille.”

Harry groaned as he hoisted Avery higher, rolling his eyes at Blaise’s deep laughter.

“What can I say? I’m partial to buxom brunettes.”

“And blunt objects to the head and groin, apparently.” She smiled sweetly from beyond the threshold, watching them haul their bounty the short distance to the nearest couch.

“Lay him down here,” Harry commanded.

They all panted as they dumped his weight and stepped back, Avery exploding to life once more.

“If you roll onto the floor you’re staying there.”

The man stilled instantly, though his scowl remained decidedly fixed, poisonous gaze latching onto each of them in turn. Harry held his eye with an equally acidic look.

“You’re lucky to be alive. Two of the three people standing in this room wanted to put a bullet in your skull.”

The man beneath them paled, flesh turning as white as the gag between his lips.

Harry nodded slowly. “I suggest you continue staying out of sight and out of mind.”

He led the way back into the hall, closing the door on their captive as soon as the others exited. Sirius stood at the wall, hands still resting in his pockets though his expression was tense.

“I take it you had no luck finding Mione?”

Harry shook his head, sighing deeply and running his hand through his hazardous hair, eyes drifting shut.

“When’s the last time you slept?”

His lids snapped open. “I’m fine.”

“You aren’t doing her any good if you're dead on your feet.”

He took a deep breath, standing taller. “I’m _fine_.”

Sirius eyed him carefully. “At least you’re home.”

“I’m heading back out.”

“ _What_?”

Draco moved forward. “I’m going with you.”

“Hang on-”

“We can’t stop looking, Sirius.”

“Where the hell are you going to go? You can’t search the entire city with your bare hands.”

“We can try.”

Harry blinked as his godfather grabbed his arm, halting his path down the hall. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“What?”

“Who’s after her? Who’s hot on her heels?”

Harry opened and closed his mouth, exchanging a look of confusion with Draco.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

Sirius stared at him in silence for several strained beats, eyes roaming his face with meticulous precision until his stance eased back at long last.

“You swear to god you aren’t withholding information from me?”

Harry’s own eyes narrowed, fists clenching at his sides. “Yes!”

Sirius took a deep breath, sweeping his own hair off his forehead and glancing away.

“Then you need to find Riddle.”

Harry and Draco went still as stone, rocking precariously on their feet with the weight of the announcement.

Blaise glanced between them, brow raised.

“Who’s Riddle?”

Parvati stepped forward, arms crossed as she addressed the eldest of the group. “How do you know him?”

Sirius met her eye.

“He came by tonight.”

Draco and Harry burst free from their frozen stance, leaping forward at the same moment and expelling the same shocked syllable.

“What!”

Blaise smirked. “That was fun, do it again.” Only to grunt in pain as Parvati elbowed him in the side, pushing past to get to Sirius.

“He came by tonight? Without her?”

Draco blinked, glancing between them so rapidly his hair fell free of its immaculate position. “Why the hell would she be with him? Why is he coming here?”

Harry ignored his inquiries, instead spinning on his heel to pin Parvati with the full intensity of his accusing glare.

“She took off on me to track him down, didn’t she?”

She bit her lip and looked to the ground. Harry advanced on her mindlessly.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me that when she first went missing!”

Blaise stepped in between them, bracing a hand against Harry’s chest, halting him mid-step.

“Watch it, Potter.”

She rolled her eyes, forcefully pushing her would-be savior out of the way and advancing on Harry with just as much steam.

"And what good would it have done other than rile you up further? We had no idea where to find either of them, regardless if they were separate or together. But I knew if you had even the slightest suspicion he was involved you'd go apeshite trying to find him instead of looking for Luna!"

Harry opened and closed his mouth, but before a response could surface Draco stepped beside them, shouting above the fray.

“Everyone, shut up!”

They both directed their scowls upon him.

“Only one person speaks at a time,” he snapped, carding his fingers through his hair and narrowing his mercurial gaze. “And since Parvati seems to have the firmest grasp on whatever _the fuck_ is going on, she gets the floor.”

She pursed her lips as the two men bored down upon her. Blaise rubbed the sore muscle at his arm, her point of impact when she shoved him away moments before, only to step to her side again, shooting both men a warning glare.

Draco held his friend’s gaze for a long beat before reluctantly moving back.

“Alright.” He took a deep, fortifying breath, scraping together the meager self-control left within his mental stores. “What the hell does the Doctor have to do with any of this?”

* * *

Tom took the steps leading to the front of the brownstone two at a time, despite the fact he was dreading reaching its door.

Once he arrived at his destination he didn’t linger, bringing his fist against the wood three times in rapid succession, taking a deep breath and repeating the motion until he heard a distant and muffled shout on the other side.

The barrier gave way, revealing a set of startled eyes that he could never seem to escape.

“Tom? What-”

“You freed Greyback.”

The man across from him blinked two more times before sighing heavily and stepping back, gesturing to the darkened interior of the home.

“Come in.”

Tom brushed past, every line of his body drawn taut. The door closed softly at his back, driving out the moonlight and leaving both men submerged in the soft glow of oil lamps.

“Can I offer you-”

“I told you to stay out of my way and you went behind my back.” Tom spun on his heel, eyes gleaming hellishly.

The man standing before him remained frustratingly unaffected.

“On the contrary, I only recall you asking for the keys to the shipyard and my reluctant acquiesce. I never agreed to stay out of your business, and I never will. You may be a man grown but you will always be a boy in my eyes.”

“You freed a killer.” Tom took a menacing step forward. “A rapist. A violent sociopath.”

“I freed you from enduring yet another black mark on your soul.”

Tom stopped just before him, fists clenched tightly, feeling like an impotent child once more. “It wasn’t your decision to make!”

“I beg to differ.” The utter calmness of his voice only raised Tom’s hackles further. “You tortured a man on private property I own. You left him to bleed out. What if a stray dockhand had come across his remains in the morning? I would be directly correlated with the murder.”

Tom drew back at last, desperate for distance, for space. “I wasn’t going to leave him until morning.”

“Semantics. The bottom line is you agreed to my interference the moment you came to me for those keys. We both know you could have found somewhere else to take him. You’re the most resourceful man I’ve ever met. But you showed up at _my_ door.”

“I didn’t have time to look for-”

“You came to me because deep down you know I will clean up whatever wreckage is left behind by your destructive nature.”

Tom reared back, evading the lamplight and submerging half his visage in a pool of darkness.

“Your meddlesome bullshite is the last thing I’ve ever wanted!”

"My meddlesome bullshite got you off the streets and into Cambridge. It paved the way for you to enter medical school. And last night it saved you from killing a man you obviously were reluctant to kill. Otherwise, he would have been dead when I found him."

Tom swallowed thickly, the words getting caught and jumbled in his throat, everything he meant to say this night rapidly dispersing before reaching his tongue.

“The only reason I didn’t slit his throat was-”

He stopped himself just in time, refusing to expose yet another damning secret to the man that possessed all the others.

“Yes?”

Tom shook his head, eyes narrowing in warning. “Nevermind. What’s done is done. Where did you take him?”

A deep sigh.

“To the nearest Hospital.”

“St. Mary’s.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sure he’s already discharged himself and is prowling the streets for new victims.”

His companion ran a hand over his face, deep seeded weariness ever present in his ethereal gaze.

“Did you come here simply to berate me? If so I’d like to have a seat and get comfortable, the rain has been hazardous on my joints.”

“I came here because you owe me.”

The man blinked several times before the corners of his lips eventually turned up, making Tom’s blood pressure rise.

“Excuse me?”

“You set a killer free and now I have to clean up _your_ mess. And I can’t do so until I take care of another matter which needs your brand of-”

“Meddlesome bullshite?”

Tom scowled.

“I need to get custody of a ward of the Commonwealth. Tonight.”

A heavy beat passed. Pale eyes blinked.

“I think now is the perfect time to take that seat.”

Tom’s jaw clenched as he reluctantly followed his former benefactor into the drawing room, hands flexing at his sides as he waited impatiently for the man to sit upon an upholstered chair. He gestured to the couch and Tom pointedly ignored the offering, opting to gaze down upon him instead.

He sighed deeply, settling back into the cushions and holding Tom’s eye without intimidation.

“Now perhaps you can explain to me why this is such a pressing matter at midnight?”

“I don’t have to explain anything.”

A brief, tense pause.

“Are you always this irritable or am I the lucky recipient of all your hostility?”

Tom raised his chin. “This isn’t about you and me, this is about getting an innocent girl out of an asylum where she’ll undergo barbaric treatments until her mind all but breaks!”

“This is the same girl you came to me about the other day? Luna?”

Tom glanced away, hands twitching.

“No. This is someone else.”

“And you still haven’t found the first girl?”

His shoulders drew back.

“No.”

“Then shouldn’t that be your main priority? At least you know where the other girl is. It seems that Luna is in more peril.”

“I didn’t come here for your opinion.”

“No.” A heavy sigh. “Of course not. You came here for my help, which you believe is owed to you, and then to storm out without so much as a parting word.”

He tilted his head, eyes roaming Tom’s tightly wound frame with a knowing glimmer in their depths.

“I will agree to help you under one condition.”

Tom’s fists tightened.

“And what is that?”

“I want you to answer one question. Honestly.”

Tom’s back stiffened, braced for whatever battle lay ahead.

“I want to know why you hate me so.”

The silence pressed upon him, a suffocating weight that expelled all the air from his lungs.

And suddenly, all the words that evaded him moments ago came rushing back in a torrential downpour, the floodgates opening and the truth spewing from his lips in an explosion of volcanic ash.

He drew in a sharp breath.

“I hate you for not hating them.”

The target of his animosity blinked, face paling.

Tom wet his lips, advancing on the chair slowly.

“I hate you for freeing yourself of this burden. This obsession.” He swallowed thickly. “Because I can’t escape it. And I know I never will. Not until every single one of them is dead. And even then, I can’t imagine a life that isn’t comprised of hunting, waiting, watching,” His eyes glowed in the dim light. “Killing.”

He took another step forward, sliced another vein open.

“You say there’s another way. A path you discovered after years of searching. A path you now walk with ease.”

His hands opened and closed convulsively, reaching for something that forever evaded his grasp.

“But I can’t follow you down it. Even if I wanted to. It isn’t in my nature. My make-up. I’m a killer. A predator. Somedays I question if I’m any different than the men and women I’m hunting.”

As the recipient of his confession opened his mouth to respond Tom held up a silencing hand, closing the last bit of distance between them.

“You wanted honesty. There it is. I hate you because you were able to free yourself of the Dollmaker. Even after everything he took from you. But I’ll always be enslaved by him, I’ll always be just another one of his victims. Another one of his creations.”

Haunted eyes gazed steadily up at him, the intensity of their focus piercing him to the core. He glanced away sharply, voice thickened at the edges.

“I need you to pull whatever strings need pulling. Leverage whatever office is in charge of such record keeping. I need to become Hermione Granger’s legal guardian by 9am today.”

Silence greeted him. Tom finally chanced a glance over his shoulder.

“Hermione Granger.” The man said her name as though testing the words on his tongue.

“The name sounds familiar.”

A measured pause.

“I believe we have certain friends in common.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed.

“We both know you do.” He crossed his arms. “And if it’s easier appointing one of them as her guardian so be it. As long as it’s someone with her best interest in mind.”

“I take that to mean her current guardian doesn’t have such concern for her welfare?”

“He’s dead.”

A resigned sigh echoed through the room.

“I see you’ve obtained another black mark despite my best efforts.”

“I don’t know why you bother trying to save my soul. It’s far too late for redemption. My sins are stacked too high.”

“I will never give up on you, Tom.”

He shook his head, heading for the doorway. “Spend your remaining years however you like. Just see to it you get Hermione transferred to me.”

“I’ll send a message first thing in the morning. I believe I have a contact in the Family Services Office who owes me a favor.”

“Of course you do.”

He began to round the corner.

“That’s it then?”

“That’s it.”

“Tom, wait.”

Tom sighed, reluctantly stopping just past the threshold, one hand bracing the frame as he fought back a cringe, knowing what was in store.

“You say you are beyond redemption, and I know which of your crimes you are most unsettled by. The one that haunts you to this day. But look at what you’re doing now.”

Tom continued to face away as he heard him stand, followed by the slow pace of footsteps.

“You allowed a man you wanted dead to live last night. Regardless of your reasons, you walked away before ending his life. And now your greatest concern is saving a girl from an undeserving fate. Not hunting. Not killing. You’ve found an appreciation for human life, whether you meant to or not.”

Tom inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as he heard the footsteps stop just at his back.

“And you’ll always find the upside to any situation, no matter how dire.”

“It’s in my nature.”

“It’s annoying.”

A low laugh. “So I’ve been told.”

Tom finally dropped his arm, slowly turning and meeting the pale eyes at last, though he could think of nothing more to say.

“Take care of yourself, Tom. Just because you’ve chosen to lead a life of solitude doesn’t make your actions any less impactful on the world around you.”

Tom held his gaze for a handful of fleeting seconds before glancing away sharply, turning once more on his heel and striding for the exit.

He heard a low sigh at his back as he opened the door.

“Goodnight, Tom.”

He exited the residence without a backward glance.

* * *

Hermione stifled a pained gasp as Wilson dragged her up the stairs by her arm, pulling her into a long hallway lined by endless grey metal doors. It looked more prison block than dormitory, and the muffled screams and thumps from beyond the barriers served as a chilling reminder of exactly where she was.

He hauled her along with one hand and held a lantern aloft with the other, casting a bubble of orange light across the path directly ahead, the rest of the long hall submerged in blackness.

“Keep it down!” He screamed at one point, causing her to jolt as the frantic wailing seemed to intensify each time they passed a room, the small glass windows encased in each door revealing their presence as they progressed.

“Fucking animals.”

She cringed. His eyes snapped down to her.

“You see dead people, right?”

Hermione blinked, opening and closing her mouth. He seemed to take that as answer enough, groaning as he gazed ahead once more.

“The hot ones are always out of their minds.”

She quickly glanced away. His grating laughter met her ears, causing her skin to prickle.

“Christ, tough crowd.”

A moment later they stopped before a door at the far end of the hall, as ominous as all the others. He released her to pull a ring of metal keys off his belt, unlocking the heavy bolt at the front and pushing the door open with his shoulder. As she watched him struggle beneath its weight her dreams of escaping purgatory on her own quickly split apart at the seams.

He entered the room and replaced the keys, affording her a brief moment of privacy as she hovered in the doorway, gazing into the moonlight bathed interior with wide, horror-stricken eyes.

It wasn’t a room at all.

It was a padded cell.

The only other items within were a utilitarian cot against the wall and a narrow window near the ceiling, too high to reach even if she stood on the bed and too narrow for even her petite form to wedge through.

Her hopes of escape were further dashed, creating an expansive hollowness in her chest as Wilson stepped forward and wrenched her past the threshold.

“Alright, off to bed with you, pretty one.”

She reared back as he pulled at the collar of her dress, stretching the fabric until she managed to twist out of his grasp.

“What are you-”

“I have to help you get changed, you’re still unsteady on your feet.”

She shook her head, rapidly backing away until her spine collided with the course padding.

“No, please, I can do it myself.”

He tipped his chin up, eyes narrowing.

“Fine.”

She breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

Until she saw the cruel smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

“Strip.”

She blinked, the blood draining from her head in a powerful rush, leaving her breathless and dizzy.

“What?”

“Down to your shift.”

She shook her head again, too terrified to speak, pressing back into the barrier with all her strength.

“Want help?” He took a menacing step forward, hand outstretched.

“No!” She raised both arms protectively over her front, trembling violently. “I’ll do it!”

He smiled, stopping just before her and holding the lantern out, illuminating her pale figure for his viewing pleasure. The light played tricks on her exhausted vision, a hazy mirage appearing at the corner of her eye.

She ignored it, refusing to take her gaze off the hungry beast at her front.

“While we’re still young.”

She closed her eyes, swallowing thickly as she swayed on her feet, lightheadedness rapidly increasing as she fumbled clumsily with the stays at her hips and back.

But she fought to stay conscious long enough to remove her own clothing, harboring no doubt Wilson would only be too happy to strip her bare the moment she passed out.

She slid her arms free of the sleeves, gooseflesh spreading rapidly over her exposed flesh, the room feeling unnaturally chilled all of a sudden, as though a winter draft was billowing in.

She glanced quickly to the window but it remained sealed.

“Cold?”

Fear sealed her throat. She ignored his question and amused laughter as she pushed her dress over her hips, pressing back into the wall the moment it pooled at her feet.

His eyes roamed her in silence for several minutes, or perhaps several hours, as time and reality seemed to be evading her as of late.

She turned her face away as his gaze darkened, lingering on her chest, her nipples hardening in the cold as they pressed against the thin material of her shift.

She wondered if he would violate her despite the strict instructions of the Doctor. She wondered if she could survive another attack. If she'd have enough of her soul left afterward to be considered a living being.

She heard him set into motion and she closed her eyes, braced for his hands upon her, the heat and stench of another unwanted body pressing against her, clawing and devouring.

She unconsciously grasped the frayed ribbon at her wrist, suddenly recalling its presence. Her memories of the night were as fractured as broken glass, the details of how this particular accessory came to be in her possession as faded as its color.

But it was a great comfort, one she desperately clung to and prayed he wouldn’t take from her.

But he seemed more concerned with other things.

“This will warm you up.”

She blinked as she heard him move away, turning her head forward as he stepped to the wall and removed something hanging from a hook bolted into the padding. The darkness of the room made it hard to see what it was, though from a distance it appeared to be a blanket.

Her brows creased, distrustful of any gesture of kindness, especially from him.

The lantern revealed his eager smile as he drew near and her worst fears were proven true as the item came into view at last.

She scrambled into the corner, nails raking the padding as she tried to burrow through.

“I don’t need that!”

His teeth gleamed as a grin split his face in half. “I beg to differ. Until we can get you onto a stable medication schedule you pose a danger to yourself and others.”

“How can I harm myself or others when I’m locked in a padded cell!”

“The crazy ones always think creatively.”

“Please-”

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way.” He licked his lips, leaning down to set the lantern on the ground. “I think you know which I prefer.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking from the corners, framing her face in abject misery. She took a shaky step forward, resigned to her situation, determined to do whatever it took to get this creature out of her room.

She held her arms aloft, biting her lip to stifle her cries as he stepped behind her and began sliding the straitjacket into place.

She swallowed thickly as he fastened the straps at the back, glancing down at her body, trying to keep her rising panic at bay by reminding herself her chest was at least covered now.

“Comfy?”

She drew in a deep, unsteady breath, sanity wearing thin.

“You’re good to go, princess.” His voice was right at her ear, causing her to jolt. Large hands grasped her hips from behind, holding her in place. A moment later she felt his body pressing alongside her spine, his face brushing against her hair.

“You smell like smoke.” She swayed once more, spots appearing before her vision. “We’ll have to give you a good scrub down tomorrow.” The restraining fingers dug into her flesh painfully before releasing her all at once, leaving her to stagger in relief and shock.

He picked the lantern up, illuminating half his pleased expression as he stood before her.

“Sweet dreams. Don’t stay up too late talking to ghosts.”

He winked, then chuckled to himself all the way to the door. She sank to the floor the moment the heavy barrier slammed shut with him blessedly on the other side. His laughter continued to ring down the hallway, along with mocking remarks to other patients, before his footsteps disappeared entirely.

Hermione continued to sit in the pool of moonlight, gazing blankly at the door with tears welling in her eyes, vision blurred.

But still sharp enough to see the outline of the figure standing in the darkened corner.

She set her jaw with determination, pulling futilely against her binds until sweat collected along her nape.

New mocking laughter began, as deeply disturbing as it was frustrating. She gasped in exhaustion, finally giving up the struggle and slumping against the wall, directing her eyes to the occupied corner at long last.

“You aren’t real.”

The blackened corpse tilted its head.

“Are you sure about that?”

Her heart beat through her chest as visceral fear set in.

An apparition had never spoken to her before.

_The delusions are evolving._

_I truly am mad._

She tentatively wet her lips, voice strained. “You’re dead.”

More laughter emanated from the shadows.

“No argument on that front.”

She pushed away with her legs, back still pressing the wall. “What do you want from me?”

“What I’ve always wanted, Hermione. To take care of you.”

She shook her head, scrambling awkwardly to her feet with great effort and crossing to the opposite end of the room, sitting upon the cot and pressing against the headboard.

"You want to drive me insane. You're a vengeful spirit." She drew her legs up, resting her forehead against her knees. "At least I hope that's what you are. Otherwise, I may truly belong in this room for the rest of my life."

His answering sigh echoed through her head.

"You could be touring the Italian countryside right now, drinking fine wine and watching the sunset over the rolling vineyards… if only you'd accepted my offer."

She shook her head, swallowing thickly.

“I’d just be a prisoner in a different type of cell.”

“Was I really so awful?”

“Yes.”

A weighted pause. “More awful than the fate that awaits you at the hand of the Dollmaker?”

She released a strained breath and dragged her weary gaze up, staring into the corner and shivering as the moonlight glanced off the empty sockets of his skull, his lipless mouth set in a grotesque parody of a smile.

“It may not be him.” She nodded, as though trying to convince herself. “It can’t be. What are the chances I was delivered directly to his door...”

Another humorless laugh grated at her skin.

“You know the truth in your heart, even if that clever brain of yours hasn’t caught up yet.” A weighted pause. “Besides, why else would I be here if not to protect you against the man I tried to save you from in life?”

She sat up, thoughts sluggish even as her resolve strengthened.

“He won’t succeed. I’ll find a way out.” Her shoulders tensed beneath the oppressive weight of the jacket. “My friends will help me.”

“Your friends have no idea where you are, sweetling.”

She shuddered violently.

“Don’t call me that.”

He tipped his head, loose skin dangling from his exposed cheekbone, following the path she’d made with the scalpel. “Or else _what_? You’ll kill me?”

She turned her body away as the mocking laughter resumed, laying down upon the cot and facing the padded wall, willing her madness at bay.

“You can’t ignore me, Hermione. You’ve ensured I’ll never leave you again.”

Swaying branches fractured the moonlight, causing it to dance along the wall before her face. She sought out patterns in the pale fabric of the padding, looking for images, anything to distract from the sound of movement at her back, the broken gait of dragging footsteps across the floor.

“You keep what you kill, sweetling. Didn’t he tell you that? Or was he more concerned with getting you on your back?”

Tears ran along the bridge of her nose as she fought to ignore the voice, the ominous shuffling drawing closer and closer.

“The lives you take become a part of you.”

Her heart thundered in her chest, blood rushing through her ears.

“Forever.”

She felt his presence as clearly as if she was gazing upon him. The air shifted as his skeletal hand drew near, two fingers missing.

Her eyes scanned the wall frantically, at last seeing a pattern in the fabric, latching onto the faint outline of a rounded body and long ears.

The hand curled around her shoulder, tearing a horrified gasp from her throat as an arctic chill filled her lungs.

“White rabbit,” she whispered with the same frozen breath, vision hazed by tears, the creature’s faint outline radiating before her eyes as though coming to life on the wall.

And just as suddenly, the cold, dead weight at her shoulder disappeared. The air shifted once more, the oppressive presence gone. She turned over on instinct, eyes wide.

Dolohov was nowhere in sight.

But something else was.

A familiar apparition levitated at the opposite end of the room, long hair swaying in an invisible current as she watched Hermione with her signature serene expression.

Hermione blinked rapidly, face glistening with tears.

“Thank you,” she whispered, voice thickened with emotion, knowing in her heart the floating figure was somehow responsible for Dolohov’s disappearance.

The girl tipped her head, countenance unchanging, seemingly content to simply hover and watch.

Her presence was a deep comfort. A warm blanket wrapping her tight.

Hermione wet her lips.

“Will you stay?” She took a deep breath. “Until I fall asleep?”

The girl didn’t respond, just as Hermione knew she wouldn’t. But she read the acquiesce in her pale, guileless eyes.

Hermione turned to the wall once more, the outline of the rabbit startling clear now that she knew where to look, a pulsating beacon she clung to as she felt the calming presence at her back, eyelids weighted by the leftover drugs still swarming through her system.

And as she closed her eyes at long last she felt the cot drop out from under her, her body submerging beneath the cold river of ink for the second time that evening.

She surrendered to the powerful current, willing it to pull her under.

To drown her completely.

* * *

Draco stood eerily still at the far end of the study, arms crossed as he gazed out of the window to the overgrown garden beyond.

The others exchanged loaded glances behind his back.

Sirius opened his mouth, prompting Harry to shake his head.

“Give him space.”

Parvati leaned forward. “Is he… alright?”

Blaise sighed from his spot beside her. “He tends to shut down when he’s at his limit.”

Hannah bit her lip, having just returned downstairs after getting Luna settled in a guest bedroom. She caught the tail end of the explosion before the eye of the storm encapsulated them all in unnerving calm.

“Are Draco and Hermione… involved?”

Harry ran a hand through his hair as he leaned back, resting an ankle on his knee. “Something like that.”

Neville cleared his throat, fidgeting awkwardly. “I thought it was just casual.”

"He'd be content to let everyone think that. Including Granger. He doesn't like to display any vulnerability." Blaise rested an arm over the back of the couch, prompting Parvati to roll her eyes and scoot away, pressing further into Hannah's side.

“Such a man.”

He smirked. “To which of us are you referring, darling?”

She pointedly ignored him, glancing to Harry instead.

“Maybe someone should talk to him?”

Harry’s hands curled over the arms rests, jaw tensing. “I’m not the right candidate. I’m as pissed as he is. The next time I see Riddle I’m going to-”

A heavy pounding at the door rendered them all mute.

Sirius leaned in, grabbing the glass of scotch he poured moments ago. “Wonderful. I’m sure only great news awaits us.”

Hannah turned to Neville, grabbing his arm and causing a brilliant flush to appear on his cheeks and neck. “Do you think it’s about Avery?”

Harry stood, spine rigid. "I have a connection in the Yard, if worst comes to worst we just tell them the truth."

Sirius drained his glass in an impressive swig before hauling to his feet beside him. “Telling the truth is the worst case scenario. I’m back in the running for parent of the year.”

He placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Stay here, I’ll take care of whoever it is.”

Harry nodded, fists clenched and shoulders braced as he watched his godfather walk to the entry. Everyone held their breath as he turned the corner and disappeared from sight, the silence stretching, creating an endless vacuum until at last the sound of the opening door could be heard.

Harry swallowed heavily, heartbeat reverberating through his ears as the low sound of voices echoed down the hall.

He recognized Sirius's voice immediately.

The other took a full beat to process.

The moment he realized who their visitor was his eyes snapped to Draco. The blonde came to the same conclusion half a second later.

And all hell broke loose.

“Draco, don’t!”

The blonde sprinted the length of the room faster than Harry had ever seen a human being move, his form a blur as he darted past. Harry exploded into action a moment too late, losing any hope of catching him in time. The others gasped and shouted, lurching to their feet in shock and confusion as Harry chased the man into the hall.

Their boots pounded the marble as they raced for the door. Both men standing in the entry spun around, Sirius with his brows creased and their guest with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Sirius backed away just in time to miss Draco’s swinging arm as the blonde drove his fist towards Riddle’s head. The Doctor caught his wrist and twisted his arm, earning a feral growl from Draco’s throat as he was forced to pivot, the limb pinned behind his back within seconds.

Harry scowled at the sight, leaving his momentum unchecked as he crashed into the pair full force, sending all three crashing to the hard marble with groans of pain.

They landed separate from each other but Harry recovered first, crawling to the Doctor’s side and driving a fist into his side. Riddle hissed and drove his knee upward, prompting Harry to retreat just in time to avoid being clipped in the jaw.

Draco joined his side in the next beat, diving for the Doctor.

Sirius stood at the wall, watching the scene unfold on the ground with a bored expression before carefully stepping over their tussling forms and closing the door.

The others raced into the room, freezing beneath the archway.

“Christ!” Parvati shouted, then glanced at Blaise. “Do something!”

He blinked. “You mean join in?”

She rolled her eyes, looking to Neville next.

“Stop them!”

Neville rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her eye. “I don’t know what side I’m on either.”

By the time they glanced forward, Harry was sporting a blackened eye while Riddle licked blood from his split lip, both men staggering to their feet.

Only for Draco to push Harry aside, charging the Doctor around the middle, driving them both to the ground once more.

“You fucking bastard! I’m going to tear you apart with my bare hands!”

The Doctor punched him in the kidney even as he took a hit to the jaw, both grunting in pain. He managed to roll the blonde off, narrowly dodging Harry's kicking boot, sweeping his own legs out and knocking Harry clear off his feet. He collided hard with the wall as he fell, knocking a portrait loose, the heavy frame cracking on impact with the ground.

Sirius shook his head.

“If you’re going to destroy the house at least take the fight upstairs, I’ve been looking for an excuse to toss out mum’s portrait for decades.”

The three men rolled clumsily on the floor, covered in sweat and various injuries, clothing a rumpled mess. Riddle wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, smearing blood across the five o'clock shadow on his jaw as he pulled himself up against a decorative column.

“Would you rather continue this exercise in futility or would you like to know where Hermione is?”

Harry froze in place halfway to standing, but the words only seemed to spur Draco on further.

“You’re the reason she was taken!”

The blonde staggered unsteadily to his feet, sporting a small laceration above his left eye, blood running a thin line down his cheek as he charged the man yet again.

Harry dove forward, knocking him off course before he reached his destination and driving them both into a decorative table, which promptly collapsed beneath their shared weight.

“Stop! He knows where she is!”

Draco pushed him away with a murderous scowl. “Then why the fuck isn’t she with him?”

Riddle moved away from the column, crossing towards the pair without an ounce of trepidation.

“Because I can’t get access to her.” He stopped at their side, looking remarkably composed with his bloodied lip and bruised jaw. “At least not until the morning.”

Sirius walked up next, offering Harry his hand and hauling him to his feet as he spoke over his shoulder.

“Explain.”

Before Riddle could open his mouth Draco was roaring like an angry dragon, tensed to pounce. Harry groaned, stepping between them with his arms out. “Draco! Stop!”

He tried to catch the silver gaze with his own but the blonde’s eyes were fastened to his target standing only feet away. For his part, the Doctor made no effort to retreat, instead electing to watch the men struggle against each other with casual detachment.

Heels clicked across the tile at a determined pace. A moment later Parvati stood at their sides, her small hands managing to push Harry aside as she slipped herself between them and slapped Draco with all the strength in her body.

His head snapped powerfully to the side, a red handprint blossoming across his pale flesh, a perfect compliment to the gleaming blood.

He blinked rapidly, struggles ceasing as he gazed down upon her in shock. Harry wore a matching expression, jaw hanging loose with his forgotten words.

She drew her shoulders back, chin tipping high as she glared down her nose at them both.

“Get your shite together! This isn’t about who has the best punch or the biggest cock! This is about finding Hermione!”

She directed the full force of her fury upon Draco, causing him to step back. “If you really care about her you’ll put your differences aside for however long it takes to find her!”

Draco stared upon her for another long beat before glancing at Harry, and then to Riddle, eyes glittering like silver daggers.

But he stayed rooted to the spot, fists tight at his side.

Riddle held his gaze with the steady calm of a predator, leaving Harry glancing between them, arms still raised, ready to break them apart at a moment’s notice.

Parvati eventually stepped back to the group, oblivious to the look of awe Blaise bestowed upon her as she retook her place at Hannah’s side.

Draco inhaled deeply through his nose, spine lengthening as he straightened his coat and ran a hand through his hair, realigning the strands.

“Where is she?”

Riddle licked the blood from his lip once more, pressing his hand to the cut and examining his fingertips.

“Rutledge Mental Asylum.”

Hannah gasped, clutching Parvati's arm.

Harry staggered back.

“Who the hell committed her?” Sirius demanded.

“The Matron of the Home.”

Draco blinked. “Why would she do such a thing?”

“Because she’s a right bitch.” Parvati snapped with venom, earning the men’s attention. “And she has it out for Mione especially.”

Sirius shook his head. “Even so, she’d need valid grounds to have her committed.”

Parvati met the Doctor’s eye. She opened her mouth, only to close it once more as he gave an imperceptible shake of his head. The others were too distracted by the revelation to notice the silent exchange.

“Not all establishments are known for their reputable admission policies,” Riddle provided, eyes darkening. “One accusation is often enough to have someone committed without investigation. Especially if they don’t have family to speak on their behalf.”

Harry’s shoulders tensed. “We’re her family.”

“Not legally,” Draco said, voice edged in steel. “And that’s what matters.” He looked to Riddle once more. “But you can get her released?”

He nodded. “I’m working on it. But on the off chance something falls through, I hoped one of you could assist, given your rank and connections.”

Harry glanced at Sirius.

“Who do we know that can help?”

His godfather sighed. “We’d need a proper solicitor-” He broke off as Harry and Draco shared a heavy look. “Christ. What now?”

Harry ran a hand over his face. “Dolohov is her guardian.”

Sirius arched brow. “I thought he only controlled her estate?”

“Her wealth and autonomy are one and the same,” Draco said with no small amount of spite.

The Doctor gave him a carefully assessing look while his back was turned.

Sirius nodded. “Then we can get him to-”

“He’s dead,” Harry said without emotion.

His godfather blinked.

“Or at least I think he is,” he added as an afterthought. “And if he’s not, he soon will be.”

Sirius rubbed his eyes. “I don’t even know how to begin unpacking that.”

“Then don’t,” Draco snapped. “All that matters now is transferring Hermione’s guardianship.”

The Doctor placed his hands in his pockets. “I’m trying to get it transferred to myself.”

Draco rounded on him instantly. “ _You_?” He took a menacing step forward, fists raising. “No fucking way-”

“As her primary physician it would be a sound decision for the Court to make in lieu of blood relatives,” he responded with narrowed eyes, seemingly unphased by the renewed threat the blonde posed. “However I’m perfectly fine with anyone in this room gaining custody if the Judge is willing to sign off on it.”

Neville shifted forward.

“What if someone else already has custody?”

Draco froze mid-step, glancing at him sharply. Neville flushed.

“If Dolohov is dead, or even missing, someone has to inherit his active cases, his clients, right?”

Sirius nodded. “That’s very likely. A man like Dolohov would surely have a contingency plan in place.” He glanced at the Doctor. “If there’s an existing contract it may negate anyone else’s claim.”

Shadows danced across his face. “Does anyone know who’s next in line? Did he have any partners?”

“Not that I know of.” Draco’s body tensed. “But I can find out.”

Harry raised a brow. “Your father?”

The blonde nodded.

“If word has spread about Dolohov I can pretend I’m asking out of sheer curiosity.”

“He’ll see right through your rouse. Look at the state you're in.”

Draco scowled.

“Do you have a better plan?”

"I'm going to break into his office," Riddle said evenly, causing Draco to face him once more. He met his eye without hesitation. "To see if I can find Hermione's original contract."

Harry took a step forward. “I’m coming with you.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed, jaw ticking.

“Why are you doing this?”

Riddle tipped his head, voice carefully void of inflection. “Doing what?”

“Don’t play dumb. I’ve sat across the poker table from you. I know your tells as well as you know mine.”

The Doctor drew to his full height, eyes flashing.

"We shouldn't waste any more time."

Harry took another step forward, casually situating himself between both men. “Agreed.”

Sirius sighed at their backs. “This is where I tell you committing more than one major felony in a day is a terrible idea.”

“It’s after midnight. Technically we’re onto day two.”

“Ah, nevermind then.”

The Doctor glanced between them.

“What other felony has been committed?”

“None of your business,” Draco snapped.

Parvati rolled her eyes. “We kidnapped Jonathan Avery. After we found Luna at his house.”

Riddle took a step back, visibly reeling.

“You’ve found her?”

“No thanks to you,” Draco added lowly, grinding his teeth.

Riddle didn’t spare him a glance, still focused upon Parvati. “Is she alright?”

She nodded. “Greyback handed her off to Rabastan Lestrange, who apparently handed her off to Avery. We found her in a hidden room. She’s resting upstairs.”

Riddle dragged a hand over his face.

“She must be kept safe. She can provide witness testimony when the time comes.” He glanced to Sirius. “Can you protect her?”

“Protect her from what? Who knows she’s here?”

“Greyback is still on the loose, along with the rest of the Dollmaker's minions.”

Harry reared back. “How the hell do you know about-”

“I’ll explain on the way to Dolohov’s office. There’s no time to waste. If someone else has custody of Hermione they could take possession of her at any time.”

Draco paled, exchanging a loaded glance with Harry before nodding reluctantly.

“Go. Find the contract.”

 _And don’t let Riddle get his hands on it_ went unspoken between them.

Harry wet his lips. “You should still talk to your father, see what you can uncover just in case the office is a bust.”

Draco nodded once more, holding his gaze a moment longer before glancing at Riddle.

The two men held each other's gaze without blinking, some silent battle taking place that caused a painful tightening in Harry’s chest, waiting for the worst, until at long last Draco took a step back, shoulders tense as he turned on his heel and headed for the exit without a parting word.

Harry met Riddle’s eye next. “Let’s go.”

“Wait a minute,” Sirius said, grabbing his shoulder. “I need to speak with you. Privately.”

“Sirius-”

“I’m not going to try and stop you from going. I know by now I stand no chance of winning that argument.” The hand clenched upon him, a pained look crossing his godfather’s features for the space of a heartbeat, a deeply unsettling sight. “I just need a minute.”

Harry swallowed, tilting his head towards the hall. Riddle stepped aside, allowing them to pass with an unreadable expression upon his face.

Harry entered the hallway beside his godfather, step harried.

“I have to go-”

“I know.” Sirius took a deep breath, grabbing Harry’s shoulder once more, holding him in place before him. “I know you’ll do anything for the people you love. Just like your parents. But you’re even more stubborn and determined than they ever were.”

Harry’s brows creased. His godfather shook his head. “That’s not what-” He sighed once more, stepping back and running a hand over his mouth.

“What I mean to say is… please, _please_ be careful, Harry. I have no idea what the fuck is going on or who this Dollmaker person is. But there’s a tied, gagged Peer in my study and a former kidnapped victim in my guest room. I don’t know what will come through these doors next and I really don’t care, as long as you’re included.”

He pinned him beneath the soul-crushing weight of his fatherly gaze.

“You hear me? You come home, Harry. No matter what it takes.”

Harry swallowed heavily, nodding slowly. “I’ll come home.”

Sirius’s jaw tensed as he pulled his godson forward, embracing him tightly.

“And bring our girl back with you.”

Harry sighed into his shoulder. “I will.”

They parted without another word, striding for the entryway where the others lingered silently, pointedly ignoring their gazes.

Except for Riddle.

Who met Sirius’s eyes first, nodding once, before looking to Harry.

“Do you know where his office is?”

Harry nodded, leading the way to the door.

“Yes. It’s not far.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You know how to break and enter?”

“Quite well.”

He bit back a smirk. “Good. Let’s go.”

After the door closed behind them the room’s five remaining occupants glanced at each other.

“So…” Blaise said at long last, rocking back on his heels. “That was the Doctor.”

Parvati arched a dark brow. “In the flesh.”

He smiled brightly.

“I like him.”

She rolled her eyes, the corners of her lips tipping up as she headed for the study. He waited a full beat before trailing at her heels.

* * *

As Draco sat in the darkness of the carriage on his way to Malfoy Manor he reflected on the insanity his life had become.

And at the swirling center of the chaos sat one person.

Hermione Granger.

He drew in a long breath, closing his eyes and tipping his head back against the seat, trying to recall when the madness began, when the obsession seized him with both hands.

His jaw tensed as he realized the beginning of the end was, in fact, the very first time they met.

He was at the Potter Estate, celebrating Harry’s twelfth birthday. All the children were running amuck outside on the lawn, boys and girls alike, too young to be constrained by traditional gender roles just yet.

Draco had been chasing Harry with a fencing sword when a body collided with his own from seemingly out of nowhere. He’d only caught a flash of navy skirts and pale skin before he was toppled on his backside, choking on voluminous curls while delicate hands pressed upon his chest, a soft voice apologizing profusely.

He’d bitten back with a scathing retort, no doubt something he’d memorized from his father, unable to make out the annoying girl’s face with the sun directly overhead, casting her visage into darkness. By the time they both scrambled to their feet and he was able to see her in stunning clarity they were both scowling, his suit covered in grass stains and her hair full of leaves.

He’d told her to tie the rat’s nest back, then maybe she could see what was in front of her feet. She’d called him a pompous arse, causing him to flush deeply as he’d no idea what pompous meant, but it was clearly an insult and _no one_ insulted a Malfoy, least of all some skinny, nine-year-old brat.

By the time Harry found them they were both red in the face from screaming, Harry's mother intervening just to get them separated.

At that moment he’d sworn to whatever deity was listening he hated the girl with every fiber of his being and would spend the rest of his life making her life a living hell.

That was the excuse he continued to use for years as he tried to justify his need to constantly seek her out.

Harry’s parents had died three months later to the day following that first, fateful encounter and Draco began seeing far less of the orphaned boy as he was whisked away to Grimmauld. Lucius didn’t want Sirius Black’s rakish reputation rubbing off on his only son, after all.

While Draco and Harry grew apart, Harry and Hermione grew much closer, developing a brother and sister like bond that left Draco deeply jealous for reasons he was too young to fully comprehend, fostering a sense of animosity and competition between him and the pair.

But he especially loved to challenge _her_ , anyway he could. Anything to earn her ire, her undivided attention.

Anything to lure her away from Harry’s side and closer to his, even just to yell in his face.

Then he hit puberty, and everything had turned on its head.

The sound of her lecturing drawl started to have… unsettling effects on him. He’d squirm in his seat, heart palpitating, hands clenching, the typical urge to throttle her so overwhelming he found himself walking away from fights, throwing in the towel simply to escape the unavoidable cloud of her presence. Her scent.

And then _she_ hit puberty, and he realized he didn’t want to throttle her at all. His hands ached for something else, his entire body yearning in such a way that left him aching and dazed long after she exited the room in a puff of smoke and righteous fury.

By the time he realized what he really wanted to do to her it was too late to escape, to walk away. The longer he avoided her the more he wanted her, the more she plagued his thoughts. Every time his eyes scanned a room for her chestnut curls he told himself it was the last time. Every time he stared blatantly at her mouth while she delivered an impassioned speech about whatever social issue struck her current fancy he told himself it was just hormones.

Hermione Granger was just a phase.

But he couldn’t rid himself of his desire, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many beautiful girls flocked to his side at parties, clinging to his arm and placing their hands to his thigh beneath dining room tables.

He always found some excuse to leave them at the edge of the dance floor as he sought out the source of his festering obsession, the face that haunted his dreams every night, leaving him gasping in a pool of sweat and uncomfortable stiffness.

He never asked her to dance. Never offered his arm to escort her to or from a room. All he did was provoke her. So he told himself it was okay. It wasn’t a problem. His father couldn’t possibly disapprove.

And then one rainy afternoon they found themselves sequestered in the glittering gem of the Palm House, both separated from their respective group of friends as they scattered to seek shelter from the sudden downpour.

They’d been surrounded by manufactured heat and tropical flowers, she’d been spitting mad at him for telling her she looked like a drowned rat. Another cutting remark had been sitting on the tip of his tongue, ready to go, but a sudden madness had seized him and he’d grabbed her instead, earning a shocked gasp from her parted lips before he descended upon her, half pulling and half dragging her into the corner as he claimed her mouth for the first of many times.

The moment she first collided against him at Harry’s birthday party had been his awakening.

But that first kiss…

That first kiss was his death.

A boy had perished away with the soft moans emanating from her throat, a man reborn in his place. A man who knew exactly what he wanted.

And would do anything to get it.

But that moment was also when their fate started to unravel faster than either could weave it together. They continued meeting in secret, fighting in public, instilling the false reality that their liaisons were a sin, a mistake, a dirty secret best left to shadow-strewn corners and empty hallways.

He ignored the deep seeded emotions taking root within him, evolving with every passing year, month, second. He thought one more kiss, one more caress would exercise her from his system. Free him from her thrall.

He never intended to marry her.

He never intended to marry _anyone_.

Marriage enslaved men and women alike, why would he subject himself or the woman he desired above all else to such a dark fate?

But he’d taken their arrangement for granted.

Taken _her_ for granted.

Which led to The Fight.

The epic blow up, when hateful words were exchanged with such venom there couldn’t possibly be any going back.

He’d watched her storm away with fire in her eyes, the same inferno raging in his chest. Within minutes he started to chase after her, only to berate himself, forcing his feet in the opposite direction.

To a gaming hall on the East End. Where he’d drowned his troubles away with ale and cards and women until he couldn’t stand upright.

And while he was wallowing in the black bile of his vices, Hermione had watched her childhood home burn to the ground, taking her only family with it.

He’d been passed out for the entirety of the next day, not receiving word of what happened until she had already been hospitalized for a night. The administration wouldn’t allow him in to see her, and he’d been too afraid to ask his father to pull any strings, years of keeping their relationship a secret making it impossible to form the words when he needed them most.

And by the time she was allowed regular visitors Potter had already returned to London, taking up permanent residence beside her bed, refusing to leave the room except to piss.

Her eyes had been so hollow, so haunted as she sat upon the hospital bed, Draco had simply stood at the foot of the mattress and stared at her in silence, half-formed apologies dying on his tongue, everything sounding grossly inadequate in his mind, undeserving of her forgiveness.

If only he’d gone after her that night.

If only he hadn’t been such a coward, so terrified of the depths of his feelings for his childhood nemesis.

How pathetic that it took nearly losing her altogether to realize that he loved her with all of his soul.

But how to tell her?

The time never seemed right. His courage always failed at the last second, or she would glance away and the moment would pass.

Excuses, all of it. He knew that objectively. But it didn’t change the fact the words became lodged in his throat everytime he tried to expel them.

Proposing to her had seemed the logical alternative. Surely she would understand the magnitude of his longing then.

Her rejection had stung more than her fist colliding with his face all those years ago. The damage far more long-lasting.

If only he’d told her...

And now he sat at the brink of losing her yet again, another raging inferno chasing at her heels.

_Another man._

His stomach clenched painfully, teeth grinding.

Not just another man. A dangerous stranger who had everything but her welfare in mind.

The bastard may be trying to help set her free, but as far as Draco was concerned, it was Riddle’s fault she was in the Asylum to begin with. It was his job to see to his charge’s safety. He should have fought the spiteful Matron tooth and claw.

One thing was certain, Draco wouldn’t let the man gain custody of her.

Not that he felt he was any more entitled to such a claim.

For Draco knew without a shadow of a doubt he didn’t deserve Hermione Granger.

Just as he knew without a shadow of a doubt he loved her.

And in the back of the carriage, he made a silent vow to God that if he would please just deliver her back to him safely he would tell her the words festering within his heart for so long.

And never let her out of his sight again.

_Unless it’s too late…_

_Unless she doesn’t want you anymore._

The driver shouted down to him, the horses slowing their pace as the carriage rolled to a stop.

He forcefully suppressed his churning thoughts, leaping to the pavement and paying the man before quickly ascending the stairs of his ancestral home, bracing himself for the battle ahead.

Tricking his father was all but impossible, which meant he’d have to tell the truth… selectively.

He took a deep breath, reaching for the handle, only for the door to swing open with his arm still extended.

His butler stood on the other side, eyes sweeping over his form, widening considerably.

"Master Draco, are you alright?"

He blinked.

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re bleeding.”

Draco blinked again.

 _Shite_.

He nodded quickly, stepping inside.

“I’m fine. Where is my father?”

“He isn’t home, Sir, but your mother is-”

“I’m going to go clean up, don’t tell my mother the state you saw me in, understand?”

The butler pursed his lips. Draco shook his head, running his hand through his hair. Lady Malfoy had the entire staff wrapped around her diamond-strewn finger.

“At least don’t tell my father.”

Parker nodded. “Of course, Sir.”

“Any idea where he is?”

"A last-minute session, I believe."

He stood taller. “For the Medical Act?”

“I don’t know, Sir.”

He set his jaw, hands clenching as he turned for the stairs.

“A letter arrived for you, Sir, would you like for me to leave it in your room?”

Draco turned back around.

“A letter?” His heart skipped a beat. “From who?”

_Could it be?_

“Your Uncle, Sir.”

He deflated at once.

“Oh.” He held out his hand. “I’ll take it now.”

Parker handed the sealed envelope over before bowing deeply and exiting the room with graceful swiftness.

Draco blinked when he saw it was Rodolphus's wax stamp. He'd assumed it was a missive from Rabastan regarding the session.

He broke the seal, unfolding the parchment.

Only to stagger back as he read the five simple words scrawled in precise cursive.

He crumpled the note in his fist as he sprinted out the door once again, not bothering to close it in his wake.

The message rattling through his mind on an endless loop.

_Your wedding present is ready._

* * *

Harry glanced either way down the darkened hallway, keeping watch as Riddle continued to pick the lock at Dolohov’s door.

After a few more minutes there was a loud click, followed by the turning of the knob.

“Got it.”

Harry quickly followed him inside the equally dark office, feeling his way to the gaslight on the wall and turning the dial, bathing the room in a soft glow.

“Where did you learn to pick locks?”

Riddle tucked whatever tool he’d used back into his coat. “I have many skills.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m starting to see that.”

The other man was already pulling open drawers and grabbing files, carefully thumbing through the pages. Harry walked to the nearest cabinet, reaching for the handle.

“Put everything back where you find it,” the Doctor instructed. “If the police search the office we don’t want to leave any trace behind.”

Harry raised a brow.

“Unless he isn’t dead.”

Riddle’s jaw tensed but he remained silent, putting the file back and reaching for another. Harry sighed and opened the door, beginning his own search, the room filled with only the sound of pages being turned and drawers being pulled for several minutes.

“How did you know about the fire?” Riddle asked at last, not bothering to glance up from whatever he was reading.

Harry straightened, heartbeat slowing even as the blood rushed through his ears. He glanced at the man sharply, studying the rigid lines of his back and shoulders.

He took a deep breath.

“Avery tipped us off that Dolohov might know where Mione is. Draco and I swung by his Estate.” His gaze narrowed. “It was already engulfed.”

“What led you to Avery in the first place?”

Harry shook his head.

“Why don’t you answer a few of my questions for a change?”

Riddle stiffened but made no further remark. Harry pushed on.

“Parvati said you were helping Mione look for Luna. But she didn’t mention anything about you knowing the Dollmaker.”

“I assume Avery told you about him?”

“Not much. Who is he?”

Riddle shoved a file back into place with extra force, knocking over a framed certificate. “That’s the question I’ve spent the majority of my life trying to figure out.”

“Why?”

A tense beat. Riddle’s hands flexed at his sides.

“He took someone from me.”

Harry tipped his head, eyes scanning the man’s stoic profile. “And now you want revenge?”

“Now I want to stop him.”

“What about the rest of his organization?”

Riddle turned around, brow raised. “What about them?”

“Powerful people are involved in this.”

“I’m well aware.”

Harry raised his own brow, setting the pages in his hand aside. “How do you intend to take them all down?”

Riddle stared at him in silence, finally shaking his head and turning back around.

“Let’s start with retrieving Hermione.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. “The last time we met you still called her Miss Granger.”

“A lot has happened since then.”

His fists tightened at his sides. “Anything I should know about?”

Riddle’s jaw worked silently for a moment as he rummaged rapidly through a stack of papers. “I imagine she would have told you what she intended for you to know.”

Harry’s chest tightened. He spun back around, slamming the cabinet door shut.

“How was she taken?”

Riddle blinked. “What?”

“If she was with you earlier in the evening, how was she dragged off to the Asylum?”

A brief pause.

“She returned to the Home.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

Harry spun to face him once more, emeralds flashing in his hardened gaze. “After she was almost kidnapped from the same place? I don’t buy it. Mione is too clever for that.”

Riddle braced his hands against the counter, taking a deep, steadying breath. “It was a trying evening, she wasn’t in her right mind.”

“And yet you let her wander off alone.”

The Doctor slammed the drawer with such force it shook the wall, knocking the portrait hanging above askew.

“Why does it matter? What’s done is done. All that matters now is retrieving her.”

“She’s my best friend. It matters.” Harry’s spine lengthened, ribs cracking and reforming as his chest expanded. “And I’ll find out the truth eventually. One way or another.”

Riddle didn’t reply, merely crossed the room on stiffened legs as he began rummaging through another cabinet.

Harry took a slow step towards him. “You didn’t look surprised when we told you Dolohov might be dead.”

Riddle avoided his gaze, voice flat. “I didn’t know him beyond a vague acquaintance. The news didn’t affect me.”

Harry nodded, eyes fixed upon him, taking in every nuance of his expression.

“Or perhaps you already knew because you killed him.”

Riddle stiffened for half a beat, fingers clenching upon the file in his hands.

“And why would you think that?”

Harry wet his lips.

“Because I never said anything about a fire.” Another step closer. “Neither did Draco.”

Riddle took a deep breath but said nothing. Harry continued to approach, slow and wary, muscles tensed.

“Who are you really?”

Riddle shook his head, setting the file aside. “I’m the man trying to stop this madness before any more girls are taken or killed.”

He met Harry’s eye over his shoulder, halting his slow advance. “Starting with your best friend.”

His grey eyes narrowed. “Are you going to continue asking questions or are you going to help me look for her contract?”

Harry’s shoulders dropped. He swallowed lightly, Hermione’s face flashing before his mind’s eye. He reluctantly turned on his heel without another word, walking back to the cabinet.

They continued to search in silence, the papers never ending, until at long last Harry found a cabinet full of surnames starting with G. His heart sped as he flipped through the stacks in haste.

And then he saw her name.

He rocked back on his heels, nearly losing his grip on the file.

“I think this is it.”

Riddle glanced up, watching as Harry continued to thumb through pages before nodding quickly. “This is it.”

The Doctor moved quickly to his side, grabbing the oil lamp off the table and holding it aloft, illuminating the pages.

“I only see Dolohov’s name.” Harry wet his lips. “That’s good, right? If there’s no other name then-”

“Let me see it.”

Harry’s gaze narrowed as the man snatched the file out of his hands without preamble.

The Doctor began to rapidly scan the pages with his eyes, so quickly Harry thought there was no possible way he was actually taking any of the information in. But then-

“It says if anything prevents Dolohov from fulfilling his legal responsibilities the contract passes to his beneficiary.”

Harry blinked, drawing back.

“How do we find out who that is?”

Riddle’s jaw tensed as he closed the file.

“We find his will.”

Harry sighed, starting to turn away. “Let’s keep looking.”

“He wouldn’t keep such a document in a regular file cabinet.” Riddle carefully tucked Hermione’s contract back into the folder. “He’d put it somewhere special, protected…” His glanced up. “Like a safe.”

Harry swallowed. “Fuck.”

“Indeed.”

Riddle closed the drawer. “Start looking on the walls, behind picture frames and bookcases.”

Harry nodded as they spread out again. He was lifting the third picture frame when Riddle spoke from the wall behind the desk.

“Here it is.”

Harry practically sprinted across the room as Riddle moved the seascape portrait aside, revealing a wide and narrow metal rectangle set into the wallpaper.

“Any chance your repertoire of skills includes breaking a safe?”

“I’m afraid not.”

He dragged his hand through his hair, making some of the dark locks stand on end.

“We’re screwed. Unless we bash it open.”

“That's two inches of steel. We aren’t bashing anything.”

Harry tensed. “Then what-”

“It’s a dial lock.” Harry blinked as Riddle tilted his head, studying the gleaming safe cover. “A number combination. Most likely between three and six digits.” He ran a hand over his mouth, deep in thought. Harry continued to watch with intrigue. “Given the manufacturing seal and overall quality I’d lean towards maximum security, six digits. Which means it’ll be one turn each, starting with the standard clockwise.”

Harry blinked once more.

“What kind of Doctor are you again?”

Riddle started to examine the dial. “A general practitioner.”

“Right.” He rolled his eyes. “Well unless you can also guess the numbers he uses, we’re still up shite creek.”

Riddle wet his lips, stepping away from the wall and meeting Harry’s gaze.

“I don’t have that information.” A shadow moved across his face. “But you do.”

Harry’s heart stuttered.

”I do?”

“What day was Hermione born?”

He took a step back.

“ _What_?”

“You heard me.”

He shook his head. “I… like, day of the week?”

“No. What day in September?”

Harry fell motionless as realization set in.

And fire exploded in his chest.

“No…” His fists clenched. “No.”

Riddle drew in a slow breath, moving further back. “Try it.”

Harry remained frozen to the spot, unable to see or think past his blinding rage. He shook with the force of his pent emotions, desperate to destroy anything he could get his hands-

“Harry.” He jolted, eyes darting up. Riddle held his gaze steady, voice calm. “Enter her birthday, with the year.”

Harry swallowed thickly, moving forward slowly, lifting his trembling arm and grabbing the metal dial.

And started spinning it clockwise, each number, each turn a painful lance through his heart.

_1… 9… 0… 9… 5… 7_

The door clicked loudly, swinging free.

Harry staggered back, wiping his hand on his pant leg, desperate to rid himself of the dark taint on his skin. He met Riddle’s eye once more, shoulders tight.

“Is he dead?”

The Doctor raised his chin, eyes gleaming bright.

“Yes.”

Harry set his jaw, nodding.

“Good.”

And then he moved back to the wall, pushing the door aside and rummaging through the safe contents.

“He’s got a gun in here.”

“Leave it,” Riddle said from his side, raising the lamp as he peered into the opening as well.

Harry pushed the firearm aside, his hand grazing another heavy item.

“And a knife.”

Riddle stiffened, eyes narrowing.

“That isn’t a knife.”

Harry raised a brow, pushing the object away without any additional thought. "No?"

“It’s a letter opener.”

Riddle reached inside and extracted the gleaming item, staring upon it for several beats. Harry was focused on extracting a large manilla envelope from beneath the pile and failed to notice when the Doctor pocketed the narrow blade.

He opened the flap of the folder, sliding the first page free.

“Shite. You were right.” He inhaled sharply. “It’s his will.”

Riddle held out his hand silently. Harry relinquished the paperwork without hesitation, trusting the man to find the information they needed faster than he could.

He watched as he slid the rest of the stack free and began speed reading once more, eyes flickering back and forth so quickly it made Harry dizzy.

And then the Doctor went rigid as a board, hands tightening on the documents.

“What is it?” Harry stepped forward, his own hands clenching against the invisible weight of something terrible. “Who’s his beneficiary?”

Riddle met his gaze over the top of the pages, darkness swelling all around them.

“We have a problem.”

* * *

When Draco arrived at the Lestrange Estate the moon was starting to dim, the sky turning from black to indigo as the night waned thin.

Though the letter made no reference of where Draco should go, or when, he knew without a shadow of a doubt whatever Rodolphus had procured for him would not be taken to his club.

And if he expected Draco to wait until the morning he wouldn't have bothered sending a courier to the Manor in the dead of night.

He darted up the steps and pounded on the gleaming black door, gargoyles overhanging the roof, slitted eyes boring upon him with fang and talon extended.

He drew in a deep breath, pulling his gaze away as the barrier opened, revealing a young, beautiful, and barely dressed maid.

She smiled.

“Master Malfoy.” She dipped into a low curtsy that revealed more of her bare thigh. “Lord Lestrange has been expecting you.” She rose to her full height, eyes gleaming. “Please come in.”

Draco entered swiftly, gaze quickly scanning the lavishly decorated black and crimson interior for any sign of what lay hidden within these walls.

He knew it couldn’t possibly be Her…

But if there was even the smallest chance Riddle was mistaken and she wasn’t trapped at the Asylum…

He had to be certain.

Though he wasn’t sure what he was hoping for. While he was desperate to get her into his custody he was terrified of what she may have been subjected to in the meantime. He didn’t put much stock in hypnotism, but one thing was certain, the Dollmaker was manipulating these women’s minds _somehow_.

His stomach clenched painfully.

“You may wait in the parlor, Master.”

Draco blinked, pulled back to the present. He began following the maid across the entry hall, the exaggerated sway of her hips telling him all he needed to know about her true purpose in this household. He doubted she’d ever held a feather duster in her life.

A moment later she came to a stop, gesturing to the interior of a damask and velvet-adorned room while remaining in the doorway, causing her chest to brush his arm as he passed. She giggled softly as he lurched away with a scowl.

And then she turned around, heading for the main stairs. Draco began to pace the room restlessly, hands sweating, when he caught a glimpse of a young, shirtless man walking past the doorway, seemingly oblivious to Draco’s presence in the room.

A moment later a topless woman and pantless man headed down the staircase, laughing and carrying half empty fruit and cheese trays.

Draco ran a hand over his face.

_Fucking hell._

_A bit much for a Wednesday..._

He put his back to the doorway, in no mood to see what else was wandering these halls. After several more minutes of being trapped inside his own hellish mind, he heard heavy, determined footsteps down the hall. He spun around just in time to see his Uncle sweep into the room in loose trousers and a billowing silk robe, no shirt in sight.

“Drake!” He called at deafening volumes, cheeks flushed and breath smelling of liquor. “Should have known you’d come right away, a bit eager to unwrap your present, are we?”

Draco arched a pale brow.

“I hope I’m not…”

A stark naked young woman walked past the door, playing with a golden chain around her neck.

“...interrupting.”

“Of course not, darling.”

His blood ran cold as a new figure emerged in the hall just behind the girl, wearing a floor-length black lace nightgown, the neckline cut nearly to her navel.

His fists clenched.

He’d been hoping to avoid her entirely.

“Bella.”

She entered the room with a red-lipped smile, only for her expression to freeze the moment she laid eyes upon him.

He blinked in confusion as she darted across the room with fire in her eyes, reaching for his face. He tried to duck away but a table blocked his escape, her hand gripping his chin and holding him still before her.

“What’s happened to you, Draco? Who did this?”

He cursed himself for not cleaning away the blood better. He'd yet to look in a mirror since his impromptu scuffle.

“It's fine-”

“It is not fine! No one lays a hand on my sister’s son!”

His chest tightened, unnerved by her reaction and concern, never comprehending her twisted adoration for him since his youth. He turned his face away, prompting her hand to drop.

“You should see the other guy.”

“I should hope to see him dead.”

Draco wet his lips.

“Wishful thinking.”

She sighed wistfully, taking a half step back as her dark eyes carefully scanned his face.

"You aren't a child anymore, are you? No matter how dearly I wish you still were." She reached up once more, stroking his cheek. He paled, swallowing heavily.

“But nothing can stay precious and pure in this life, can it?”

Her voice sounded strange and hollow as her eyes took on a vacant quality, their gleam rapidly dimming. Her body fell unnaturally still, arm froze in mid-air, and suddenly it was as if a mannequin stood before him.

Rodolphus stepped forward quickly, grabbing her arm and pulling her back, large hand squeezing her pale flesh until she cringed. Draco blinked, brows creasing, a protest forming on his lips despite the fact he didn’t normally give two shites what went on between the twisted couple.

But before he could think of what to say his Uncle was speaking low in her ear, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Come now, my luv, Drake isn’t here for auntly affection.” He squeezed her arm again, but instead of flinching she jolted lightly, life flooding into her eyes once more, limbs loosening. “He’s here for his wedding present.”

She smiled, leaning into her husband’s touch as though nothing were amiss.

“Of course.” She licked her lips, voice back to its normal seductive cadence.

“When Roddy told me you approached him about such a topic I admit I was quite shocked.” Her eyes gleamed more cat-like by the second. “But then he told about me the… _specifications_ you were seeking.”

A knowing grin curled her lips, teeth sharp.

“And I knew _exactly_ what you were after.”

Draco’s heart lurched painfully against his ribcage as he took a slow step back.

_They know._

She started towards the doorway with unhurried grace, speaking over her shoulder.

“However, we weren’t able to meet _all_ of your wishes…”

He blinked, halting mid-retreat.

_Maybe not..._

“Which I believe is in your best interest anyway.”

His muscles tensed, braced for whatever madness she was sure to unleash.

“You are young yet, my darling, and I assure you, what you think you want now is _not_ what you will want in five years time.”

She laughed to herself, voice deep and smokey yet grating to his spent nerves. “Or five days time, given that you are also male.”

And then footsteps started down the hall.

His spine went straight as an arrow, body vibrating with dark anticipation.

Her smile deepened as she stood in the doorway, gesturing to someone just beyond his line of sight.

Rodolphus stepped beside him, clapping a heavy, weighted hand to his shoulder.

“Trust us, Drake, as long as you have an open mind, you’ll absolutely love it.”

 _It_...

Draco swayed on his feet with the force of his heartbeat, vision tunneling in on the doorway, everything else falling away as at last a figure turned the corner and emerged into the room, stopping just beside his Aunt.

Bella squealed with delight, holding her arms out as though unveiling some grand prize.

“Surprise!”

Spots appeared before his vision as he staggered back in horror, grasping the back of the settee for balance, thoughts rapidly spinning but only one making it past his lips.

“Oh my God.”

* * *

Hermione awoke with a jerk, gasping for breath and thrashing against her binds, forgetting where she was for a terrifying second.

She fell still, gazing around the sun-strewn room, the white padding blinding to her eyes.

Only to realize with crushing swiftness last night wasn’t a nightmare.

Her terror increased ten-fold.

And then she heard the noise that woke her, the sound of groaning metal and heavy footsteps.

The orderlies were making their morning rounds.

Muffled shouts met her ear, desperate wails that caused her to shrink back against the headboard, curling in on herself.

And then a familiar face appeared on the other side of the window at her door.

She held her breath as Wilson unlocked the metal barrier, pushing the heavy weight aside before entering with a bright smile.

“Rise and shine, princess.” His eyes carefully roamed her figure. “Shite. You get any sleep?”

She wet her dry lips, swallowing lightly.

“Some,” she whispered, pulling her knees in.

He raised a brow, lips tugging higher.

“Ghosts keep you up all night?”

Her jaw tensed as she met his eye with brazen swiftness.

“One tried. He’s still a little upset I murdered him.”

Wilson blinked, rocking back on his heels.

And then he tipped his head to the tiled ceiling, bursting into boisterous laughter.

“Christ!” He wiped the corners of his eyes. “I knew I liked you.”

She glanced away, fighting the urge to shrink back as he crossed the room and gestured for her to turn around.

She endured his touch in order to be free of the straitjacket.

Nothing felt as terrible as having her limbs confined.

As the stays loosened she breathed a deep sigh of relief, fishing her arms free of the constraining fabric as soon as possible, welcoming the cold air against her bare arms and shoulders.

“Here’s your uniform.”

He tossed a folded pile of grey garments on the bed beside her. She stared at them without expression, struggling to keep her voice even, unaffected.

“Are you going to watch me change?”

He chuckled.

“Afraid not, luv. Have to keep making my rounds. But I’ll be back for you in a few.”

She swallowed heavily as he strode for the exit, thoughts of escape running rampant through her mind now that she was afforded mobility, clothing and temporary privacy.

But her thoughts quickly scattered as he stopped in the doorway, peering at her over his shoulder.

“Don’t dawdle for too long, you’ve got a busy docket ahead of you.”

The sinister glee in his voice made her stomach knot as she pressed a hand to her left wrist, covering the frayed ribbon.

He flashed a wicked grin, teeth gleaming as he grabbed the door handle.

“Today is your first treatment.”


	22. Bitter Pill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving loves! I am thankful for each and every one of you. And sage stuffing. ❤︎

_I'll set you free, Alice._  
_Memory is a curse more often than a blessing._  
_.   .   ._

Harry dragged a hand over his face in utter exhaustion, fighting the pull of sleep as the carriage rocked steadily along the dirt road, following the winding path up the hill to a long-familiar structure.

He’d just returned from Malfoy Manor, intent on sharing his alarming discovery with Draco, only for the butler to inform him neither Malfoy male was home.

He had no idea where Draco could be and frankly didn’t feel like searching the city for yet another person. He was certain he’d cross paths with the blonde soon enough, for he harbored no doubt whatever mission the man had undertaken was with Hermione in mind, and therefore he’d eventually seek Harry out to exchange information.

But until then, Harry planned to push forward with the haphazard plan he and Riddle had constructed before parting ways outside Dolohov’s office, both still reeling from the frightening revelation they’d uncovered in the solicitor’s will.

Which brought him to his newest destination.

He sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes.

Bloody hell.

What a cluster fuck this all was.

The carriage reached the peak, slowing to a stop before the gravel drive.

“We’re here, lad!”

Harry steeled himself, desperate to conceal both his fatigue and anxiety before setting foot on the property beyond.

He swiftly exiting the car and paid the driver, adding extra bills to the pile.

“Wait here. I shouldn’t be too long.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck as he started for the house, noting that the chimney was already puffing a steady stream of smoke into the pale blue sky.

He paused at the door, briefly closing his eyes before setting his shoulders and knocking.

Only to blink as the hinges creaked and the old wood gave way beneath the side of his fist, swinging open to reveal the interior of the home.

Harry blinked.

 _Christ_ …

Leave it to the Weasley’s to not lock their front door.

He took a tentative step inside the Burrow, hearing the distant sound of voices down the hall.

“Hello?” He called out, closing the door behind him and sliding the bolt into place.

The voices halted, a brief beat of silence filling the dust and sunlight strewn air before a familiar voice called back.

“Who’s there?”

Harry smiled, shaking his head.

“A home invader, come to rob you blind!”

“Good luck finding anything of value!”

“Ginevra Weasley!”

A dull thump sounded.

“Ow! Christ, mum! I was only joking!”

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain!”

“You take it in vain all the time!”

“Not before noon!”

Footsteps echoed down the hall, a long body appearing in the archway a moment later.

Ron blinked in confusion even as a smile curved his lips.

“Harry, what are you doing here?”

Harry tucked his hands into his pockets, trying to affect a casual stance. “I hope I’m not disturbing your morning-”

“Nonsense!” Mrs. Weasley appeared just behind her son, wiping her hands on her flour splattered apron. “Come inside and have some breakfast, dear, it’s wonderful to see you!”

His smile turned brittle as he fought to maintain it.

“Actually, I was wondering if I might speak to Arthur?”

She blinked.

“You just missed him. He got an urgent missive from work asking him to come in immediately.”

Harry paled.

“Do you still have the letter?”

“I… I’m not sure.” She shook her head, strands of red brushing her shoulders from where they’d fallen loose of her bun. “Come to think of it, I believe Arthur stuffed it into his briefcase on his way out the door.”

Ron arched a brow.

“Harry, what’s going on?”

He cleared his throat, struggling to keep a neutral expression in place.

“Nothing. I just… had a legal question for him.”

“At eight in the morning?” His friend crossed his arms, the corner of his mouth lifting in a wry smirk. “What did you do?”

“Nothing crazier than usual.”

Mrs. Weasley didn’t share their amusement.

“Are you in trouble, dear?”

He shook his head, countenance sobering.

“No, of course not.” He forced another smile. His muscles felt atrophied. “Everything is fine.”

Her eyes narrowed, a deep sigh hissing past her lips.

“You lie as poorly as all my children. I suppose I should find it a blessing.”

And then she was spinning on her heel and striding down the hallway, speaking over her shoulder.

“I already know you’ll refuse to stay so I’m making you a plate to take with you. If you leave before I return I’m bringing it to Grimmauld and lording over you until you finish every bite.”

His smile quickly turned genuine, the motherly threat causing the pressure in his chest to recede just enough to breathe normally.

“I don't doubt it.”

A moment later she disappeared around the corner.

Ron quickly closed in, voice low.

“Alright, now will you tell me what the hell is going on?”

Harry dragged a hand over his face, lingering at his mouth, capturing his sigh of resignation.

He met his best mate’s eye, arm dropping like a dead weight to his side.

“Yes. But first I need two things.”

Ron blinked.

“What?”

“I need you to promise to withhold your rage until I’m finished telling you everything I have to say.”

Ron leaned back as though evading the sharp edge in Harry’s voice.

“Fucking hell, you’re really starting to scare me.”

Harry swallowed, hands clenching at his sides. “Promise.”

"I can't guarantee I won't get mad." Ron's eyes narrowed, shoulders drawn. "And it's not fair to ask!"

“Promise me for Hermione’s sake.”

As expected, the words made the man’s complexion fade whiter than a sheet, blue eyes widening.

“Harry-”

“If you explode into one of your tantrums then it’s only going to delay me and hurt her. I need your promise or I leave without saying another word.”

“Fuck.” Ron shook his head, running a hand through his hair, dragging his fringe back. “I promise.”

Harry nodded, heart thundering in his chest.

“And I need one more thing.”

Ron rolled his eyes, gesturing wildly to the air.

“Bloody hell! What? My kidney? My firstborn?”

Harry fought back a smirk.

“Today’s newspaper will suffice.”

* * *

Hermione picked at the coarse fabric of her dress, the linen stiff and scratchy against her skin, the cool grey turning her already pale complexion even more lifeless.

She shifted anxiously on her feet, doing her best to avoid the gazes of nearby orderlies lining the wall and the many patients filling the hall, standing in the same haphazard line she resided in.

Awaiting their morning medication.

A woman dressed in the same desolate garment as Hermione stood closely at her back, curled fists resting at her mouth as she rocked steadily back and forth, long hair swaying to and fro, eyes squeezed tightly as she muttered something to herself on an endless loop.

Hermione bit her lip, doing her best to shift forward to avoid the woman bumping her, but every time she took a step the stranger seemed to follow, despite the fact her lids were obviously closed.

A moment later the woman’s rocking took on new steam and she collided with Hermione’s arm, causing her to gasp and leap forward on instinct, bumping into the person standing before her.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” she uttered quickly, hands raised as the tall man spun on his heel.

Her heart seized as he gazed down upon her with pale, empty eyes.

Then he blinked.

And seemed to awaken from his stupor, color infusing his cheeks as a crescent grin alighted upon his worn but handsome face.

“Ah, I see you’re a clever one, eh?”

Hermione blinked as well, as taken aback by the booming volume of his voice as the words themselves.

“Pardon?”

He took a step towards her, prompting her to break from her place in line to recede from his advance.

"How did you get into my bedchamber, dove?" He reached out a hand as though to grab her chin. She gasped, ducking away, swatting at the offending limb.

“ _What_?”

“Don’t be shy now, pet, you went through all the effort of slipping past my guards.”

He continued towards her, both hands extended. Terror seized her by the throat, his boisterous expression somehow more terrifying than Wilson's lust-driven hunger.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Alright, alright,” a familiar voice spoke from behind her back, causing her to gasp and spin, coming face to face with an orderly. “Everyone calm down.”

It was the mustached man from last night. She blinked, startled to see his features in clarity for the first time, the drugs finally faded from her system.

He didn’t spare her a glance as he brushed past and grabbed the man by his arm, directing him back towards the line. She watched as the patient attempted to wrench his arm free but made no move to strike out.

“Unhand me, filthy squire! I will have you executed for this treasonous act!”

The orderly sighed, eyes flickering to where she stood, watching in open bewilderment.

“Don’t mind him, poppet. Lockhart here thinks he’s King Henry the Eighth.”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, staring upon the man again with a creased brow.

“How dare you address your sovereign with such blasphemy! I’ll-”

“Have my head on a pike. Trust me, I know.” The orderly held up a staying hand as his associates stepped away from the wall and began heading towards them.

“Stop! I’ve got it under control.”

Hermione shifted anxiously, trapped in place by dark fascination as the orderly proceeded to pat the patient on the back, motions slow, voice steady and calm.

“Come on, Henry, take your medicine, then you can address the people.”

“I am not a child!”

“I know.” He held his hand out to the nurse behind the counter administering pills. “You’re a King.” She leaned forward, handing him a small paper cup. “And you need to be in good health if you want to keep on ruling, right?”

The man blinked several times, limbs finally settling as he gazed down at the offering, expression taught with resignation.

He slowly accepted the cup and tipped it back, swallowing the contents dry.

The orderly nodded.

“Good man.” He patted him on the back once more, gesturing to an employee standing on alert. “Cyrus is going to take you to the throne room, now.”

The patient sighed deeply, shoulders drawing back.

“Very well. I have kept my loyal subjects waiting long enough.”

Hermione watched the employee take the man by the arm as he escorted him down the hallway.

The mustached orderly ran a hand through his hair, turning to face her.

She shook her head. “I…”

He nodded. “Tell me about it.”

“He really thinks he’s King Henry?”

“Most days.” He shrugged. “Sometimes he’s Queen Mary of Scots. Fashioned a wig out of a mop head and everything. It’s pretty entertaining.”

Her gaze sharpened. “Entertaining?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Oh let me guess, the girl who communes with spirits is an advocate for lunatics.”

She crossed her arms.

“I don't _commune with spirits_. And I’m not advocating for anything. But I fail to see what’s funny about a man suffering from severe delusions.”

“Do you see me laughing?”

Her shoulders lowered, unable to process the look in his eyes.

He sighed once more.

“If this job has taught me anything it’s that most people suffer from delusions, in whatever form. His just happen to be a bit more outspoken and colorful than most. I’m quite jealous, actually. He gets to strut around the Royal Palace while I’m stuck in this hellhole.”

Her gaze turned appraising. He visibly flinched beneath her assessment.

“Don’t give me that look. Just because I sympathize with your plight doesn’t mean I’m going to be your knight in shining armor.”

He raised a dark brow, turning to face the nurse at the window, accepting another small cup.

“But if that’s the delusion you choose to cling to in order to get through your days, I won’t stop you.”

“I thought the point of an asylum was to dispel delusions, not encourage them.”

“The point of this place is to rid families and the general public of individuals they no longer want responsibility for.” He turned to face her once more, cup in hand. “For whatever reason.”

“So you admit some of your patients don’t belong here?”

“Is that what I said?”

She bit her lip. He tipped his head, eyes roaming her face.

“Every single patient is in _here_ because they don’t belong out _there_.”

He gestured to the window at her back with his chin. She glanced over her shoulder, gazing upon the rolling green lawn. It was a stunning sight.

And absent any patients.

A beautiful rouse, hiding the grey death within.

“Including you.”

Her spine went rigid as she faced forward, raising a challenging brow even as her chest constricted with the venomous truth of his words.

“You’re stuck inside these walls as well.”

He blinked, leaning away, seemingly thrown off guard.

A beat of silence passed.

And then the corner of his mouth lifted.

“Touche.”

He extended the cup towards her.

“Your medicine, Anne Boleyn.”

She forced her feet to remain fixed beneath her, the urge to run nearly overwhelming her senses as she gazed down.

The cup contained a single, strange pill.

“What is that?”

His jaw ticked, hand briefly tightening, bending the paper.

“Blue mass.”

She shook her head, setting her shoulders and meeting his gaze.

“I’m not taking it.”

He sighed deeply, as though already anticipating the announcement. “And why is that?”

She inhaled sharply through her nose, unconsciously shifting into her lecturer mode. “For one, mercury has never been proven to cure any of the ailments it is prescribed to treat. Furthermore, modern medical studies show that it may in fact-”

“Bloody hell, woman.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I think I prefer Lockhart’s rambling to yours.”

Her eyes narrowed, fists pressed to her sides.

“Why am I being prescribed blue mass?”

“To level out your temper.”

Heat flared within her, plumes of flame lapping across her chest and neck.

“My temper!”

He pinned her with a sardonic expression. She bit her tongue, settling back on her heels, heart racing as she watched him wet his lips, taking half a step closer.

“For Christ’s sake, it’s not a cyanide tablet. Lincoln swore by this stuff. Took a pill every morning.”

She took half a step back. “He also suffered from severe bouts of melancholy and explosive fits of rage.”

His shoulders widened, the small change in posture setting off warning bells in her head, causing her pulse to spike.

“Look, lass, this is what the Doc prescribed, so this is what you’re going to take.”

She swallowed heavily, gazing into the cup once more.

“I’ve never seen a blue mass pill in that color or shape.”

“We use a non-local supplier.”

Blood rushed through her ears, the pill turning luminescent before her eyes, glowing unnaturally in the cup, a bright beacon of death.

“What are the other ingredients?”

His hand tightened once more. “My nerves are wearing very thin, very fast.”

Her vision blurred as tears filled her eyes unbidden, limbs starting to vibrate with the deafening call of fight or flight pounding through her veins.

“What are you really giving me?”

He took a deep breath through his nose, closing the distance between them slowly. It took every bit of strength to remain rooted to the spot, reassured only by the softening of his features, his voice taking on the same patient cadence as when he calmed down Lockhart.

“It will help you get through your treatment.”

Fear gripped her throat, steadily choking her airway.

“What is it? A sedative? A stimulant?”

"You can take it on your own or I can force it down your throat."

She paled, stepping back and bumping the wall.

He sighed, shoulders dropping with some invisible weight. “I assure you, unlike Wilson I have no desire for the latter.”

He gently shook the cup, the rattling of the pill echoing the fluttering of her heart. “Please, take your medicine.”

She blinked, water leaking from the corners of her eyes as she reluctantly held out a trembling hand, nearly losing her grip on the cup as he relinquished it to her.

She brought it to her mouth, maintaining eye contact with him all the while.

But his features became blurred by her tears, and for a split second another man stood before her, another voice filled her head.

 _Don’t you dare, Hermione_.

She closed her eyes in abject misery, tipping her head back and allowing the pill to land on her tongue.

It tasted bitter.

Acidic.

_Don't swallow it._

She swayed on her feet with the force of her heartbeat.

_I have no choice…_

She allowed the tablet to dissolve on her tongue for another few seconds, waiting for his response, straining for his assurance, his advice.

For his comforting presence in her mind.

Yet only empty, endless silence greeted her.

She swallowed.

And felt the moment the poison hit her stomach.

She went rigid, eyes still closed, awaiting some ghastly transformation to take place.

And then cool fingertips gripped her chin.

"Open your mouth."

She squeezed her lids shut tighter, doing as bade.

“Lift your tongue.”

She complied, hands pressed flat against the wall at her back.

She heard him sigh, the hand releasing her.

“Good lass. Now take a seat in the lounge. I’ll come round for you in a few minutes.”

Her eyes opened, tears staining her cheeks. She wiped them dry with the backs of her hands, refusing to break down before him, to let her mind fall victim to the delusion that he could be her knight. That anyone here could save her.

That anyone cared at all about what happened to her.

She proceeded down the hall on stiff legs, hand pressing her middle, terrified of whatever she’d just ingested on an empty stomach.

Her limbs already felt strange, like they were shrinking and expanding at the same time, her gait uneven as she turned the corner and entered the designated common space.

And then she gazed up, taking in the large room and all its inhabitants.

Terror seized her once more.

* * *

Tom crumpled the letter in his hand, teeth gritted and blood boiling.

While Dolohov fell miles short of being a decent human being, he was certainly an astute lawyer, setting a series of safeguards in place to mitigate any attempts on his life by a disgruntled client or jealous competitor.

In the event of his death or disappearance, all of his active case files, accounts and property were to be _immediately_ transferred to his beneficiary pending investigation.

The contract was ironclad.

And already filed with the courts.

No one could sway a judge to overrule it, and fighting the matter would only draw more attention to the challenger.

To Hermione.

_Fuck!_

He drove a fist into the side of the carriage.

“Whoa!” The driver shouted, pulling on the reins. “Everything okay down there?”

Tom forced a deep breath through his nose, pressing a hand to his mouth as he rested his elbow on the window frame, too incensed to speak.

The carriage pulled to a stop along the curb. He suppressed a growl, sitting straight and preparing to argue the matter when he noticed they were in fact already at their destination.

He’d spent more time than he thought reading the messy cursive of his former benefactor’s missive.

The asylum lied just ahead, a great hulking structure atop a green, vibrant hill.

Tom descended the car, ignoring the look of trepidation the driver flashed his way after he paid, spurring the horses on as soon as Tom stepped onto the curb.

The gates remained closed. As he drew near a guard stepped out of the small wood structure alongside the treeline. Tom’s eyes immediately darted to his side, noting that he was also armed.

“Visiting hours aren’t til-”

“Ten. I know.” He stopped at the rod iron barrier, gazing nonchalantly through the bars. “I’m not here to see a patient. I’m here to see the Doctor.”

“Got an appointment?”

His jaw tensed as he turned to face the uniformed man.

“I’m here to make one.”

“You have to speak to the admin about that.”

“Then I’m here to see the admin.”

The guard's beady eyes narrowed.

“What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t. Thomas Riddle.” He raised his chin. “Doctor Thomas Riddle.”

The man arched a rusty colored brow, amusement playing in the creases of his eyes and mouth.

“ _Doctor_ , huh? You wouldn't happen to be the bloke who made a stir last night, would you?”

Tom tilted his head casually. "Depends on what you consider a stir."

“Storming the gates like a man possessed.”

“Funny, your associate didn’t seem at all perturbed when he accepted my money.”

The guard’s amusement quickly faded, shoulders drawing back.

“No way you’ll be able to see the Doctor today.”

“Of course not.” _I’m sure he’s quite busy driving his patients further into madness_. “But I would like to speak with administration all the same.”

The man sighed heavily, shaking his head.

“Be my guest.”

He removed the keys from his belt and unlocked the gate, pulling it apart and allowing Tom to step through.

He didn’t spare the man another glance as he started up the gravel walkway running alongside the road. The path was steep, but his long legs made easy work of the hill. By the time he made it to the large double doors his cheeks were flushed with color, eyes bright with intent.

_Control yourself._

He took a steadying breath before pulling the handle and entering the main lobby.

The room was spacious, sterile and barren, but clean and obviously well maintained.

There were no patients wandering the premise. The only movement he detected was from the woman seated behind a large desk at the far end of the room as she lifted her head, dark gaze pinning him in place.

His eyes quickly scanned her form, assessing her for any signs of weakness, trying to determine his best route of entry as he started forward, boots clicking loudly on the black and white checkerboard tile, echoing off the vaulted ceiling.

She made no movement or sound as he neared, her appearance becoming clearer with every step forward. Her brown hair was streaked with gray, pulled back into a bun so tight it looked as though it was pulling her face back with it. Her eyes were narrowed to slits behind her squared spectacles, daylight glinting off the thick lenses. Her jaw was set as tightly as her hair, a masculine curve to her facial features and shoulders.

Simply put, she looked supremely pissed off.

Tom wouldn’t have any fortitude in seducing her with his charismatic persona. Which was just as well, as that was his least favorite mask to adorn, every forced flirtation acid on his tongue, poisoning him from the inside out.

He much preferred when he could truly be himself.

He so seldom got to show people his true face without having to kill them after.

“Good morning, ma'am.”

She raised a brow as he came to stop on the other side of the desk, her lips pressed thin.

The silence stretched on.

He gritted his teeth.

And then she spoke, voice scathing and deep, exactly as he’d envisioned.

“My _name_ is Ms. Cratchet.”

He breathed deep.

_Of course it is._

Tom wet his lips, placing his hands in his coat pockets to hide the tightening of his fists.

“And what is the name of your physician?”

Her spine somehow became straighter, neck elongating.

“Dr. Angus Bumby.”

His gaze turned assessing at the evident pride in her voice.

Mostly because Tom had no idea who the hell this man was.

Which was alarming in and of itself. Tom knew most people in London, at least by reputation. Especially other physicians.

He quickly racked his memory for any recollection of the name, any hint of familiarity.

But only drew a blank.

“How long has he been employed at Rutledge?”

She visibly bristled in her seat.

“And may I inquire as to the nature of these questions?” She cocked her head like a bird of prey. “Who are you?”

“My name is Doctor Thomas Riddle. I’m the primary physician of a patient who was brought in last night.” He inhaled slowly, determined to keep his tone even and unaffected. “Hermione Granger. I would like to challenge the claims made against her which led to her admission.”

She set her pale hands on the desk, bony fingers intertwining.

“Would you now?”

His gaze narrowed.

_She’s in on it._

Whatever _it_ was…

But there was most certainly an _it_.

She tilted her head once more, the corner of her lips turning up in an awkward parody of a smirk.

“And how long has Ms. Granger been your…” Her eyes roamed him from top to bottom with unnerving precision. “Patient?”

Heat infused his veins, blood pressure rising.

“Five years.”

Her smile grew. “I see. And you have her medical file with you?”

“I do.”

“Hm.” She leaned back in her chair. “Is there a reason her family hasn’t accompanied you today?”

A beat passed as he struggled to keep his muscles relaxed.

“She is a ward of the Commonwealth.”

“Ah yes. Of course.” She removed her hands from the desk in order to fold her arms over her chest, amusement rapidly fading.“It seems we have a problem then, Doctor Riddle.”

He forced another slow breath. “And what is that?”

Her dark eyes gleamed with barely restrained elation behind the lenses.

“Without a legal guardian, it seems Ms. Granger has no place to go outside of the Girls Home she was recently discharged from. Based on the statements of the matron, a judge will not see fit to allow the patient back on public premises until a separate, _unbiased_ assessment can be made of her mental faculties.”

He traced the backs of his teeth with the tip of his tongue, fangs descended to lethal points.

“She has a guardian.”

Her face pinched. “That isn’t you, I presume.”

“What if they make a motion to release her?”

Her fingers drummed along her arm. “It is within their rights to do so at any time they see fit.”

Tom swallowed heavily, chest tight, suddenly conflicted in his desire. While he wanted nothing more than to release Hermione from this prison, if he was unable to do so, perhaps it was better for her to remain trapped, unattainable to the predators lurking outside the gate.

The question was, were there also predators lurking within these walls?

“I want to-” he stopped short, quickly recalibrating at the haughty look in her eyes. “ _May_ I see her?”

She tipped her chin up, staring down her nose even as he continued to tower above her.

“Visiting hours don’t begin until ten.”

“I’ll wait.”

She straightened once more, hands folding primly atop her lap.

“There’s no need, _Doctor_. Unfortunately, Ms. Granger will be unable to see any visitors until next week.”

He blinked, rearing back.

“ _What_?”

“Dr. Bumby feels that outside visitation detracts from the success of treatment. At least at the onset.”

She smiled brightly, teeth straight and gleaming. “We must prevent any distractions from getting in the way of our patient’s recuperation.”

His resolve snapped with an audible crack.

In the next breath he was surging forward, slamming his hands on the counter with such force the entire desk skid across the dizzying tile, causing her to gasp and push back in her seat, eyes wide and face bloodless.

His eyes smoldered with predatory intent. He didn’t hold any facet of his murderous expression back, allowing the full force of his presence to saturate into her bones, rendering her motionless.

“Then I would like to meet with the esteemed Dr. Bumby.”

She swallowed heavily, eyes still parted wide, as though afraid to blink.

“H-he’s b-booked solid today.”

“Of course he is.”

His words were laced with a sinister rumble. She swallowed once more.

"But I can p-probably find a brief window of opportunity tomorrow."

“Give me a time and I’ll be here.”

She finally tore her gaze away, scrambling for a leather-bound journal to her right, flipping it open and rapidly turning papers with clumsy fingers.

She settled on a page at last, eyes rapidly scanning the neat cursive filling the paper.

“His first availability is at three o'clock.”

His jaw tensed.

“I look forward to meeting with him then.”

She nodded quickly, meeting his gaze once more. He held it in silence before pushing away from the desk and straightening his dark coat.

“Good day, Ms. Cratchet.”

She nodded mutely, gripping the journal with white knuckles.

He backed away a few paces before turning around and striding for the door at a leisurely pace, taking in every nuance of the building while his mind ran through a dozen different scenarios at once, putting together a piecemeal plan to occupy his time until tomorrow.

If his brief and unpleasant encounter with the secretary had taught him one thing it was that the facility was obviously hiding _something_.

Why else go out of their way to prevent patients from communicating with the outside world? What treatment, mental or physical, was improved by utter seclusion?

No…

They had another agenda. Needed to bide their time to either load patients so full of drugs they couldn’t determine fict from fact or instill some other means of intimidation to ensure their silence.

And while Tom was basing most of this largely on dark speculation, his general distrust in the world and the people comprising it was born from decades of first-hand experience, giving rise to a set of instincts that rarely failed him.

And right now, every instinct was deeply unsettled.

He opened the door, exiting the sterile, oppressive space and stepping out onto the stone steps leading to the green, perfectly manicured lawn.

A pretty gem meant to be enjoyed by passing pedestrians, not the patients within.

He started down the hill once more, looking forward to his meeting tomorrow. He didn’t know what to expect from the Doctor. But one thing was for absolute certain…

The next time Tom exited the asylum, it would be with Hermione in tow.

And _no one_ would stop him.

But in the meantime, he was going to find out exactly who the hell the esteemed Angus Bumby was.

While making sure her new guardian never crossed paths with the man.

* * *

Hermione shrank back in the chair, gazing about the room with open fear in her eyes.

A few patients paced about the floor in a manic state. Shaking, rocking and shouting.

But _they_ didn’t scare her.

No. It was the quiet ones who instilled terror in her heart.

For the majority of the room’s occupants sat motionless, eyes dim and vacant, complexions waxen, bodies nothing but empty shells without a trace of expression or personality, no signs of life beyond a beating heart and expanding lungs.

She wondered how many were actually sick, truly troubled at the time of their admission. She wondered which ones were once like her, victims of circumstance, wrongly accused, drugged against their will.

She wondered how long it would be before she also became a lifeless shell.

A doll.

She squirmed in her seat.

Maybe this was preferable. Maybe drugs were the only way to make the visions stop.

_Is it better to live with the dead haunting me, or to become a member of the living dead myself?_

The unnerving thought caused her heart to race. She pressed a hand to her chest absently, the familiar pang lancing through its center.

It was then she noticed her vision was starting to shift. Stationary objects began to move. The tiles danced along the floor.

She blinked, rubbing her eyes.

The sudden click of footsteps pulled her concentration to the doorway.

The mustached orderly entered the room, glancing around briefly before his gaze settled on her huddled figure.

“Alright, Granger. You’re up.”

She made no movement, said nothing, but something in her posture must have spoken volumes, because a moment later he was sighing deeply, crossing towards her with a heavy scowl.

“Shite. I told them you only needed half a pill. You weigh as much as a feather.”

She wet her lips.

“What…” Her tongue felt too large for her mouth. “What is happening?”

He shook his head, leaning down and grabbing her arm, pulling her to her feet.

She immediately listed into his side, vertigo seizing her with both hands, tilting the earth on its axis.

“Fucking hell,” he mumbled, raising her arm and draping it over his neck as he slid an arm around her waist. She gasped, wanting to retreat but unable to command her feet.

“You’re alright, luv.” His voice was slower, more patient. “The onset is the hardest part.” He hauled her up the rest of the way as she watched the wallpaper melt. “Here we go.”

They managed to stumble forward a few feet before a new voice halted them.

“McGill!”

She went rigid at his side, stomach-turning violently at the dreaded sound. She felt him sigh deeply and heard it a moment later, senses unaligned.

“What?” He snapped, glancing sharply over his shoulder.

“Where you taking her?”

She cringed, averting her face as the voice drew near, footsteps echoing behind them.

“To her first treatment session.”

A dark shadow passed along the wall, gargoyle wings at its back. A moment later it dashed across the floor, merging with the hulking figure now standing at her other side, his close proximity causing her skin to twitch and crawl.

“I’ll escort her.”

She swallowed thickly, clinging to the mustached orderly's side, vertigo increasing ten-fold.

“I don’t think so.”

She sagged into him fully, boneless with relief.

Wilson stepped closer yet, tension radiating from his form in powerful waves, making her hair stand on end.

“ _What_?”

“You heard me. You’re on assignment downstairs, you have no business taking her anywhere.”

A brief pause.

“I switched with Dougle.”

“And why did you do that?”

Wilson exhaled, hot breath cascading across her neck. She pushed further into McGill’s side.

“I can’t stomach that fat bitch. Thinks she's the bloody Duchess of Kent, dragging her creepy baby doll around, changing its nappies like a fucking lunatic.”

Another sigh reverberated beneath her cheek. “This _is_ an asylum, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I just needed a break.”

“Is that so?” The arm tightened around her side. “And it had nothing to do with the fact Dougle was originally scheduled to take Granger in?”

Wilson clenched his jaw. “I thought you were going to be working the clinic today.”

“There was a change of plan. Bumby wants me to assist.”

“I can assist him.”

“He didn’t ask for you. And I’m done having this conversation.” McGill’s words became clipped, heated. “We both know why you’re really here.”

He pulled her back, away from the other man even as he leaned forward to address him more closely.

“You’re going to stay clear of this girl, you understand? She’s under Bumby’s care, you lay a hand on her and he’ll chop it off.” His eyes narrowed, voice hissing in a stream of smoke. “And if I catch you violating his orders, I won’t hesitate to report it.”

Wilson’s complexion turned mottled red, chest expanding. “Fuck off.”

McGill nodded. “Precisely.”

And then his arm was tightening around her once more as he hauled her forward. Her feet shuffled clumsily, desperate to keep up, to put as much distance as possible between them and the man seething at their back.

After a few moments she glanced up, vision tunneling in and out.

“Thank you.”

He kept his eyes averted forward.

“Don’t bother. I’m protecting my own hide as much as yours.”

She nodded weakly, dizziness swelling with the effort.

“All the same,” she whispered, glancing down, only to watch the tiles rearrange themselves rapidly before her eyes, making her stomach turn.

They continued across the room without exchanging another word. She glanced upward, hoping the ceiling would inspire less nausea, only to gape in bewilderment at the grey clouds hovering overhead.

She blinked rapidly, tripping over her feet, held aloft only by his supporting arm.

_Am I dreaming?_

Everything felt fuzzy, distant.

_What the hell was in that pill?_

“What…” Her voice faded as he pushed through a set of swinging doors, emerging in a long and narrow hallway.

He continued to drag her towards the large metal barrier at the opposite end.

As ominous as it appeared, her focus was sealed to the ceiling, watching the dark clouds continue to blossom overhead, blinking rapidly as a dense rain started to fall.

She followed its descent, flinching as heavy drops fell upon them, coating her shoulders and hair.

Only it wasn’t rain at all…

It was ash.

Her legs gave out entirely.

“Do…” she wet her lips, tongue swollen. “Do you see it?”

The words made sense in her head but came out a jumbled mess. He made no attempt to respond, reaching the metal door and pulling it open, shuffling their forms over the threshold and into the massive room beyond.

It was an industrial space without dividing walls or ceiling, exposed beams in the roof. The clouds followed their path, quickly forming along the rafters, blocking out the windows and smothering the daylight.

The cement floor was littered with medical equipment. Tables with straps and stirrups, carts brimming with strange tools and sheet covered trays. Most of the items appeared dated, rusted over, like walking through a museum of old world medicine.

She knew she should feel unbridled terror at the sight, but she was dissociated from her emotions, her mind. She felt trapped within a body that wasn’t hers, no longer in control of her limbs or senses.

“You’re late.”

The voice sent a chill along her spine, bones turning to ice. McGill stiffened at her side, stopping in his tracks, arm tensing painfully at her waist.

“My apologies, Sir. Took a bit longer to get her mobile. The medicine hit her hard.”

Clipped footsteps drew near, the Doctor emerging as though springing from the shadows themselves.

She met his gaze.

And reared back, blinking rapidly.

Black ink streamed from his eyes, tracking down his face like tears.

He tipped his head up, inspecting her closely, dark liquid running from his mouth and over his chin, dripping from his sharp jawline onto the crisp white of his shirt.

“Perhaps I should have halved her dose.”

He drew closer, hands in his pockets, posture at ease. She tried to scramble back but her legs were rubber, knees bending backward like a locust.

"Good morning, Ms. Granger. I was hoping to have this conversation before the drugs took effect, but it seems we will have to make do with what we have."

He tilted his head toward the opposite end of the room.

“Take her to table.” He turned on his heel, walking away. “Prepare her.”

She opened her mouth to protest, to scream and rage, but only a broken croak emitted.

McGill proceeded to drag her lifeless corpse across the floor, only to groan in frustration halfway there, leaning down and scooping an arm beneath her legs, carrying her bridal style to the far wall and laying her upon a cold, metal table.

And then he began unbuttoning her dress.

She squirmed beneath his hands, raising her own in an attempt to push him away, missing her target entirely as she grasped at the open air, depth perception gone.

“Calm down,” he instructed, the simple command causing her arms to fall limp at her sides as he continued his task unabated. “I’m just stripping you to your shift.”

She swallowed heavily, staring blankly at the open roof, watching the ash rain beat down upon her, clouding her vision, coating the room in a veil of darkness.

And then she jolted at the sound of scraping metal, the high pitch whine echoing all around her, setting her nerve endings aflame as she cringed away from the deafening wale.

It stopped all at once, steady footsteps quick to follow, and then the sound of rushing water.

She turned her head to glimpse the commotion but couldn’t see past McGill's body as he continued to strip her.

His movements slowed as he pulled the high collar away from her neck. His fingertip grazed the sensitive skin, causing her to flinch. His hand moved away, eyes latching onto hers.

“I don’t remember seeing those last night.”

She blinked.

He gestured to the violet colored welts on her throat.

Memories came flooding back to her in a powerful rush, overtaking her entirely. She was no longer laid out on a cold metal slab…

She was in a cemetary, gazing up at stars-

She closed her lids, forcing the imagery to the far recesses of her mind, tears overspilling her eyes and soaking into her hairline.

“Let me guess,” he continued lowly, resuming his task and pulling her dress from her shoulders. “You rolled around with a married man, his wife found out and had you carted away?”

Her eyes snapped open.

He smirked.

“I’m joking.”

He shrugged lightly, carefully pulling her arms free of the three-quarter sleeves.

“Kind of.”

“McGill.”

He froze in place, hands still holding her limbs aloft.

“Sir?”

“I’ve told you, do not converse with the patients once they’re into the second phase.”

McGill cleared his throat, glancing away from her face.

“My apologies, Sir. I didn’t realize she’d already progressed.”

“She’s clearly incoherent.” The sound of pouring water filled the air once more. “Get her suited.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He finished stripping her in silence, chilled air greeting her naked arms. She continued to gaze upward, watching lightning split the dark sky.

_Not lightning..._

_Flame._

Fire lashed through the clouds like an orange whip.

McGill sighed, setting her dress aside before leaning down and grabbing something off the shelf beneath the table. A moment later he was pulling a stiff garment over her head.

A dark vest.

He tightened the straps at the front.

“She’s ready, Sir.”

“Good.” A beat. “Bring me the thermometer.”

Her heart skipped as she turned her head once more, this time glimpsing the Doctor’s blurred form as he moved back and forth with something in his hand. And then McGill was at his side, handing over a long glass thermometer. She braced herself, blinking in confusion as the Doctor turned his back on her and proceeded in the opposite direction.

He stopped before a large metal tub bolted to the cement at the center of the room, kneeling down and placing the thermometer within. He tilted his head, studying the reading.

“Bring it up another ten degrees.” He stood, wiping his glistening hands on his pant leg. “And double check the ph level.”

“Yes, Sir.”

She held her breath as the Doctor started a path towards her, grabbing something off a nearby table along his way. She tried to scoot back on instinct, limbs weak, unbalanced, her shoulders quickly colliding with the stone wall.

He lorded above her, eyes gleaming pits of tar in his pale, chiseled face, black bile oozing from every orifice like blood, dripping down upon her, acidic and grotesque.

“There is no need to be frightened, Hermione. I am merely going to check your blood pressure before we begin.”

The hands that reached for her were tipped with gleaming talons, the fingertips stained black as though dipped in ink. She watched in abject horror as he fastened the cuff around her naked bicep, recalling the moment when Tom performed the same procedure upon her.

_Not Tom._

_He was Doctor Riddle then._

How long ago that felt. Another lifetime. Another girl.

Were Tom and Doctor Riddle really the same man?

She sensed movement in the corner, breaking her free of the musing. She glanced to the side and spotted the dark outline of a familiar nightmare. She quickly looked away, not sure which ghostly vision disturbed her more, and whether these haunting apparitions were born from her mind, the drug, or some combination of the two.

“I can see you’re experiencing hallucinations.”

Her gaze flickered back to the Doctor.

He began pumping the cuff tighter, her circulation waning.

“That is to be expected. I assure you, whatever you are seeing is merely a figment of your imagination.” He tilted his head, reading the dial through eyeless, gleaming sockets. “And also the point of today’s exercise.”

She inhaled sharply as the cuff finally loosened.

He nodded to himself, removing it entirely.

“Very good.”

He set the tool aside, focusing upon her once more. Flames tore through the tempest overhead, illuminating the clouds while ash and embers continued to rain down upon them.

“Are you familiar with sensory deprivation chambers, my dear?”

She swallowed heavily, only to discover her throat was sealed.

"You are going to be inside of one today. However, you will still be able to hear my voice. I am going to lead you through a guided journey into the depths of your own psyche."

Tears welled within her eyes once more, further obscuring her vision.

“Rest assured, the experience is completely painless.”

He visage was now completely drenched in a glistening mask of congealed ink.

“And profoundly enlightening. The goal of this session is to gain a deeper insight into the inner workings of your mind, searching for the root of these troublesome visions plaguing you.”

He rested his hands along the edge of the table, claws scraping along the metal surface.

“Once we find the cause, we can remedy your affliction at its source.”

His smile revealed a row of gleaming, pointed teeth.

“I have performed this treatment countless times, and though no two sessions are identical, it never fails to unlock the subconscious mind.”

He gazed down upon her for another handful of fleeting heartbeats. She wondered if such madness was fatal.

“McGill,” he spoke at last.

There was a brief shuffling to their side.

“The water is ready, Sir.”

“Excellent.” He stepped away at last. “Put her in.”

As the orderly reappeared and slid his arms beneath her she grasped at smoke tendrils in the air, watching the dark clouds dissipate through her fingers.

She blinked and they were suddenly transported across the room, standing before the large metal tank set into the floor.

She blinked again and McGill was leaning forward, dipping her bare feet into the water up to her ankles.

She gasped desperately, clinging tightly to his shoulders.

“It’s alright,” he whispered in her ear, submerging her calves and knees, the bottom of her shift soaked through. “The vest will keep you at the surface. And we’ll be right outside the entire-”

“What did I say about talking to her?”

He swallowed thickly, muscles tensing beneath her clinging hands.

And then his arms were releasing her entirely.

She screamed.

Or tried to, limbs thrashing wildly in the warm, salty water, unable to find purchase, unable to tread properly.

_I’m going to drown._

_And they’re going to watch._

“Hermione.” The Doctor walked to the edge of the tank, voice calm and steady. “Be still.”

His words had a powerful and immediate effect, something cold racing along her spine, infusing her limbs with lead, the weight too heavy to overcome.

He tilted his head, the black pools centered in his sockets gleaming brightly beneath the flames exploding overhead.

“Good girl.”

Her stomach clenched painfully as she continued to bob in the water, the vest doing as promised and keeping her at the surface.

His smile was death. His words the last voice she’d ever hear in this life.

“Let’s begin.”

She opened and closed her mouth, unable to speak, unable to process the look McGill flashed her before stealing his expression and reaching down to grasp a large metal handle protruding from the edge of the tank.

Screeching metal filled her head once more as a solar eclipse began overhead.

No…

It was a lid.

The tank had a cover.

They were locking her inside.

Her tears dropped into the pool, mixing and dispersing until she was swimming in a vat of her own misery.

The darkness began to close in rapidly, taking the clouds and ash along with the light.

Her eyes clung to every visible item in turn, but she couldn't bear to gaze upon the Doctor, couldn't allow him to be the final thing she saw of this world.

So her focus moved to the figure hovering beyond his shoulder, still housed within the shadow-strewn corner.

Dolohov’s eyeless sockets held her steady as the black abyss pulled her into its waiting depths.

* * *

Ginny bit her lip, moving to the corner of the market to covertly count the remaining shillings in her coin purse.

Only to groan.

 _Shite_.

She'd spent too much on grain, which meant she was going to have to get half the produce her mother requested.

And would be hearing about it for the rest of the evening.

She snapped the purse shut and tucked it back into her pocket, spinning on her heel to resume her shopping, only to gasp and stagger back, nearly colliding with a fruit stand.

The woman standing before her smiled coyly, dark brown eyes slowly scanning her form from bottom to top, making her skin prickle as though caressed by a physical touch.

“Ginevra Weasley.”

Ginny blinked quickly, flushing brightly and stepping away from the stand, cringing as apples rolled to the ground at her feet.

“Lady Parkinson.”

She dipped into a clumsy curtsy, nearly losing her grip on her basket.

The woman’s smile deepened.

“That’s my mother’s title. And half the time she’s too sloshed to answer to it. I insist you call me Pansy.”

Ginny blinked again, rising to her full height.

“Pansy,” she repeated, voice low and unsure, wetting her lips and willing her nerves to settle.

She was beginning to feel more foolish by the second, especially in the wake of the other woman’s immaculate presence. Pansy wore a silk gown of vibrant magenta, complimenting her milky skin and ebony hair beautifully, though it was certainly an extravagant ensemble for the neighborhood market.

She also carried a wicker basket filled with fresh, colorful blooms of all variety, making her into an unmistakable beacon of vibrancy that drew the eye of everyone who passed.

But what had Ginny’s stomach twisting in the tightest knot was the piercing look Pansy directed upon her, unwavering in its focus. Ginny scrambled to think of something to say as the silence pressed upon her like a physical weight.

“What brings you out this way, La-” she stopped short, fidgeting with her basket. “Pansy?”

The brunette tipped her head, eyes roaming her face with unnerving precision even as she lifted her own basket higher.

“I enjoy purchasing the floral arrangements for my home myself. I have a certain eye for color I don’t entrust with anyone else.”

Ginny nodded, gaze drifting to the sweetheart neckline of the vibrant gown, her blush spreading like fire to a field.

“You certainly have an eye for fashion.”

“Compliments will get you everywhere, luv.”

Ginny pulled her focus back up, meeting her dark eyes and feeling strangely light-headed. She tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear and held her breath as Pansy stepped closer.

“And what brings _you_ to the market?”

Ginny blinked.

Market?

Oh, that’s right. They were still in the public square.

She cleared her throat, glancing into her basket at the household staples she’d already procured.

"Oh, I do the weekly shopping. Usually, my brothers would come along but now that they've moved out it’s…” She bit her lip, shaking her head. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“Don’t apologize. I assure you, I have no trouble exiting conversations I no longer wish to be a part of.”

Ginny gnawed on her bottom lip some more, heart stuttering as the other woman’s gaze flickered down and tracked the movement. She licked her lips on instinct, rocking back on her heels as Pansy’s pupils expanded rapidly.

“I doubt I’m all that interesting company, not compared to what you’re used to.”

“As I said,” Pansy arched a dark, manicured brow, eyes flickering upward. “If I didn’t want to be standing here, I wouldn’t be.”

Her smirk deepened, lips stained the same magnificent shade as her dress.

“Have you eaten lunch?”

Ginny blinked, thoughts scattering at the unexpected question.

“Lunch?”

Her blush bled down her neck.

“Um… no.”

“Neither have I. Come grab a bite with me, my treat. We can gossip about our friends, it’ll be endless fun.”

Ginny smiled lightly, shifting from foot to foot as she grasped her basket with both hands.

“I don’t really… I mean, I wouldn’t know any of the same people as you.”

Pansy tilted her head, eyes carefully roaming her figure, making Ginny hyper-aware of the utter plainness of her ill-fitting garment.

“You’re starting your Season this fall?”

The question was simple enough, but it sent Ginny reeling down a dark pit of panic. She shifted anxiously, throat closing up.

“I don’t- we haven’t-” She swallowed heavily. “I’m not sure yet.”

A knowing glint sparked in the depths of her companion’s gaze. “In other words, you aren’t sure whether your parents will force you to participate against your will?”

Ginny’s rising dread instantly quelled. She laughed nervously.

“Pretty much.”

“It seems we have far more in common than you think.” Her smile sharpened with an edge of intent. “Come to lunch with me, Ginevra. I’ll teach you everything you need to know about proper London society. And most importantly, everything about the improper side. You won’t just be ready to face your Season, you’ll be ready to conquer it.”

She winked.

“On the off chance you’re forced to walk the plank.”

Ginny had unconsciously leaned forward with every word, the cadence of the sultry voice containing some tangible magnetism that drew upon her very core.

But alas, her mother’s voice rang even louder in her head.

She sighed, settling back on her heels.

“I’m supposed to be home-”

“Would you rather go home or have lunch with me?”

The inquiry took her off guard, which seemed to be a pattern of late. She enjoyed the unexpected twists and turns of their conversation, even as it unsettled her.

“I… I would rather have lunch, obviously, but-”

“Then you should.”

Pansy took another step forward, the full plume of her skirts pressing into Ginny’s front, making her knees quake.

"As women, we so seldom are afforded the luxury of doing _what_ we want _when_ we want to do it.”

Her tongue darted out and traced her bottom lip, holding Ginny’s blue eyes captive.

“So the question isn’t truly one of lunch. It’s one of principle. One of identity. Are you going to play the doting daughter who never strays from the marked path, or are you going to venture outside the lines and claim a bit of adventure for yourself?”

Ginny blinked slowly, eyes still fixed upon her bright lips, a great pressure swelling within her chest, threatened to shatter her ribs in its desperate haste to break free.

Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the basket with all her strength, the rest of the bustling market blurring around them, only Pansy’s face in stunning clarity.

“I’m going to lunch.”

Ginny met her eyes just in time to see something wild unfurl within, breathtaking in its raw desire, fading away as quickly as it appeared.

“Splendid.”

Pansy turned on her heel, sliding her arm through Ginny’s, linking their limbs and pressing their hips side by side as she began to lead her down the aisle of stands towards the main road.

“Do you like French? Cuisine, that is. The people are another matter entirely.”

Ginny stumbled, leaning into Pansy’s side for stability. “Oh, I’m not sure. I don’t think I’ve ever had proper French food.”

“It’s decided then. I know the most scenic little bistro not far from here.”

She gazed upon Ginny’s freckled profile, eyes a searing brand drawing her focus like a magnet. Their eye met and Ginny stumbled again, blush scorching across her skin like a fever.

“Everyone must sample a delicacy at least once before they can make up their mind on the matter.”

Ginny nodded, barely hearing the words and too overwhelmed to process them anyway. She had to replay them in her head twice before finding her voice.

“I’m excited to try it.” She glanced down at her unassuming outfit. “But I’m not really dressed for a fancy restaurant.”

Pansy smirked, stopping in her tracks and prompting Ginny to do the same. She swayed on her feet as the brunette unlinked their arms, heart heavy at the notion of their afternoon excursion falling by the wayside because of her plain appearance.

She cursed her hand-me-down wardrobe, her deep seeded shame of being the youngest child of a notoriously destitute Peerage family burning a path of fire through her veins.

She awaited Pansy’s rejection, her acknowledgment of Ginny’s less than proper attire and mannerisms.

Instead, she blinked in confusion as Pansy glanced into her basket of colorful bouquets, delicate fingers thumbing through the blossoms before carefully extracting a white peony, bringing it to Ginny’s face and holding it beside her cheek.

Ginny held her breath, watching in utter intrigue as Pansy studied the bloom with great concentration before giving a short shake of her head, quickly depositing the flower back into the basket.

She continued to rummage through bushels of orange, pink, and violet before her lips curled into a breathtaking smile that had Ginny swaying on her feet once more.

She extracted a vibrant purple morning glory and held it beside Ginny’s face, knuckles brushing along her chin as the satin petals traced her cheekbone.

Her heart stuttered as Pansy broke off the base of the stem and skillfully inserted the bloom into her haphazard braid crown, fingers lingering on the vibrant red strands that had fallen free, twirling them around her fingers before letting the loose curls gently settle along her shoulders and neck.

Pansy gazed upon her handiwork for another long beat before meeting Ginny’s eye, holding her gaze in silence, the air around them alive, sparking, making her nerve endings sizzle.

“Perfect,” she whispered, sweet breath ghosting off Ginny’s lips. “Now your dress won't matter, because no one will be able to take their eyes off your face.”

Ginny swallowed audibly, feeling faint.

And then Pansy stepped back, eyes gleaming more brightly than the blooms in her basket as she linked their arms once again and led the way without another word.

* * *

Tom cut a quick line up the stone steps, wrenching open the large wooden door of the Home.

Only to stop short at the sight of a dozen young women in the entry hall, the feminine buzz of conversation ceasing at once, nervous eyes darting towards him as they scurried back.

He blinked.

Then raised a brow.

“Good afternoon.”

Most averted their gazes, but a brazen few nodded in reply, a couple even mumbling a greeting back.

He tilted his head, glancing from one charge to the next.

“Is something wrong?”

Silence greeted him.

He gritted his molars, impatience setting in, causing a faint ringing in his ears as frustration and exhaustion wore his resolve into a transparent sheet of glass, set to shatter at the slightest provocation.

“I take it you are all in the entrance hall for a reason?” He forced his voice to remain slow and steady, his mask of reassurance haphazardly hung in place, blocking his predatory visage from view. “Is someone hurt?”

An older girl cleared her throat, shifting forward. Her friends clustered at her back, glancing at her anxiously as she bit her lip and met his eye.

“We just…”

Tom forcibly quelled his desire to urge her on faster, waiting out her nervous shuffling.

“We just wondered where the Matron is, Sir.” Her eyes darted to the ground. “She wasn’t at breakfast and Filch-” She twined her fingers tightly together. “Filch seems rather disturbed.”

Tom rubbed his eyes in fatigue.

“That's a massive understatement.”

A chorus of laughter rang out, giggles hidden behind hands, anxiety breaking like ice beneath a pick as the girls shifted along the walls, whispering to each other.

He drew in a deep breath, speaking to the room at large.

“I assure you all, there is nothing to worry about. I will see to your welfare until such a time that the Matron can be found or replaced.”

The whispers grew excited.

Only to break off into a series of sharp gasps as a new sound echoed through the large hall.

Filch rounded the corner like a man possessed, scowl already in place before he even glanced Tom.

But the moment he spotted him, murder erupted in his eyes.

“You!”

Tom sighed, gazing upon the residents.

“Everyone, return to your dorms. Chores are on hold until I say otherwise.”

“You aren’t in charge here!”

The girls looked nervously between the men.

Tom raised a dark brow.

“You’re absolutely right. Perhaps we should allow them to decide who they’d rather obey?”

The residents shared a loaded glance before the girl who addressed him earlier nodded quickly.

“We’ll return to our rooms. Thank you, Doctor.”

She ushered the others through the corridor at their backs.

Tom waited until they disappeared from sight before starting across the room himself, indifferent to the shouting at his back.

“What did you do to her?”

The man’s loud panting and broken gait followed him down the hall as he struggled to keep up.

“I’m surprised it took you this long to notice her absence.”

“Where is she?”

He could barely contain his smirk, continuing to face forward as he strode past the dining hall.

“How should I know?”

“I know you did something to her! I’m going to the Yard!”

Tom glimpsed several girls along the way, scattering to hide from view. He wasn’t used to seeing so many residents wandering the grounds so freely. He imagined they weren’t used to such autonomy either.

“You’re welcome to. Of course, if the Matron is truly missing then they’ll need to open an official investigation.”

He turned the corner, aware of the young ears straining to listen in. “Which may also lead to a multitude of other discoveries.”

Filch paled at his back, missing a step.

“I… I don’t-”

“Of course not.” Tom started down the hallway leading to the clinic. “I doubt anyone would mistake you as intelligent enough to be a proper accomplice.”

He paused outside the door, glancing over his shoulder at last, awarding the man the full splendor of his lethal grin.

“However you are the perfect candidate for accessory after the fact.”

Filch staggered to a stop, swaying on his feet.

“Who are you?”

Tom sighed, pulling open the door.

“Why do people keep asking me that?”

He shook his head, stepping inside, waiting until the man followed him over the threshold to spring his attack.

The moment the door closed at Filch’s back Tom grabbed him by the collar and shoved him into the wall, face placid and voice calm.

“I debated what to do with you, Mr. Filch. I strongly considered killing you outright.”

The man sputtered even as his limbs went lax with terror, making no attempt to escape.

“However, while the Madam is indisposed the Home still needs basic administration. Tasks I have no time or desire to undertake. Given your close relationship to her, I entrust you will be able to maintain the facility in her leave, at least in the short term."

Filch’s gaping mouth continued to hang wide. Tom tilted his head.

“Unless you’d prefer the alternative?”

“No!” He shouted at last, raising his trembling hands in surrender. “I can keep the Home running! I know which accounts to pay!”

Tom's gaze narrowed. “Very good.”

He released him, stepping away from the wall as he started for his desk.

“Now I’m sure I don’t need to warn you what will happen if you try and notify the Lestranges of our arrangement. I will find out, and I will torture you to within an inch of your life. And if you think they have the ability or desire to protect you from such a fate, you are sorely mistaken.”

Filch shook his head frantically, pulling at his collar. “I won’t say nothin to em!”

“Wonderful.” Tom began to shrug free of his dark coat. “And now for the second condition.”

He threw the garment over the back of the leather chair. “You are to have absolutely no interaction with any of the residents.” His eyes flashed as he met the man’s wide gaze. “Of any kind.” He began to roll up his sleeves. “Under any circumstance.”

A heavy beat of silence filled the air.

“Understand?”

Filch nodded, sinking into the wall.

“Perfect.” Tom smiled brightly, unfastening the top button of his shirt. “Then I foresee an amicable working relationship, Mr. Filch.”

He pulled the chair away from the desk.

“I look forward to not having to kill you. I already have a very busy afternoon ahead of me.”

He folded gracefully into the seat, smile dissipating in a dark puff of smoke, the final mask falling away at last.

“Now get out.”

Filch wasted no time sprinting for the door, nearly losing his footing across the stone tile before wrenching it open.

“And don’t disturb me.”

He went rigid, meeting Tom’s eyes once more.

“Yes, Sir.”

And then he was throwing himself into the hall, the door closing with a deafening click at his back, settling Tom’s wrought nerves.

He took a deep, cleansing breath.

Solitude.

At last.

His eyes briefly closed as weariness saturated his limbs.

But he forced his lids open a moment later.

There would be time for sleep another time.

He had work to do.

Starting with uncovering everything he could about the mysterious Angus Bumby before tomorrow’s meeting.

He pulled open a drawer and extracted a sheet of clean parchment, setting it atop the center of the gleaming wood as he slid the inkwell closer.

As he reached for a pen a heavy knock sounded at the door.

_Fucking hell._

He pinched the bridge of his nose, the knock resounding a second time, louder and more frantic.

He knew Filch would cut off his own hand before risking Tom’s ire, especially following his final warning.

Which meant it was a resident.

_It’s like herding cats._

He pushed away from the desk with a heavy groan, reminding himself that the majority were only children and still in need of medical care.

That _was_ his job after all.

At least technically.

He took several steadying breaths on the way to the entrance, desperately trying to slip one of his masks back into place. It didn’t matter which one at this point. Anything to hide the lethal intent in his eyes, the scathing cadence of his voice as his patience finally gave way entirely, the third round of eager banging ringing through his head like a war drum.

He pulled open the barrier, biting his tongue to prevent snapping at whatever innocent young girl awaited him on the other side.

Only for his hand to clutch the brass knob until his knuckles turned white, spine arching back with the force of his shock.

For it wasn’t a resident staring back at him at all.

It took his exhausted mind several seconds to process the scene before him, to accept the reality that this wasn't some stress-induced hallucination.

The man on the other side of the threshold stared at him in silence, silver eyes gleaming brightly.

At long last, Tom recuperated his voice, lip throbbing with the phantom sensation of a fist colliding against it.

“Malfoy…”

And then his eyes drifted to the second figure in the hallway, hovering close at the man’s back.

Tom’s arm fell away from the door, pulse racing even as his thoughts slowed, an insurmountable pressure pushing against his chest and expelling the air from his lungs.

The blonde shifted, tension radiating from his rigid form in visible shockwaves.

“I didn't know where else to go.” He swallowed thickly, voice rusted over. “Where to take her.”

Tom’s hands clenched repeatedly as he tore his focus away from the young woman to the young aristocrat, holding his deeply troubled gaze steady as the ground trembled at their feet, jagged cracks splitting across the stone walls, dust clouds swelling in the air as rubble fell all around them.

He wet his lips and took a step back.

“Come in.”

* * *

Ginny bit her lip as Pansy ordered their meals in perfect French, watching with unbridled fascination and awe as she handed their menus to the finely dressed waiter with pristine grace, even her tiniest of gestures steeped in finely tuned etiquette.

From the moment they stepped inside the high-end bistro Ginny felt sorely out of place, not only because of her clothing but her overall mannerisms, or rather, lack thereof.

Her mother had taught her the basics of table etiquette, but with six brothers and no governess in sight, she was fighting an uphill battle.

Especially since her only daughter had never given two shites about social decorum, taking great joy in turning up her nose at such conventions.

Until now.

For Ginny desperately wanted to impress Pansy… and knew she held absolutely no chance of doing so.

She couldn’t even read the menu.

Alas, so far Pansy had made no comment, overt or underhanded, regarding Ginny’s obvious lack of fine dining experience. In fact, she hadn’t said much of anything since they sat down, instead electing to pin Ginny beneath her all-consuming stare, rendering her even more nervous than she already was.

She rubbed absently at her arm, glancing around the richly adorned patrons while desperately scrambling for a topic of conversation that wouldn’t result in her chronic foot-in-mouth disease.

“My brother Bill was stationed in France for a few months last year.”

She wet her lips, running her fingertip over the creamy soft table linen, suspecting it cost more than her finest dress at home, excluding Harry’s gift.

“He became completely taken with a nurse out there and has been courting her ever since. He wants to bring her home for Christmas but I think he’s nervous our family will overwhelm her.” She shook her head ruefully. “We can be a bit overbearing.”

She took a deep breath, wondering why in the hell she felt compelled to share that story, her blush joining them at the table.

And yet Pansy leaned forward, folding her hands beneath her chin as though settling in for the conversation.

“Your family loves each other very much.”

Ginny blinked, meeting the woman’s watchful gaze with surprise.

“Of course.”

Pansy smiled. But this one was different from the others, the edges tinged in sadness.

Ginny leaned back, feeling foolish for discussing such a topic over lunch and grasping for something new.

“I saw your wedding announcement in the paper.” She reached for her teacup, a slight tremor in her hand. “Congratulations.”

Pansy’s smile turned brittle. Ginny brought the cup to her lips, desperate for something to occupy herself, a strange tension seeping into the air.

“Thank you, darling.” The brunette tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “And do you have a beau?”

Ginny choked on the liquid, sputtering tea into her fist as she coughed, eyes tearing.

“Me?” She croaked, shaking her head quickly. “No.”

Her dining companion arched a dark brow. “What about Potter?”

Ginny blinked. “Harry? What about him?”

Pansy smirked, eyes glinting.

“I happen to know for a fact he isn’t the object of Granger’s affection, but the two of you seemed rather close at the Naval party.”

Ginny laughed, chest loosening at the mere notion. “Harry’s like a brother to me. I mean, my mum used to hope we’d end up together, but that was when we were kids.”

“And did _you_ ever hope you’d end up together?”

Ginny’s amusement faded as she squirmed in her seat, glancing at the liquid in her cup.

“Honestly…”

Pansy leaned in further.

“I've never really… liked… anyone…. like _that_.”

The brunette wet her lips slowly, sitting back with a hooded gaze.

“No one?”

Ginny's heart stuttered, face aflame.

“All I’ve ever really wanted is to ride horses.”

Pansy’s low laughter rang all around like church bells. “That dream seems rather attainable.”

Ginny smiled as well, bashfully meeting her eye once more.

“I’d like to live on a ranch. Away from London. Away from Seasons and balls and expectations.” She inhaled deeply, holding the breath in her lungs. “To be truly free.”

Pansy’s eyes narrowed in consideration, the corner of her lips turning up in a wry grin. “That sounds divine.”

Ginny blinked.

“Really?”

Pansy tipped her head back and laughed anew, deep and melodious.

Ginny shifted in her chair, gripping the seat on either side of her thighs. “I just… you don’t seem like the type who would want to live out in the country.”

“True enough. But I was more so reflecting on the concept of freedom.”

“Concept?”

“That’s all it is for us, isn’t it?”

Ginny swallowed lightly, chest tightening. “I suppose so.”

A blanket of somberness wrapped their shoulders, eating away the edges of their banter like acid.

The silence festered for several moments longer.

And then Pansy leaned forward again, holding out her hand.

“Let me see your palm.”

Ginny’s brows creased. “What?”

“Your palm.” She beckoned with her fingers, face expectant.

Ginny bit her lip. “Why?”

“Do you trust me?”

Her heart skipped a beat, the word escaping her lips before she had the opportunity to even process the question.

“Yes.”

And then her arm was lifting of its own accord, her hand settling into Pansy’s warm grasp, a powerful wave of sensation racing through her limb and across her chest, pooling in her lower abdomen and causing her thighs to clench.

She was deeply unnerved by her body’s reaction, even as she basked in its glow.

“My governess taught me this rather interesting skill.”

Pansy raised her other hand and began to trace the lines in Ginny’s palm, only adding to the building pressure at her core.

Ginny cleared her throat, throat tight. “To read fortunes?”

“Hm.”

“I thought Governesses taught about table etiquette and how to cross your legs properly.” She glanced away, color rising. “Not that I’d know. My family couldn't afford one.”

Pansy’s grip tightened for a moment.

“You didn’t miss much. My main Governess was a rigid bint with a penchant for corporal punishment whenever I failed to balance books atop my head. My father thought such extremity was necessary to eradicate the teachings of my very first instructor. A young woman who happened to be of Romanian descent. She obviously hid that fact from my parents, otherwise they’d have never let her in the house.”

She continued to trace the lines of her palm before idly playing with her gently curled fingers.

“But in the brief year she was employed in our household, she taught me many interesting traditions of her culture. Palm reading being my favorite.”

Ginny tipped her head, heart fluttering wildly in its ivory cage. “But your father found out and fired her?”

“He found out and had her deported from England with nothing but the clothes on her back.”

Ginny paled.

“That’s horrid.”

“A concise and astute summation of Lord Parkinson.”

“But you live separate from him?”

Pansy nodded, eyes carefully averted to their hands. “I take up residence in one of the townhomes he owns. He bought it for a mistress. I think he had her killed.”

Ginny opened and closed her mouth, at a loss for words for several moments.

“How can you stand to live there knowing that?”

The brunette sighed, eyes lifting, though their typical gleam was clouded. “Quite easily, darling. The only other option would be to live under my father’s roof.”

Pain lanced through Ginny’s chest. She glanced down at her upturned palm, still safely encased in the other woman’s grasp.

“What does my palm say?”

The melancholy dropped away in a warm rush as Pansy smiled coyly, teeth gleaming.

"Your lifeline is strong, and long." Ginny swallowed thickly as the supposed line was slowly traced with the pad of her thumb. "Your love line…"

A weighted pause.

The blood surged through her ears.

She leaned in, eyes bright.

“Yes?”

Pansy’s smirk unfurled into a sickle grin. "It says a dark-haired, attractive stranger awaits you in the near future."

Ginny blinked, fingers curling in. “Don’t you mean tall, dark and handsome?”

“Do I?”

A heavy beat.

They shared a knowing smile.

“You don’t really see all that on my hand.”

Pany released her at long last, leaning back into her chair. “Perhaps I have the gift of sight.”

Ginny bit her lip, cradling her hand in her lap, bereft of the added warmth and the sensation of fingertips upon her skin.

“What a terrible burden that would be. To see everyone’s future, the good and the bad.”

Pansy shrugged lightly. “Not everyone can have it all. I’d learn to live with seeing the good as well.”

Ginny blinked, holding her stoic gaze for another three seconds.

And then burst into unrestrained laughter, unable to quell the volume, overtaken by a powerful fit of giggles.

Nearby patrons turned their heads, brows raised and whispers exchanged.

Ginny placed a hand to her mouth, trying to settle down, shoulders still shaking with mirth even as her echoing prattle trailed off.

“Sorry,” she gasped, catching her breath and wiping at the corners of her eyes. “I’m causing a scene.”

Pansy’s eyes gleamed like a cat in the dark, watching her outburst with supreme delight and unwavering focus.

“As you should. But if you’d like to avoid drawing attention we can venture to a more private location.”

Ginny fell still and silent at once.

“Where?”

“Perhaps you’d like to determine for yourself whether my father’s unfaithful ex is truly haunting the hallways.”

“You…” Her mouth went barren as a desert, heart fluttering manically. “You want me to go to your house?”

A slow, seductive smile pulled at her lips.

“That is what I’m offering.”

“I…” Ginny wiped her sweaty palms on her skirts, body pulsating. “I…”

Pansy leaned in, eyes bright and dangerous and inescapable. Ginny felt as though she'd tip out of her chair at any moment. She grasped her knees, bracing herself for something unknown but surely profound.

“I’d like that.”

The brunette’s expression was supremely pleased and supremely breathtaking, causing Ginny blood to sizzle and pop in her veins as a full body flush seized her.

And then Pansy licked her lips, sitting back once more.

“I’ll get the food to go.”

* * *

Harry paced the streets of South Kensington for half an hour before working up the nerve to approach his destination.

A massive construction site taking up an entire city block.

Yet once he neared the perimeter he hid behind the protective fence, gazing through the slats until his target came into view.

His chest ached something terrible.

_What am I doing?_

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, wayward strands standing on end.

He shook his head.

_Leave, idiot. Before you’re seen._

He turned on his heel, striding for the cement stairs leading back to the sidewalk.

“Potter?”

He cringed, back going ramrod straight as he froze in place, hands clenched at his sides.

 _Fuck_.

He set his jaw, slowly turning in place, forcing his eyes upward to meet the bright sapphire gaze that haunted his every waking moment of late.

“Nott.”

Theo blinked, glancing around quickly, muscles tensed. “What are you doing here?”

Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets, clearing his throat.

“I was in the area, thought I might swing by and take a closer look at the site.”

Theo arched a dark brow, eyes slowly roaming his face and posture, making his entire body pulse.

“Right.”

Harry opened and closed his mouth, eyes drifting past the man’s shoulder at the chaos beyond, desperate for distraction.

“They finally broke ground.” He gestured with his chin, fighting the urge to fidget. “It’s going to be big.”

Theo followed his gaze. “It needs to be big if it’s to contain whale, elephant and dinosaur specimens.”

Harry blinked.

“Wow. I’ve only ever seen a dinosaur claw.” He pasted on a congenial smile, face straining beneath its weight. “I'll need to buy a ticket for opening night.”

Theo faced forward once more, the sunlight gleaming off his dark hair and highlighting the contours of his face in such a way that left Harry’s mouth dry.

“That’s still several years away. And if Waterhouse gets his way then you won't have to buy a ticket at all. It’ll be free to everyone.”

Harry raised a brow. “The museum will be free to tour?”

Theo nodded. “Indeed.”

“How will it make money?”

“Donations.”

“Bloody hell.” His smile turned genuine, shoulders dropping. “I like that idea. Allowing anyone through its doors, regardless of rank and station.”

Theo smirked, eyes roaming him anew, a familiar heat sparking in their depths. Harry flushed, shifting on his feet as the pressure mounted within.

“So you’re a member of the board?”

"My father is." He held Harry's gaze steady. "For appearance's sake, anyway. But he couldn't care less about a Natural History Museum and delegated the majority of tasks to me."

“What does that include?”

"Everything and the kitchen sink at this point. I came by today to oversee a shipment of terracotta. The building will have a Romanesque design. However, the blueprint follows a very specific vision and the color of the stone is all wrong. I now look forward to what is sure to be a splendid row with the supplier."

Harry nodded, hands flexing inside his pockets, knuckles turning white.

Theo tipped his head, eyes narrowing.

“There. We’ve made the necessary pleasantries. Why don’t you tell me what you’re really doing here?”

Harry’s spine stretched, heel grinding the cement.

“I already-”

“Yes, yes. You happened to be _in the area_ , running into me was complete happenstance.” His eyes began to glow from within, relentless in their intensity. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just tell me the truth? I honestly have no time to dance around the subject.”

Harry sighed deeply, tension twisting his stomach.

“Nevermind.” He shook his head, starting to turn away. “I’ll see you around.”

He made it half a step before a hand was gripping his bicep, holding him immobile.

“Fucking hell,” Theo grumbled lowly, glancing around once more. “Such a bloody nuisance.”

Harry’s head turned sharply. “ _Me_?”

Theo rolled his eyes. “Your delicate ego.”

Harry grit his teeth, wrenching his arm free, only for Theo to close the distance and grab him by the shoulder, pulling him in and causing his heart to thump erratically, senses overwhelmed by the heat and heady scent of his close proximity.

Theo's own pupils expanded, face tense, the lines of his body stretched tautly.

“Not here, Potter.”

He tipped his head towards an empty section of the site, hidden behind heavy industrial tarps strung across steel beams in the air.

“Over there.”

Harry swallowed thickly as his sometimes-lover released him, taking a wide step back and straightening his pristine bespoke jacket, drawing Harry’s emerald gaze to his wide chest and narrow waist.

He spared Harry one more glance before starting for the makeshift curtains.

Harry hesitated, hands clenching the open air.

A moment later Theo stopped, looking over his shoulder and rolling his eyes anew.

“You’ve come this far to _not_ tell me something. What're another thirty feet?"

Harry dragged a hand over his face.

_Such a bad idea._

And yet his feet proceeded forward, following of their own accord.

Theo led him through the narrow textile maze, each turn taking them further from the heart of construction, the voices of the crew fading away with the sounds of breaking rocks and groaning steel carts.

Harry kept his eyes averted to the uneven ground, mindful of his step, focusing on anything but the long spine and broad shoulders directly ahead.

He was full-up on heartbreak at the moment and needed to stay sharp for Hermione’s sake.

He couldn’t afford any more distractions.

_And yet of all the places in the city, you came here._

He shook his head, rubbing tiredly at his eyes.

After a few more seconds of wandering, Theo stopped within a darkened corner lined by free-standing support beams. The heavy curtains on either side shielded them from outside eyes and gusting wind.

Theo spun to face him, crossing his arms.

“Alright, what the hell is-”

“I saw the announcement in the paper.”

Theo blinked, arms dropping lifelessly.

Harry’s jaw snapped shut, shocked by his own unplanned outburst.

The silence festered.

Both men shifted, glancing away, until at last Theo cleared his throat, studying the rubble beneath their feet.

“I meant to tell you… the night I came by Grimmauld… after the party.” He shifted awkwardly, carding his fingers through his dark locks. “But then I got distracted and-”

“Distracted.”

His sapphire gaze narrowed, darting up and fixing onto Harry.

“Is that why you came here?”

Harry leaned back.

“No.”

Theo arched a brow, the muscle in his jaw ticking. Harry rubbed the back of his heated neck.

“Maybe.”

He slid his hand around to his face, dragging it over his mouth as he struggled to find the words.

“I’m honestly not sure what the fuck I’m doing here.”

Theo continued to watch him closely, posture slowly easing.

“I should have told you. I’m sorry if it took you off guard.”

Harry shook his head. “You already told me you’re marrying her.” He swallowed heavily. “But seeing the words printed across the page just made it… real.”

Theo inhaled deeply through his nose. “Tell me about it.”

The stricken edge to his voice prompted Harry to take an unconscious step closer, every instinct screaming to comfort and protect.

He reared back, remembering himself at the last moment.

_He isn’t yours._

_Not anymore._

His heart seized.

_And never was._

Theo’s eyes flashed with something akin to disappointment when Harry stepped away, arms tight as his sides.

“Are you…” Harry wet his lips. “Okay?”

Theo drew back, jaw silently working for several beats before he spoke. “I’m _not_ having this conversation in the middle of a construction site, Potter.”

Harry nodded, the pain in his chest spreading down, poisoning his stomach.

“Fair enough.”

The silence stretched, wind echoing against the fabric walls, pushing them forward, caging them in.

Theo tilted his head, eyes darting down to Harry’s mouth before latching onto his vivid green gaze.

“There’s something else.”

Harry swallowed thickly.

“Don’t bother denying it. I can read you like a book.”

Harry’s shoulders tensed as he averted his face, trying to summon the strength to pull himself away.

“I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t involve you in this.”

“In what?”

He shook his head, forcing a wide step back.

“I have to go-”

“Harry.”

He froze in place, entire body seizing.

Theo stepped forward and braced his shoulder once more, but this time with both hands, his palms scorching his flesh through the fabric of his clothing like a searing brand.

“Look at me,” he whispered sharply.

Harry was rendered helpless beneath his magnetic thrall, eyes lifting as he leaned into the touch.

Theo held him steady, kept him rooted, waited out the uncertainty until Harry, at last, found his voice buried beneath the wreckage of his heart and mind.

“It’s Hermione.”

Theo’s hands gripped tighter.

“What about her?”

Harry drew in a slow, deep breath, forcing the words free.

"She's been committed to an insane asylum."

Theo’s touch fell away as he lurched backward.

“ _What_?”

“It’s a long story-”

“Obviously.” He crossed his arms tightly, expression sharp, eyes bright and alert. “Does Draco know?”

Harry dragged a hand through his hair, pushing the mess back. “Yes. He’s working with us to get her released.”

“Who? You and Black?”

He closed his eyes. “Among… others.”

Theo's lingering silence prompted his lids to open, watching him reel until at last, he composed an eloquent and concise summation of all that had been revealed.

“What a cluster fuck.”

Harry fought back a smirk.

“My thoughts exactly.”

His expression quickly sobered. “I was trying to…” He sighed once more, fatigue hitting him all at once as he rubbed the strained muscles in his nape. “I was searching the paper for any mention of the fire when I came across the announcement-”

“Fire?”

Harry’s brows creased. “Christ, so much has happened.”

“Start from the beginning.”

"Theo." He met his eye, tone resigned. "I want to tell you everything, believe me, I do. But if I drag you into this I'm putting your life in danger and I can't lose anyone else I-"

He choked on the words, heart stuttering as burning heat suffused his skin.

“Care about.”

Theo's eyes flashed dangerously as he stepped forward, the sight mesmerizing, scrambling Harry’s thoughts.

“Is your life in danger?”

Harry opened and closed his mouth, unable to form a coherent lie in the man's all-consuming presence. "That doesn't matter, Mione is like a sister to me, I'd do anything-"

“That isn’t what I asked, Harry.” His voice was stern, unyielding. “Answer me straight. Are you in danger?”

Harry struggled to maintain his diamond point gaze.

“Yes.”

Theo’s chin raised, eyes narrowing. “Then we’re going somewhere to talk. And you’re going to tell me everything.” His shoulders drew back. “ _Everything_.”

“Theo-

“Harry.”

His jaw snapped shut with an audible click.

“I’m a Peer of the Realm. I run the majority of my family’s estate. I have more power than most realize or give me credit for.” He arched a dark brow. “If I know what’s going on, there’s every chance I can help. Especially where Granger is concerned.”

Harry blinked, a powerful current racing along his spine.

“Actually…” The wheels began to spin rapidly in his mind, gears shifting, steam rising. “You might be able to help me with something important.”

Theo nodded succinctly.

“Let’s get out of here.”

He started forward, retracing the steps that led them to this point.

“Theo.”

He stopped short, glancing over his shoulder. Harry inhaled deeply, holding his gaze.

“Thank you.”

He expected Theo to look away, to proceed as though he hadn’t heard.

So when he turned to face Harry fully and took a step in his direction, his pulse spiked manically, body swaying in place with the force of the rapid beat.

Blood surged through his ears as he watched Theo raise a hand to his face, fingertips gently skimming the stubble along his jaw.

Harry swallowed thickly, tilted his head into the touch, searching out the warmth, the assurance.

Theo inhaled sharply, lips parting and eyes clouding over as he cupped Harry’s face in his hand.

Time slowed, the very earth ceasing to spin for the duration of several sweltering beats.

And then the moon passed over the sun, darkness sweeping the land.

Theo’s arm dropped, leaving Harry staggering in place, lost to the barren cold.

They both glanced away.

Theo spoke first, voice strained and gravel-filled.

“Come along.”

* * *

As Pansy led the way into her private townhouse Ginny held her breath, pausing outside the threshold and wondering for the fifth time since leaving the Bistro what the hell she was doing.

_This is madness..._

And then Pansy glanced over her shoulder, setting their boxed lunches onto a side table and smiling brilliantly.

“Do you need a formal invitation like a vampyre?”

Ginny blinked.

“You’ve read Polidori?”

Pansy began removing her lace shawl. “I have an unhealthy interest with the macabre.”

“My brothers would be impressed.” She was hardly aware when she stepped into the entryway, once more lured into the unknown by the woman’s undeniable siren call.

“They used to try and scare me with stories about creatures and beasts. So I started reading the books too, until I could spin a far more terrifying yarn than anything they could hope to devise.”

Pansy’s eyes sparkled as she closed the door at Ginny’s back.

“It sounds like you’ve been keeping men underfoot since you were old enough to walk. You shall conquer your Season without breaking a sweat.”

Ginny blushed, glancing away, which in turn revealed more of the luxurious interior to her eye.

She gasped, rocking back, eyes tracing the ornate scrollwork of the wood molding up to the ceiling where a detailed mural of the evening sky stared down at her, swirling cosmos taking life before her eyes.

“This is… beautiful.”

Pansy kept her eyes firmly affixed to Ginny. “I think so.”

She met her eyes, blush deepening. Pansy smirked, glancing to the mural.

“I had this commissioned when I first took possession of the home. London pollution prevents a decent view of the stars. I missed seeing them.”

Ginny nodded, spinning in a slow circle as she took in the rest of the modern furniture and rich textiles.

“It’s so very you.”

Pansy laughed melodically at her back, following her into the den.

“I suppose it is.”

"I mean that in the best way of course," Ginny added hastily, turning to meet her gaze. "You have such an astounding eye for design. I knew your home would look like something from a fantasy."

Pansy's smile faltered, something wild and heated taking root in her gaze. Ginny swallowed, glancing away, fingers twining anxiously.

“I would give anything to live alone.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, fingertips grazing the morning glory still tucked into the braid. “I mean, I love my family, but they’re always so involved in-”

She gasped as Pansy closed the distance between them and descended upon her, one arm looping skillfully around her waist and drawing her flush into her body, the other sliding her behind her nape, holding her head steady as her mouth took possession of Ginny’s very soul.

Her lips felt like plush velvet, her tongue strong and sure as it slipped between Ginny's shock parted lips, tracing the back of her teeth before quickly withdrawing, the sudden and fleeting sensation turning her limbs into melted wax. She listed into Pansy, heart racing so quickly she was certain it would explode from her body in a moment's time.

Pansy pulled her face away, nose grazing her cheek, staring into Ginny's wide blue eyes. Their mouths were still aligned, sharing heated breath, and all sense of time and space ceased to exist. Ginny's only reality became the hands upon her, the mouth before her, the eyes boring into her. She was born at this moment and would surely die as soon as it ended.

And then Pansy’s dark brows creased, her arms loosening as she made to pull away.

Ginny sprang into action, driven by pure instinct, her overwrought mind having no room left for rational thought.

She grabbed Pansy in the same way she had been accosted, learning by imitation, and pulled the woman flush to her once more, leaning in and pressing a closed mouth, tentative kiss to her lips. Pansy stiffened in her hold, unresponsive to the gesture, and Ginny felt a searing wave of shame and embarrassment wash over her.

She swallowed heavily, beginning to tremble in shock and fear and confusion-

Only for Pansy’s arms to tighten around her as she drove her backward, her spine colliding hard with the wall, earning a shocked gasp from her throat. Pansy claimed her mouth in the same breath, this kiss nothing like the first.

This one was raw and visceral, nails scraping along the back of her bodice, hips pressing her flat, tongue sweeping into her mouth and searching out the sweet, hidden caverns within, leaving her breathless and weightless and scorching as hot oil infused her veins.

Ginny had never kissed anyone before, but she was a quick study in most things, and soon began to mimic Pansy's movement, grasping at the fine silk of her dress, pulling her more fully into her body until her lungs were all but crushed between her heaving bosom and the unyielding wall. And then she slipped her own tongue past Pansy's lips and earned a low, deep-throated moan for her efforts, the sound sending a shockwave of pleasure through her body.

Pansy's hands slid up, across her shoulder blades, over her collarbone and to her neck, her fingers gently encircling the long pale column of her throat as the other grabbed a handful of her fiery hair, tugging just enough to elicit a sharp sting of pain that unleashed molten heat at her core, tugging Ginny's head back as her lips began a searing trail down her chin and across her jaw, teeth delicately scraping the sensitive flesh, causing to her grind her hips into Pansy mindlessly as her broken mewls filled the air.

Pansy’s own breath was stuttered, heaving, thumb pressing into Ginny’s throbbing pulse, her movements becoming more hurried, frantic-

And then just as suddenly as the madness unleashed, it stopped.

Pansy jerked back, gasping for breath, cleavage straining her dress with every deep breath. Her face and neck were flush, fallen strands of hair cutting dark rivers across the pale flesh, lips swollen, eyes glassy and wild.

Ginny had never seen her so undone.

She reached forward on instinct, needing more of her-

Pansy shook her head, pressing a hand to Ginny’s chest and pushing her flat to the wall, the other gently cupping her face.

“We can’t.”

Ginny blinked rapidly, mind reeling, still trying to catch her breath and regain feeling in her legs.

“But, I thought…” she licked her own sensitive, swollen lips. “Don’t you want me?”

Pansy swallowed heavily, pupils blown wide.

“Yes. I do.”

She ran the pad of her thumb over Ginny’s mouth, gently dragging her bottom lip down until her hand slid down to her neck once more.

“But I can’t have you. Not really. And I won’t compromise you to slake my own selfish lust.” Her hand fell away, making Ginny’s stomach twist painfully. “You have a full life ahead of you. One that doesn’t involve me.”

Ginny opened and closed her mouth, at a loss of what to say when her body was still yearning so powerfully.

But the words had already been sitting heavily upon her heart, fleeing from her lips in a desperate plea.

“What if I never want a man the same way I want you?”

Pansy’s brows creased once more, the hand still pressing against Ginny’s heart clenching. “Then you will have to live with the burden as the rest of us do.”

"There are others?"

Pansy smiled. It was her saddest one yet.

“Unfortunately there are quite a few.”

“Why is it unfortunate?”

"Because we are all cursed." She swallowed heavily. "But don't fret, darling, you may not have the affliction. Not fully. Just because you desire me doesn't mean you won't someday want a man."

She removed her touch at last, stepping back and leaving Ginny to support her own weight on her weakened knees. Her expression looked pained, eyes gleaming with a dark flame that left Ginny breathless and aching.

“Don’t ever settle for anything in this life, Ginevra. You deserve everything your heart desires, and any man who isn’t willing to rake himself over hot coals to lay the world at your feet isn’t worthy of your time.”

Ginny’s eyes began to burn as she took a half step forward. “But I want-”

“Shh.” Pansy reached out once more, pressing a finger gently to her lips, arm trembling. “You’re young, yet, my love. You haven’t seen anything of the world beyond the local market.”

She cupped her cheek. Ginny leaned into her palm, closing her eyes. “Your heart is still malleable, don’t harden it for the simple sake of being stubborn.”

Tears began to overspill her closed lids unbidden. She blushed hotly with embarrassment, feeling ever the inexperienced child. Pansy swept the backs of her fingers across her cheeks and along her jawline.

“Come now, dry your eyes. You’re far too beautiful to be so sad.”

Ginny licked her lips, opening her eyes. “That’s a terrible saying.”

Pansy laughed. "I know. It's what my mother used to say to me when I was a little girl. Until the day I stopped crying altogether."

They held each other's gaze in acute misery for several beats.

And then Ginny pulled her face away from her hand, drying her eyes on her own sleeve.

“You’re marrying Theo.”

The brunette nodded, arm falling to her side.

“Is he…” Ginny swallowed thickly. “Like us?”

Pansy took a deep breath.

“You mustn't say anything.”

“I would never.”

The corner of her lips lifted, eyes soft and dark like midnight smoke on the water. “I trust you.”

Ginny rubbed absently at her chest, the magnetic pull still in full force, making it feel as though she would split in half.

“My heart hurts for you.”

Pansy shook her head, expression sobering. “I don’t want you to think of me and be sad. I want you to think of me and remember this moment. Remember how it made you feel.”

Ginny nodded, tears spilling anew.

“I feel free.”

She inhaled sharply.

“For the first time in my life. I feel free.”

Pansy swallowed heavily, gripping her skirts with both hands until her knuckles turned white.

“So do I.”

And then she took a slow step forward, reaching for Ginny's tear-soaked hand, the same one she held in the restaurant, and brought it to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to the center of her palm.

Ginny choked on her breath, desperately fighting the urge to sob outright, trembling with the force of her pent emotions.

Pansy’s thumb swept over the delicate skin of her inner wrist before releasing her at last.

She took a step back, inhaling deeply before meeting her eye, expression remarkably composed.

“Let’s get you back home.”

Ginny nodded mutely, not trusting her own voice.

She followed Pansy to the entryway, each step a painful lance through her heart.

And then the door was opening, Pansy leaning into the wood, as though relying on it to support her weight.

Ginny paused at the threshold, one hand bracing the frame as she dared to meet the woman’s eye one last time.

They held each other's gaze for a short eternity.

Ginny wet her lips.

“Thank you, Pansy. For… everything.”

Pansy smiled, expression filled with warmth and sadness and countless other nuances Ginny felt echoing in her own chest.

“Goodbye, Ginevra.”

Ginny took a deep, uneven breath.

“Goodbye.”

She turned away while she still had the strength.

The door closed behind her.

She pressed a hand to her chest, racing for the carriage by the curb, desperate to seal herself away in the interior before losing herself to her misery.

Completely unaware that on the other side of the door Pansy had sunk down to her knees, unleashing her first true tears in over a decade.

* * *

Tom quickly ushered the pair inside, sweeping a glance across the empty corridor at their backs before slamming the door shut, sliding the bolt into place.

He spun on his heel, body tensed as he pinned the boy with the full intensity of his glare.

“Explain.”

The blonde scrubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head.

“I… she…” He sighed, shoulders drawn tight. “I don’t know what they did to her.”

Tom inhaled deeply, slowly, eyes darting to the young woman at Malfoy’s side, her delicate frame swimming in his expensive coat.

“Is she coherent?”

Malfoy nodded.

“She responds to basic prompts.”

Tom stepped closer. Her eyes latched onto his, pupils expanding, but didn’t react any further to his close proximity.

“My name is Doctor Riddle. Who are you?”

She blinked, glancing at Malfoy.

His jaw worked silently for a moment before he responded.

“Your name is Dawn.”

She smiled brightly, teeth gleaming and eyes dull as she looked at Tom once more.

“My name is Dawn.”

He tilted his head, gaze roaming her face with careful precision.

Then he turned to Malfoy.

“Did you choose that?”

He shook his head.

“That’s her real name.” He rubbed his eyes in obvious exhaustion. “At least that’s what she told me when-”

He broke off, averting his face.

“You know this girl?”

“Not exactly.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed. “Withholding information from me will not help her.”

The blonde’s jaw tensed.

“How I know her has nothing to do with what’s happening now.” His fists clenched. “Can you help her or not?”

Tom wet his lips, studying her vacant expression once more.

“I don’t know.” He took a step back. “Dawn.” Her spine straightened. “Remove your coat and sit on the exam table.”

She looked at Malfoy again.

He nodded.

“It’s fine. Obey whatever command the Doctor gives you.” His shoulders tensed. “At least while I’m in the room with you.”

Tom’s spine straightened. Not at the implication of the blonde’s statement but at the obvious acquiesce in her posture.

“She only obeys you?”

“She was gifted to me.”

She started towards the exam table, pace unhurried and body relaxed as she shrugged free of the outer layer, revealing her sleeveless dress beneath.

Tom approached his desk at the other end of the room.

“I assume your aunt and uncle were the benefactors?”

Malfoy’s chin tipped up, fire igniting in his gaze.

“You assume correctly.”

Tom grabbed his medical bag.

“And is it mere coincidence she looks remarkably like Hermione?”

The blonde swallowed heavily, lips pressed tight.

Tom started for the exam table, gazing at the man after a prolonged beat of silence.

Malfoy shook his head, expression utterly stricken, void of any poker face.

“I was trying to find her. I thought if they had her then…” His eyes closed. “It’s my fault.”

Tom set the bag beside the table, glancing over sharply.

“Excuse me?”

His silver eyes opened and narrowed to menacing slits. “It’s my fault she’s like this. I described Granger and they went and found her doppelganger, didn’t they?”

His expression softened as it shifted to Dawn, still seated upon the center of the table with a blank expression, eyes directed forward, staring off into nothing. “They did this to her to fulfill my request.”

Tom arched a brow, withdrawing his stethoscope.

“I don’t know how the Dollmaker accomplishes his task, but I am certain it takes more than a day to perfect.”

He inserted the eartips and placed the chest piece to her sternum, noting her lack of reaction as well as the steady pounding of her heart.

He listened intently for several more seconds before lowering the stem and laying the tubing around the back of his neck.

“Which means she was already in this state when you made your request.”

Malfoy blinked.

“You’ve seen this before. You knew the moment you laid eyes on her she was… affected.”

Tom leaned forward, searching his bag for the next item needed.

“I recognized the look in her eyes. Once observed it’s impossible to forget.”

The blonde stepped closer.

“You’ve met others?”

Tom’s jaw tensed, tongue pressing the roof of his mouth.

Malfoy shifted closer yet.

“And you’ve cured it?”

Tom turned sharply on his heel, giving him his back.

“No.” He gripped the tool in his hand with unnecessary force, knuckles cracking against the strain. “Not _yet_.”

“What if it can’t be reversed?”

“Nothing in medicine or life can be reversed.”

He set the tool beside her leg and began pulling her curls back without preamble, searching her scalp for signs of incision. She sat docile all the while.

“But most ailments can be remedied.”

He let her hair settle and moved onto her arms, looking for injection marks. Her skin was smooth, unblemished.

“To some extent.”

Malfoy pressed a hand to his temple, eyes flickering across the floor in thought.

“At least she’s safe at the asylum.” He nodded to himself. “At least the bastard can’t get to her there.”

Tom released her wrist, stepping back.

“There are other dangers in this world beyond the Dollmaker.”

He sensed the blonde was preparing to say more on the subject.

“Silence,” he snapped, and could practically hear the boy grinding his teeth in response. Tom rolled his shoulders back. “I don’t want her distracted.”

Malfoy sighed in resignation, stepping away to the wall, leaning against it with his arms crossed tightly.

Tom moved directly before her, meeting her vacant gaze head-on.

“Dawn.”

No trace of recognition sparked in her eyes.

“I’m going to test your reflexes, as well as ask you some questions. I want you to answer them to the best of your abilities. Do you understand?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Very good.”

He picked up the rubber mallet.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

“Where were you born?”

She blinked, brow creasing.

He waited out the silence for another beat before taping on her knee. Her leg jolted as it should.

“I…” She wet her lips. “I’m from London.”

He tilted his head, holding her gaze. “What neighborhood did you grow up in?”

She blinked again, expression falling lax. His eyes narrowed.

“What’s your favorite color?”

Her smile awakened.

“Yellow.”

He tapped her other knee. She reacted normally.

“What’s your mother’s name?”

Her eyes turned hollow.

He stepped back.

“When is your birthday?”

“March.”

“What day in March?”

Silence.

He sighed, detecting the pattern.

“What is your favorite season?”

“Summer,” she said with a surprising amount of enthusiasm.

“Why summer?”

“I love the warmth, the long days. The sunshine lightens my hair.”

He smirked at the vibrancy in her voice.

“What is your favorite food?”

“I like all types of food.” Her movements became more animated.

“If you could eat anything right now, what would it be?”

“Hm…” She glanced upward, rubbing her chin. “I would want…” Her smile brightened as she met his gaze with excitement. “Angel food cake, with whipped cream and strawberries.”

“And what is your least favorite food?”

“I hate lima beans.”

He arched a dark brow.

“What else do you hate?”

Her eyes narrowed, lips puckering in a delicate scowl.

“I hate being sick. I hate being caught in the rain. I hate rude people. I hate-”

“And what things do you love?”

She blinked, her smile snapping back into place with unnerving swiftness.

“I love animals. Horses and dogs, especially. I love-”

“Do you have any siblings?”

Her brow flattened, eyes turning vacant within a fleeting heartbeat.

He nodded, pulse racing at the discovery.

“Remarkable.”

Malfoy pushed away from the wall.

“What is?”

Tom inspected her mannequin-like repose, mind still reeling.

“She’s rather opinionated.” His voice held no trace of derision. “She’s been given leave to think freely when it comes to present desires, but is prohibited from accessing previous memories or any identifying information.”

The blonde shifted at his back.

“I told them I wanted someone with fire. With backbone.”

"And I'm sure Dawn is capable of acting in such a way if you were to instruct." His eyes narrowed in thought. "Otherwise her personality falls dormant."

He ran a hand along his jaw.

“Fascinating.”

“Is it?”

Tom nodded, ignoring the scorn in his voice.

“Deeply so. Something in the brain is obviously controlling her impulses, but severing the connections outright wouldn’t lead to such tailored conditioning.” He tilted his head, gazing upon her at a new angle. “It’s astounding. Each girl must be treated individually. This can’t be a standard procedure.”

He ran a hand over his mouth.

“Did they give you any instructions?”

The blonde reared back, blinking.

“Instructions?”

Tom nodded. “Yes. Do you have to repeat anything to her? Give her medicine, bring her back to the Lestranges every so often?”

Malfoy shook his head, stepping closer. “They just told me to keep her away from other people unless I was with her. She only answers to me and might cause a scene otherwise.”

“But you only met her today?”

Malfoy jolted as though struck, expression shuttering rapidly. Tom’s gaze flickered to him, narrowing.

There wasn’t time for such juvenile antics.

“I meant since she became this way. You’ve only been around her for the last few hours?”

The boy stared upon him for several beats before nodding slowly.

“Yes.”

“Remarkable.”

He scowled. “Stop saying that. This isn’t remarkable, it isn’t fascinating, it’s disgusting and vile and terrifying!”

Tom arched a brow, unphased by the heated outburst.

"I agree. But from a medical standpoint, what we're seeing is unheard of. Groundbreaking. And from that point of view, it must be respected to be understood. Only then do we garner any chance of treating it."

Malfoy scoffed loudly, tipping his head back. “So you respect the Dollmaker? Think he’s a genius do you?”

Tom went rigid as stone, the silence festering like a black rot.

He pushed on, voice edged in steel.

“Do you own any property of your own?”

The aristocrat blinked, shoulders lowering.

“I have a home in the West End.”

“Does your father have access to it?”

He drew back swiftly, countenance hardening.

“Why does that matter?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“My father has access to anywhere he wants to be.” His tone was acidic, but not prideful. “No door is closed to him.”

Tom walked to his case, closing the top.

“What about Grimmauld?”

A heavy beat of silence passed. Malfoy tucked his hands into his pockets.

“I suppose Black is the only person with enough stupidity and courage to deny Lucius Malfoy.”

Tom nodded. “Good. Take her there.”

“What?” He shook his head quickly. “No, I was told-”

“The Lestranges don’t want her in public because the moment you leave her line of sight she turns into the living embodiment of a doll.”

The blood drained rapidly from the blonde’s face, turning him into pale marble.

“To protect this secret the girls must be kept away from society at large.”

He met his gaze.

“But we aren’t protecting the secret. We’re protecting Dawn.”

Malfoy wet his lips, brow creasing.

“I’ll take her.”

He rubbed his palms against his thighs, anxiety building.

“Are you coming?”

Tom nodded, setting his case aside. "Later. I need to examine her further, but there are pressing matters I must see to first."

“More pressing than this?”

“I suppose it’s subjective. Do you consider Hermione’s freedom to be more or less important?”

Malfoy drew back swiftly, all traces of unease evaporating at once, only lethal intent remaining.

“Dolohov appointed another guardian.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Unfortunately.”

Tom drew to his full height, shoulders squaring back as he met the glinting silver gaze with unwavering focus.

“And you’re going to help me find him.”

* * *

  
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`  
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`  
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`  
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`  
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`  
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`  
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`  
`.`.`.`.`.`.`  
`.`.`.`.`  
`.`.`  
`  
down

down

down

she

sank  
.

.

.

H  
e  
r  
m  
i  
o  
n  
e

Her eyes snapped open.

Darkness surrounded her.

Light appeared in the distance, broken, refracting through the water.

_Water?_

She blinked, turning her head.

Her hair floated all around her, the dark mass obscuring her vision.

She lifted her arm, movements weighted and slow, pushing the long tresses aside.

She was underwater, suspended in a vast ocean with no bottom or top in sight.

_Am I dead?_

“Hermione.”

The voice echoed all around her, sending a powerful tremor through the water, vibrating through her bones.

_Where are you?_

She opened her mouth but had no voice to speak.

_Where am I?_

“You tell me.”

She blinked, hands pale and glowing brightly in the murky depths of the ocean.

_I don’t know…_

She glanced around once more.

_I think I’m drowning._

“You aren’t drowning.”

_But I can’t breathe._

“Can’t you?”

She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling its steady rise and fall.

Yet no bubbles appeared before her mouth.

_I think I’m dreaming._

Whispers echoed all around, unintelligible but sharp, sending ripples through the water and across her skin.

Suddenly, she felt the undeniable urge to look over her shoulder, a siren call beckoning her gaze.

She twisted around, spotting a familiar sight several yards ahead, suspended in the water as well.

The white rabbit.

Her long hair floated around her head and arms in a bright halo, expression as serene as Hermione had ever seen it, even across the dark expanse.

And though the girl looked no different than all the others times she appeared before her, their current surroundings brought everything into stunning clarity for the first time.

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat at the chilling realization.

_This is how you died._

The girl tilted her head, lifting an arm, offering her hand.

“Hermione.”

The deep male voice made her skin crawl.

“Tell me what you see.”

She ignored the disembodied command, kicking against the water instead, propelling herself forward, arms fully extended, eager to reach the outstretched hand.

“Talk to me, Hermione.”

Closer.

Closer.

Closer.

“Hermione!”

She grasped the offered hand at last, the girl’s flesh startling cold but silken to the touch, fingers strong as they wrapped around Hermione’s palm, pressing in.

And just as soon as she found her anchor, the storm raged.

The earth was tipped on its axis, shaken by a child’s eager hand, the ocean spilling out into space, her body tumbling with it.

She lost her grip on the girl, screaming in frustration as her hands met rushing waves, the tide breaking overhead and twisting her upside down, spinning her so quickly she lost track of up from down, right from left, her limbs from the water.

She coughed and sputtered, liquid filling her lungs, drowning her.

And then her shoulder collided with something hard.

She scrambled for it, desperate to grasp something, anything, to root herself in place, put an end to this awful vertigo, this free-falling sensation that turned her stomach inside out and lodged her heart in her throat.

But she lost her grip yet again, hands skidding past a smooth, slick surface as she hurtled past the earth, thrown from the atmosphere into raw, open space.

. she  
`. .   
`.`.`. . f  
`.`.`.`.`. . e  
`.`.`.`.`.`.`. . l  
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`. . l  
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`. . through  
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`. .     the  
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`. . stars  
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`. .

And into an endless expanse of cosmos.

Planets and asteroids rushed past, lost in a blur of light and color. Her bones withered and decayed, skin curling away from her flesh like an orange rind, evaporating to dust and trailing behind her, creating a comet tail of mist across the endless black.

Her matter crumpled and folded until she ceased existing altogether, all that remained of her former self a bright ball of light hurtling through space like a meteor.

And then she plummeted back to the planet’s surface, a tossed disc making its downward descent at long last.

The explosion upon impact was deafening. The ground trembled as a mushroom cloud of smoke and flame soared high into the heavens while she remained at the center of the massive crater.

She gazed up blearily, watching as the smoke blossomed into a vibrant assortment of colors, filling the sky with a brilliant rainbow of bleeding hues.

_“Do you see it, Hermione?”_

_“Yes! What is it, daddy? Is it heaven?”_

_“No, my sweetling, it’s called an aurora.”_

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

And then something soft brushed her hand. She jerked upright, gazing around frantically, pulse thrumming. The crater walls blocked her view of the outside world.

But something small resided within the hole with her.

An orange cat with a bottlebrush tail.

She blinked.

It padded closer, pushing its head into the back of her hand and purring loudly.

The corner of her lips turned up.

“Hello there, cat.” She gently stroked its head, scratching behind its ears. “How did you come to be here?”

A shadow passed overhead. Her gaze flickered up, catching only a flash of pale skin before the figure retreated out of sight.

“Hello?” She called, hands tensed at her sides.

She pushed to her feet, legs sore and knees weak.

And peered down at her body.

She was adorned in the same periwinkle gown she wore to the Naval party.

She traced her fingertips over the cherry blossoms painted across her ribs. The cat pushed against her full skirts, back arching high as its purr echoed loudly off the charred crater walls.

And then the creature darted away, racing up the steep incline with deft, agile feet.

“Wait!”

It disappeared over the ledge in a blur of orange fur.

She scrambled forward, grabbing handfuls of her skirts as she tried to navigate the steep incline as well, finally relenting upon her fifth stumble, grabbing handfuls of the earth and pulling herself up, gritting her teeth beneath the strain on her muscles, dirt marring her hands and face, caking her nails beds, staining her gown.

She finally emerged at the top of the crater, crawling over the edge on her hands and knees, panting for breath and wiping sweat from her temples with a soil darkened hand.

Her arm froze in mid-air as she, at last, saw the world she'd been so violently deposited into.

It was…

London.

… but not.

She sat at the edge of the Thames. Tower Bridge was just ahead, the familiar sprawl of the city filling her vision on all sides.

But the building and monuments were caked in ash, void of all color.

And life.

Not a single person, ship, or carriage was in sight. There was no billowing smoke, no crying gulls, no movement beyond the vibrant aurora in the sky, the colors merging and dissecting in a transparent film, as though a massive soap bubble encased the dead planet.

But in all the madness, what shocked her the utmost was the structure lying directly ahead.

As familiar as it was chilling.

Her childhood home.

In full, vibrant color, standing out from its black and white background like a shining beacon.

The fact that the home was standing along the river embankment in the heart of the city mattered little.

At least in the grand scheme of things.

What caught her attention was the flash of a white dress darting around the side of the two-story structure.

“Wait!”

She pulled her skirts aloft once more, taking off after the figure as quickly as she could manage, bare feet crossing from rubble to paved cement to soft grass as she cut a quick trail across the yard she spent her youth playing upon.

She stumbled into the back vegetable garden, losing her footing and skidding across damp soil as she finally caught sight of a person on the porch.

Her muscles tensed, adrenaline flooding her veins in a powerful wave, making her stagger with the rush.

She blinked several times, jaw slack.

“Lavender?”

Her friend smiled, face radiant and skin glowing, looking as beautiful as she’d ever appeared in life.

“About time you got here.”

Hermione swallowed heavily.

“Where are we?”

The blonde shook her head, expression sobering.

“Not here.” She glanced around the garden and neighboring grey scenery. “He’s listening.”

Her heart stuttered painfully.

“Who?”

The girl took a step towards the house.

“This way.”

She grabbed the door handle.

“Wait!”

But in the next moment, Lavender was slipping inside, disappearing into the darkness within.

The door sat ajar.

Hermione’s chest alighted with pain so sharp she doubled over, certain she would die from it.

Her body trembled uncontrollably, intestines knotting tight.

“I can’t…” She whispered miserably, tears filling her eyes. “I can’t go in there.”

The pain faded as rapidly as it appeared. She gasped for breath, straightening, hands still braced over her heart, convinced it would fall out of her body, arteries severed.

The open door called to her.

Beckoned her.

She closed her eyes, sighing deeply, hands curling to fists as she forced her feet forward, every step causing her ribs to tighten and twist.

She walked up the steps of the porch and across the wood slats, pressing the door wide and staring into the kitchen.

It was bright. Peaceful.

She bit her lip and crossed the threshold.

The door immediately slammed shut behind her. She gasped, grabbing the handle with both hands and pulling with all her might.

But it was sealed tight.

Tears spilled from her eyes anew.

She staggered back across the tile, breathing hard, glancing around frantically as she waited for the flames to appear.

For they _always_ appeared.

Eager to finish what they started.

Desperate to claim the one who got away.

But she saw no spark, smelled no smoke.

What she _did_ encountered was even more devastating.

Her family home, just as she remembered.

Just as she fantasized about when she allowed her mind to wander down the dark corridors of her memory.

The hallway was as bright as the kitchen, as was the study beyond. The furniture unmarred by dust or ash. Everything situated just as she recalled.

Her father’s books were still spilled across the desk. Her mother’s knitting project sat unfinished on the upholstered chair by the window.

Her fingertips grazed the edge of the piano. She lingered before the portrait hanging above, a beautiful landscape painting she admired since childhood.

She inhaled deeply, chest quaking, fighting back the urge to call out for her parents, the instinct nearly overwhelming despite the fact she knew they weren’t home.

The house was filled with meaningful items...

But void of life.

She finally entered the den. The room she and her parents would retire to after supper, spending their evenings reading, talking, laughing.

Lavender stood before the hearth.

Hermione stopped in the doorway, heart fit to burst.

"What.." She wet her lips, steeling herself. "What are you doing here?"

The blonde shrugged, leaning casually against the stonework.

“I figured you could do with a friendly face.”

Hermione took a tentative step inside the room, full skirts trailing behind her, leaving dirt and soil in their wake.

“Are you real?”

Lavender sighed, shrugging once more. “As real as any of this.”

“I mean… are you a ghost, or a facet of my subconscious?”

The blonde rolled her eyes. “Bloody hell, you haven’t changed a bit.”

“Lav, I’m serious.”

“So am I.” She met her gaze once more, lips curved in a painfully familiar wry smirk. “I’m here to help you. What does the rest matter?”

“Help me?” Hermione braced the back of the sofa as realization struck her like a bolt of lightning. “Help me escape the Dollmaker?”

Her friend's eyes darkened as shadows danced along the walls. Hermione took a shaky breath, shoulders drawing back.

“It’s him then?”

Lavender crossed her arms, offering no response.

Hermione nodded to herself, eyes drifting to the windows as she began to slowly pace the rug.

“Of course. It makes sense… how he’s able to obtain his victims, women without ties or connections to the outside world. He labels them psychotic and brainwashes them under the guise of treatment.”

The blonde tilted her head, eyes filling with intrigue as Hermione ran a hand through her hair, streaking it with soil.

“He creates dolls right under everyone’s nose.”

Her skirts brushed along the table legs as she passed.

“Hiding in plain sight.”

She bit her lip, thoughts spinning.

“Did Umbridge know who he was?”

She shook her head. “No. He wouldn’t trust her with that information. But the Lestranges know his true identity. They probably mentioned Rutledge to her in the past. She knew to send me there. Knew the Dollmaker would be able to get to me.”

She inhaled deeply, coming to a standstill.

“Wow,” the blonde spoke at last.

Hermione jolted, remembering she wasn’t alone.

“That was impressive.” Lavender winked. “And pretty hot.”

Hermione’s smile was tinged in sadness.

“You aren’t real, are you?”

Hermione swallowed thickly, examining her friend closely, looking for any trace of the violent crime that befell her.

“You don’t possess any knowledge I don’t already have.”

The blonde smirked. “How is that any different than when I was alive?”

Hermione set her jaw, meeting her eye with steady determination.

“Can you tell me who killed you?”

Lavender leaned her head against the mantle.

“I would if I knew.”

Hermione blinked. Lavender’s gaze drifted to the chandelier.

“I wasn’t… _all there_ when it happened.” She tapped her temple as though for emphasis. “My last memory is drinking at the party, dancing with some bloke.”

She began to play idly with her long golden tresses.

“I think someone spiked my drink. I remember feeling fuzzy, someone helping me up the steps.” She shrugged lightly. “That’s about it.”

“You went to the Lestrange Estate.”

She nodded, a smirk playing at the corner of her ruby stained lips.

“They have a sex dungeon, Mione. Can you imagine being the maid assigned to clean up after an orgy?”

Hermione rubbed her eyes.

“Lav, focus.”

“Sorry, what was the question?”

“I need to know what happened to you that night.”

Suddenly an earthquake erupted at their feet.

The walls rattled violently, frames knocked askew as the furniture shook and vases fell.

Hermione choked back a shocked scream, grasping the edge of the window frame for support.

The tremors stopped within seconds, eerie silence filling the air.

She gazed around in a panic.

“What was that?”

Lavender sighed, expression bored.

“My warning bell.” She stood away from the hearth. “I can’t stay.”

“ _What_?” Hermione stumbled into a table in her haste to cross the room. “You can’t leave!”

“I have to.”

Hermione stopped at her side, grasping her arms, rearing back at the sensation of touching her at long last. She felt warm, real, alive…

Hermione burst into tears, throwing her arms around the girl’s shoulders and clinging to her desperately.

“Lavender, please-”

“Shh.” The blonde embraced her back, stroking her hair. “It’s alright, Mione. It’s going to be okay. You aren’t alone. We’re all with you.”

Hermione’s heartbeat reverberated through every limb as she slowly drew back, meeting the girl’s eye, the magnitude of the final statement triggering a powerful wave of emotion within her.

“Why me?”

Lavender smiled, gently wiping the tears from her face.

“Because we knew you were strong enough to stop him.”

Hermione shook her head, grasping her tighter.

“But I’m not! I can’t do anything right! And now I’m locked in a padded cell, no one even knows I’m there-”

“Of course they do.”

Her heart swelled.

“You are _loved_ , Hermione. More than you could ever know. Your friends will come for you. They’ll help you.” Her hand grazed her cheek. “You must have faith.”

“What am I supposed to do, Lav? How do I fight him?”

The blonde’s smile grew even as her eyes narrowed.

“By being you.”

Hermione blinked.

“I don’t understand-”

The house quaked once more. Hermione clung to her desperately, bones vibrating.

Lavender released a long, slow breath.

“I have to go.”

“No!”

“I don’t have long, Mione. And I need you to do something for me.”

Hermione swallowed miserably, finally nodding.

“Anything.”

The blonde bit her lip, hands tensing on Hermione’s shoulders.

“Tell Parvati…”

She tilted her head, eyes gleaming.

“Tell her I love her. And that she didn’t fail me. Not ever.”

She smirked mischievously.

“And tell her that I like him.”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth.

“Like who?”

Lavender ignored the inquiry, expression sobering as the ground shook more violently, the foundation ripping apart.

“I’m still with her. I’m still with all of you!” She shouted above the destructive chaos.

Hermione shook her head, clutching her for dear life. “Please-”

“We’ll meet again soon, Hermione!”

“Wait!”

She gasped as the girl began to fade from sight, the phantom ghost of her smile lingering behind for several beats even after her body dissipated into thin air.

Hermione stumbled forward, catching herself against the stone fireplace as the ground finally settled beneath her feet.

“Lavender!”

She spun in frantic circles, eyes darting to each corner.

A floorboard groaned from upstairs.

Her gaze flickered to the ceiling.

“Lavender!”

She raced into the hallway, knocking furniture aside in her haste to get to the steps. She tripped on the first few stairs, her dress tangling around her legs. She scrambled forward with all four limbs, gasping for air.

She skidded across the landing, shoulder clipping the wall hard enough to earn a pained wince.

She darted into the narrow corridor beyond, finally coming to halt outside her parent’s bedroom door.

It stood ajar.

Rustling pages could be heard from within.

She raised a trembling hand and pushed the barrier the rest of the way.

The hinges creaked loudly.

The person seated in the chair by the window gazed up calmly from their book.

Hermione reared back, hands flying to her mouth to capture her broken sobs, tears dripping off her jaw and onto her bodice.

“Mum?”

The familiar face smiled warmly.

“Hello, darling.”

The sound of her voice sent a shockwave through the air, far more powerful than either earthquake. Hermione rocked precariously on her feet, dangerously light headed.

“What… what are you…”

A crease appeared between her mother’s brows as she set her book aside.

“Hermione, what’s wrong?”

Hermione shook her head, charging into the room and collapsing before her mother’s feet, leaning in and burying her face in her skirts.

“Sweetheart!” Her mother bent forward, running her fingers through Hermione’s curls and rubbing gentle circles into her back. “What’s happened? Are you hurt?”

Hermione couldn’t speak, sobbing openly, eyes squeezed tight.

“It’s alright, my love,” she cooed softly, holding her close. “Whatever it is, we will fix it together.”

Hermione tipped her head up at last, wiping her eyes with the backs of her stained hands.

“It’s too late.” She shook her head miserably. “We can’t fix it.”

Her mother’s answering smile was radiant as she placed her hands on either side of Hermione’s face, cupping her jaw tenderly.

“Nonsense. It’s never too late to set things right.”

Her heart stuttered.

“I…”

She swallowed thickly.

“I don’t know how to set it right. I don’t know how to stop him.”

She closed her eyes once more. “I’m not strong enough. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Her face crumpled. “And more girls are going to die because of me.”

Her mother tilted her head, brow arching high.

“You are capable of doing any and everything you set your mind to.”

“This is different-”

“Hermione.”

Her voice was stern, expression stoic and utterly captivating. “Your father and I raised you to be intelligent and capable.”

Deep pride shone from her eyes. “But you have grown into so much more than either of us ever dreamed possible.”

Hermione’s heart soared, hands clenching the fabric her mother’s skirts.

“You’re so very clever, so strong and resilient.”

Her thumbs swept beneath her eyes, clearing away the last remnants of her tears.

“But what I admire most about you is your endless capacity for love and how passionately you fight for what you believe is right, no matter the personal sacrifice, no matter the obstacles set before you.”

Her smile deepened.

“You will be such a brilliant doctor, my love. You were born to save lives.”

Tears spilled from her own warm brown eyes. “You saved mine with your very first breath.”

She wet her lips, voice hitching. “I never knew how wonderful life could be until I held you in my arms. And you’ve brought nothing but light and joy to us ever since.”

She took a deep, steadying breath.

“Whatever is troubling you is not insurmountable, no matter how much it feels that way now.”

She nodded, fingers tensing along her jaw.

“You are a fighter, Hermione. Look at all you’ve survived through. Nothing can break your spirit as long as you stay true to who you are.”

Her hands slowly lowered, twining with Hermione’s atop her lap.

“You will overcome this yet, my darling.”

The heat of her palms radiated into Hermione’s arms and into her chest.

“And you _will_ beat him.”

Hermione clutched her tightly.

“I wish you and daddy were still here.”

“We are, sweetheart.” She pressed their joined hands to Hermione’s chest, centered over the rapid thrum of her heartbeat. “We are with you _always_.”

The ground shook beneath her knees, the chair rattling against the floor.

Hermione took a deep breath.

“You have to go, don’t you?”

Her mother gently untangled one of her hands in order to stroke Hermione’s hair once more.

“I can stay for a little while longer.”

Hermione nodded, leaning into the soothing touch.

“Thank you.”

She buried her face into her lap again, savoring the soft fabric against her cheek, the comforting scent of her perfume.

“I love you, mum.”

A soft humming filled the air, a lullaby from her youth.

“I love you with all my heart, Hermione. You made my life complete.”

Her mother gently rocked her back and forth.

Or perhaps it was the earth crumbling apart.

The humming continued.

Blood rushed through her ears.

She squeezed her eyes shut, clinging tightly to her mother’s legs, fighting back a cry as she felt her slowly dissipate into thin air.

And then Hermione was leaning against an empty chair.

Her eyes flew open when water splashed against her calves.

She gazed upon the floor in silent misery, watching as the room rapidly filled with liquid.

It rose higher and higher, reaching her chest within seconds.

Hermione scrambled to her feet but lost her footing, plunging back into the freezing sea filling the bedroom.

The powerful current swept her out of the room and into the hallway. Water filled her mouth, invaded her lungs, drowning her at last.

She thrashed wildly, unable to find purchase, hands scrambling uselessly against the violent waves.

And then the house started to split apart all around her.

The walls collapsed as the roof was wrenched away, a massive eye appearing overhead, filling the sky as the dark pupil scanned the interior of the fishbowl, spotting her in the next fluttering heartbeat.

And then an equally massive hand appeared from the aurora infused sky.

Reaching straight for her.

The water smothered her blood-curdling scream.

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“Hold her steady!”

“I’m trying, Sir!”

A sharp sting pierced her arm.

Her body fell limp.

Heavy panting filled the room from three sets of lungs. Hermione blinked at the industrial beams lining the ceiling, dazed, cold, and dripping wet.

The Doctor hovered above her, eyes gleaming like a predator in the dark.

“Hermione.”

She tried to cringe away but barely had the strength to blink.

He braced an arm on either side of her body, his broad form filling her vision.

“How did you do that?” His voice was tightly contained and deeply unsettling.

“D-do w-what?” Her lips trembled as violently as the rest of her body.

“Sir, her temperature is-”

The Doctor held up a silencing hand to the orderly, his eyes never straying from her face.

“Have you undergone hypnotism before?”

She blinked, brow creasing.

“H-hypnotism?”

“Don’t lie to me, girl,” he hissed, pupils slitting.

She shook her head, shrinking back against the table as water continued to pour from her drenched shift and hair, pooling beneath her slight limbs.

“I d-don’t understand. W-where am I?” She turned her head, staring at the large room in confusion.

She caught a glimpse of McGill at her side, his eyes also affixed to her trembling form, though his expression held a caveat of very different emotions.

After another tense beat, the Doctor pushed away from the table, fists clenched at his sides, water soaking the front of his shirt.

“Take her back to her room. Keep an eye on her.”

His jaw tensed.

“And bring her to my office the moment the amnesia wears off.”

“Yes, Sir.”

McGill stepped forward at once, draping a heavy blanket over her body. She clung to the fabric desperately, burying her face into its folds, eager to hide.

The Doctor continued to watch her, his expression closely guarded, his eyes openly lethal.

“You resisted your treatment, Ms. Granger.”

His voice was cold as death. She shivered anew.

And then the corner of his mouth lifted, the effect deeply haunting.

“I underestimated the severity of your affliction. It seems we’ll have to resort to more drastic measures next time.”

He held her gaze for another sinister beat before spinning on his heel and striding to the door with great purpose.

She watched him exit the room, releasing a heavy breath as soon as the door settled behind him.

But the relief was short lived as arms slid beneath her, McGill lifting her off the table and following in the Doctor’s wake.

Hermione hid her face behind the blanket in silence, pressing a hand to her chest and wondering why it felt as though a hole had been punched right through its center.


	23. Wait and Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this you're amazing and I adore you more than words can convey for sticking with this dumpster fire ❤︎

_You shouldn't ask questions you know the answer to._  
_It’s not polite._  
_.   .   ._

Hermione stifled a gasp as McGill lowered her legs to the ground, allowing her a moment to regain her bearings as her body averted vertical once more, only to slump into his side for balance as he removed the keys from his belt and unlocked the door to her padded prison.

He pushed the heavy barrier aside and helped her over the threshold, taking on most of her weight as they crossed the floor to the bed. The moment he released her she collapsed in a heap on the mattress, instantly curling into a ball beneath the blanket, limbs trembling.

He gazed upon her for a stuttered beat before striding from the room without a word.

She blinked in bemusement, heart racing.

He’d left the door open.

She watched a brief but vivid fantasy play out in her mind, leaping from the bed on graceful legs, sprinting down the hall at blurring speed, bursting violently through the front doors and emerging into bright sunshine and crisp air-

She blinked again and he was walking back inside, a familiar grey garment slung over his arm.

He sat the clean dress on the foot of the bed and drew a hand over his mouth, sighing heavily before addressing her at last.

“Rest. I’ll come back to check on you later.”

She wet her lips tentatively.

“What happened?”

His jaw tensed, shoulders drawing back as he visibly deliberated his response.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I…” She blinked. “I’m not sure,” she concluded weakly, clutching the blanket tighter to her chest, well aware her shift was rendered transparent with wetness beneath. “I remember speaking to you this morning… you gave me a pill...”

Her mouth opened and closed on the faded memory.

“The pill.”

Her gaze narrowed, fixating upon him with acute focus. “That wasn’t blue mass.”

He glanced away.

“Not exactly.”

She pushed up on the bed, leaning against the headboard. “What did you give me? Why does it cause memory loss?”

“I really shouldn’t-”

“McGill.” Her brow furrowed, voice strained. “Please. I just want to know what happened. Why I’m sopping wet.”

He reluctantly met her gaze. “Your memory will return.”

“Then why does it matter if you tell me now?”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head with great resignation.

“I don’t know what’s in the pill. Not exactly. I just know it makes it easier for Bumby to…” He rubbed wearily at his eyes. “Do whatever it is he does.”

She gazed down at the shriveled pads of her fingertips.

“I take it the treatment involves water?”

“You were in a sensory deprivation tank.”

Her heart stuttered painfully. She leaned forward, intent on prompting him further but he shook his head and took a wide step back.

"I can't say any more. It's better to let the memories surface on their own."

She settled into the headboard once more, frustrated by his clear dismissal but sensing a losing battle ahead. Besides, she was too exhausted to verbally fence, regardless of her desperation.

He took another step towards the door. “Try and get some sleep. By the time you wake you should be back to normal.”

She drew her knees up beneath the blanket, resting her forehead against them. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” She couldn’t disguise the raw misery in her voice. “My version of normal hasn’t been doing me any favors these last few months.”

McGill gazed upon her for another moment before his expression lightened. “Normal is boring.”

She released a frail, humorless laugh. “Boring sounds bloody fantastic right about now.”

His countenance rapidly sobered, turning hesitant and instilling a deep sense of dread in her gut.

“I’ve never seen anyone resist treatment. Not under the effect of the drug.”

She swayed in her seated position, heartbeat echoing through every limb.

He grabbed the door handle.

“I don’t think he’s seen it either.” He held her steady in his sights. “If you want to lie low in this place, try and be less interesting.”

His words caused her muscles to clench and seize, hands twisting the blankets at each side.

He held her gaze for another endless second before turning on his heel and exiting swiftly.

All the oxygen in the room followed in his wake, leaving her gasping for breath as the door clicked shut. As soon as she heard the lock turn she threw the blanket aside and scrambled to remove her shift.

The sopping fabric hit the ground with a wet thump, and though she was perfectly content burying herself beneath the covers once more in nothing but her camisole and bloomers, she feared Wilson making an unscheduled visit and discovering her in a state of undress.

She hurriedly pulled the dress in place, cringing as the coarse fabric abraded her skin before curling atop the mattress once more, teeth chattering, cold permeating her bones.

She laid with her back to the wall and her eyes on the door, absently pressing a hand to her chest, rubbing at the deep ache.

After several minutes her breathing regulated. She rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling instead, too exhausted to string together a coherent thought. Her musings were fractured and wilted but loud and demanding attention all the same.

_Did Tom find Luna?_

_Please let her be alright..._

_Please don’t let my stupidity lead her to more harm._

She raked her nails through her hair, prickling along her scalp, allowing the pain to ground her and keep her housed within this body.

_I’m utterly useless._

_How am I going to get out of this mess?_

She swallowed heavily, pulling at the tresses in impotent frustration.

_No one even knows I’m here._

_“Of course they do.”_

She jolted at the foreign voice in her mind, soft and feminine. Her heart began to race anew, adrenaline surging. She forced her spine back to the mattress, eyes squeezing shut as she willed the lost memories forward.

She recalled swallowing the poison pill, the festering rot in her stomach as she walked down the hallway to the waiting room.

But everything turned hazy after that. As though the memories were submerged beneath water-

Water.

Her breath hitched.

_Water water water..._

Her hands clenched the damp blanket, frantically grasping for something just out of her reach.

_Think, Hermione, think!_

Her temples throbbed painfully, skull splitting down the center, brains threatening to spill across the pillow as though the imprisoned memories were trying to break their way free.

She pressed her hands to either side of her head in a vain attempt to hold it together, eyes darting to the faded ribbon cutting a crimson mark across her pale wrist.

_“Don’t work for it, Hermione.”_

The breath evaded her lungs on a powerful woosh as the deep and familiar voice filled her head, surrounding her on all sides as a phantom weight pressed her into the mattress, invisible hands grasping her hips, pinning her down.

She pressed her hands to her mouth, smothering a broken sob as the reality of the last twenty-four hours crashed upon her in a bone-crushing wave, crippling in its intensity.

_Oh god… what have I done?_

Her chest heaved.

_Calm down calm down calm down!_

_Breathe._

She forced her mind to something familiar, something comforting, an anchor in the storm.

Academics.

Yes. Academics always settled her nerves, sorted her racing mind.

_Stop. Be logical. Look from the outside in…_

_You aren’t the first to be wrongfully imprisoned._

_No. Of course not. Others have made it through this. So shall you._

She nodded to herself, face glistening with tears she was hardly aware of shedding.

And suddenly, her father’s deep and calming voice filled her head instead, wrenching a pained sob from her lips even as she desperately struggled to immerse herself in the sound.

She took shallow breaths, straining to listen, seven years old again and seated before his chair as he thumbed through the pages of her favorite childhood tale.

Though in retrospect, it wasn’t a child’s tale at all. At the time she’d found it a splendid fantasy filled with action and adventure and romance.

Reflecting on the story now, she found it dark, sinister and deeply motivating.

A tale of personal fortitude and redemption.

_The Count of Monte Cristo._

Fire crackled in the background, the perfect accompaniment to his animated voice as he spun the vivid imagery in her mind, imitating sword fights with the flourish of his hand, eliciting excited laughter from her throat as she was transported far from their living room floor, far from her padded cell.

She took a slow, shuddering breath, hands grasping her throat as she gazed unseeing at the tiles above, her father’s voice loud and clear as though he was once more seated directly before her.

“ _All human wisdom is contained in these two words_ ,” she recited in a whisper, heart beating a call to war within her chest. “ _Wait and hope_.”

She closed her eyes, the last remnants of tears overspilling the corners and disappearing into her damp hairline.

It was then and there she decided, no matter the darkness ahead, she would venture bravely through, ever hopeful of finding the light on the other side.

And as she journeyed blind into the transient shadows, she would keep her wits and resolve, doing whatever it took to escape this grey purgatory...

Waiting for her time to strike.

* * *

Tom strode from the medical office with such intensity and purpose a nearby pedestrian stopped dead in their tracks, stumbling back on the sidewalk to allow him maximum berth.

But he was hardly aware of the occurrence, of the lethal repose of his visage as he tore through the city like a vengeful spirit from the depths of hell.

He’d just finished visiting with an old colleague from medical school, a man he had not seen or conversed with in many years. Yet he knew his former associate was well respected in the up and coming field of mental health, evident by the rather large research grant he’d just been awarded in order to further expand the understanding of the human psyche.

It was unnerving to be within the man’s presence for too long, especially when the alienist made his interest regarding the inner workings of Tom’s mind no secret. A select few were able to see past the masks he adorned, no matter their pristine craftsmanship. Tom usually went out of his way to refrain from such individuals, but this particular visit was unavoidable, and some punishments were worth enduring for the culminating reward.

Tom needed to know everything he could about Angus Bumby.

His colleague had recognized the man’s name, though he’d never seen his face. Very few had.

It seemed Bumby was an elusive individual, taking up residence in the large asylum nearly seven years ago and hardly stepping foot outside since. He lived and worked within its walls, rarely attending medical conferences or public events.

However, no one seemed to know where the Doctor came from.

Was he a London native, locally educated, or an immigrant with prior practice experience?

Tom couldn’t begin to guess the mysterious Doctor’s age, and though seven years in the field seemed far too little to take on the mantle of chief physician, it was certainly possible. Tom had been awarded Head of Surgery after only five.

But Tom was also self-aware enough to know he was a rather… atypical specimen.

Which didn’t bode well for his opinion of the elusive Dr. Bumby.

He needed to know more. Needed to get his hands on transcripts, licensure, visa status, anything to crispen the murky image in his mind.

He paused at the street corner, arm lingering halfway to flagging down a carriage, running a hand through his hair instead, eyes briefly closing.

He needed to reexamine Dawn.

Needed to check on Luna...

Needed to find the fucking Dollmaker.

And at this very moment, he desperately needed sleep.

There were so _many_ vital tasks to undertake, so many more pressing items than this current… obsession.

At least he knew where she was. Investigating the head of the asylum wouldn’t get her released any faster.

But the driving need to arm himself with information was overwhelming, suffocatingly so.

The thought of her suffering at the hands of a madman-

He forced his lids open, staring blankly at the bustling street beyond, the chaotic drone of the city falling away as his thoughts surged mercilessly, making him light-headed with exhaustion.

His fists tightened at his sides. He drew his coat tighter around his middle, bracing against the shrill wind, when something sharp pressed into his ribs, making his spine go rigid.

He pulled open his coat, gazing down in bemusement, heart leaping at the familiar gleam contained within.

The letter opener.

He’d forgotten it was even there.

He slid a hand inside, tracing the sharp edge with a steady fingertip, watching as the metal dimpled the skin, wondering how much more pressure it would take to puncture through entirely. To spill his blood across the pavement. To splash it upon oblivious pedestrians.

_“I hope he bled like a gutted pig.”_

_“He did. It made a mess. Ruined my dress.”_

He wrenched his hand away, averting his gaze forward as a torturous pressure swelled within his chest.

She was locked in an asylum because of him.

Not merely because he was foolish enough to have let her out of his sight.

But because he was embittered enough pushed her away with both hands, toppling her directly into the path of the crocodile’s snapping jaws.

He tipped his head skyward, staring blindly at the clouds as he fumbled for the reins of his runaway thoughts.

Such base distractions were useless.

He needed to stay focused and on track. He’d spent too long pursuing a madman across the globe to be derailed.

Not now. Not when somewhere along the way he’d been driven into madness as well, sacrificing his every drop of blood, sweat and tears alongside his remaining sanity.

Undeniable evidence sat within Grimmauld, two young women who could provide the evidence necessary to bring the organization to its knees.

He needed to protect them.

Needed to let go of _Her_.

And if she were standing directly before him, she would tell him the very same thing.

Rather, she would _demand_ it, refusing to monopolize his time and effort when young women were still being targeted all across the city.

Selfless to a fault.

_“Sometimes it’s okay to be selfish. Necessary even.”_

_“It’s never necessary to be selfish.”_

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to force the soft voice from his mind, the memory of her laid out beneath him, eyes wide and bright with righteous conviction.

If she were truly before him she would tell him to continue in his pursuit of the Dollmaker, to ensure the safety of their witnesses.

He drew in a deep breath, holding it in his lungs until they burned with raw fire.

_“When her lover died he suffered the same fate, though his waters were filled by flame and ran parallel to hers.”_

He swallowed heavily, a fleeting attempt at quenching the rising heat, grinding his teeth against the onslaught.

_“Forever out of each other's reach.”_

He closed his eyes once more.

_“Forever cursed by their desires.”_

The sound of braying horses drew his focus. A carriage rolled to a stop just before him.

“Need a ride, mate?”

He raised his stormcloud gaze to the driver.

“Yes. I do.”

Yet his feet remained fixed to the curb.

The man arched a brow, winding the reins around his hands.

“Where you headed?”

Tom set his jaw.

_Grimmauld._

_Where I’m most needed._

_One square closer to Checkmate._

He ran his hand over the front panel of his coat, tracing the faint outline of the makeshift dagger.

And then he stepped forward at last, shoulders drawn back and chest pressed tight, unable to quell the words spilling free of his lips.

“Library of Records.”

* * *

The carriage rolled over debris in the road, sending its two inhabitants listing into the reflective walls as they were tossed around inside.

Draco placed a steadying hand to the window frame on instinct, watching as Dawn collided with the paneling, expression placid and unchanging.

He ran a hand over his face as she rocked back to the center of the bench a moment later as the car steadied out, shaking his head in disbelief and exhaustion.

Her glassy eyes rolled upward, fastening to his with unnerving swiftness.

“You look distressed, Master. Is there anything I can do to alleviate your tension?”

He cringed at both the words and their disturbing hollowness.

“Don’t call me that.”

Her expression went lax, eyes blinking twice before they too settled with abject stillness.

“I’m sorry.”

A chill of unease raced along his spine.

“Don’t be sorry. I just… I prefer you call me Draco.”

She nodded stiffly, shoulders perfectly squared and hands motionless atop her lap.

“Yes, Draco.”

“Stop-”

He sighed, closing his eyes.

“You don’t have to obey my every command.” His lids snapped open, brow furrowing. “And that’s a command in itself, isn't it?”

He shook his head, rubbing the hard line of his jaw. “Shite.”

He forced himself to meet her eyes at last.

Only to push back in his seat, shocked by the smirk curving her lips, the gleam in her normally vacant eyes.

He blinked and her visage was already reverting back to normal. His heart stuttered, wondering if maybe, just maybe, her true self was still in there somewhere, trapped beneath the impenetrable ice shelf, beating away with bloodied fists, desperate to break free.

“Dawn…” He swallowed thickly, regretting the question before it was even asked. “Do you know who I am?”

Her resounding laugh was soft as wind chimes.

“Of course I do, Draco.”

He took a deep breath. “You remember how we met?”

She tilted her head, smile spreading. “We met during a party at your Uncle’s Estate.”

He drew back, paling. “Did they tell you to say that?”

She blinked, expression crumpling into picture-perfect bemusement.

“I don’t understand.”

“Do you remember how we _really_ met?”

He sighed as her eyes once again drained of all recognition, all life.

“Can you recall seeing me before today?”

Her lips parted, voice as empty as her eyes.

“I met you at your Uncle’s party.”

His jaw tensed, hand bracing the wall as the horses turned a corner.

“I asked you to forget that night. My name. My face.” He shook his head once more, teeth clenching. “I didn’t ask…”

His eyes drifted to the passing scenery, the world busy in its everyday tasks, as though nothing were amiss. As though Armageddon wasn't awaiting them all on the horizon.

“I _told_ you to forget.” He wet his lips, voice low. “I commanded it.”

He turned his head, pinning her beneath his gleaming gaze.

“And now I’ve gotten my wish.”

Her expression remained perfectly blank, posture stiff and poised.

A life-size doll.

He leaned forward, eyes darkening.

“Dawn.”

Something flickered in the far recesses of her gaze. A spark. Extinguished by his next breath.

“I’m so sorry this is happening to you.”

He began to reach forward, driven by the same powerful instinct, only for his hands to clench mid-air, arms frozen in place.

He couldn’t bring himself to touch her. Even in comfort, it felt like a gross violation all the same.

He rested his palms atop his thighs.

“I’m going to do everything I can to fix whatever that bastard did to you. Whatever it costs, however long it takes.” He searched her eyes, desperate to find that hidden flame once more. “I’m not going to leave you like this. I promise you that.”

Alas, his search proved fruitless. He dropped back against the seat with a weighted sigh, unable to bear her eerie stillness a moment longer.

He recalled the Doctor’s words in the clinic. His theory regarding her conditioning.

He decided to put it to the test himself, fists curling anew.

“It’s a beautiful day.”

Her smile awakened at once, brilliant as the sun streaming in.

“Yes, it is!” Her body sprung to life a moment later as she bounced in her seat, leaning forward to stare out the window. “I can smell the garden from here! I adore the scent of honeysuckle.”

The transformation was as breathtaking as the sight she made as the sunlight illuminated her face. His vision clouded and for just a moment, it was someone else seated across from him. Within arm’s reach at long last.

His knuckles turned white against the strain of remaining in place.

Her eyes darted back to him, as though she couldn’t maintain focus on anything else for longer than a few seconds. Her brows drew in, expression once more mimicking human emotion with textbook accuracy.

“Draco, what’s wrong?”

He tore his gaze away, inviting the bright sun to blind him entirely.

“It’s hard to look at you.”

She leaned back, stricken.

“You don’t find me pleasing?”

“I find you beautiful. Painfully so.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“It’s torture for my soul.” His shoulders widened, chest expanding, an offering to the waiting blade. “Which I absolutely deserve.”

Before she could manufacture the proper response the driver called down, announcing their approach to their final destination. Draco breathed a heavy sigh of relief, desperate to escape these claustrophobic confines.

He was leaping down to the cobblestone before the wheels stopped turning, inhaling the late afternoon air greedily, desperately. He paid the coachman and then offered his hand to Dawn, biting his tongue as she clung to him with both hands, refusing to relent even after he helped steady her on the pavement.

He reminded himself she was in no more control of her impulses than he was.

He began to escort her up the drive, muscles tensed as she listed into his side like a lover on an afternoon stroll through the park.

A moment later the front door was flying open and a large body emerged, eyes wide and hair flying. Black gazed first at the young pair and then at the departing carriage, face struck by raw panic.

“Harry isn’t with you?”

“Potter is fine.”

The man visibly deflated. “You spoke to him?”

Draco shook his head. “I spoke to Riddle. They’re both working toward getting Dolohov’s will overturned.”

“So it’s true then? Mione has a new-”

He broke off as Dawn leaned into Draco’s side, resting her head against his arm. Draco closed his eyes and heard Black shift before them.

“I feel like I’m missing something.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

Black tilted his head.

“Hello, luv. I don’t believe we’ve met.” He arched a dark brow. “I’m Lord Black.”

“Her name is Dawn.”

His eyes flickered to Draco and narrowed. “Can’t she speak for herself?”

“Not in the traditional sense.”

His gaze continued darting between them.

“I’m definitely missing something.”

“I’ll attempt to explain inside.”

Black appeared to be bursting at the seams with questions but led the way to the door all the same.

“It seems I obtain a new young woman every hour.”

“Aren’t you the lucky bastard.”

"My twenty-year-old self would be in adamant agreement."

Draco arched a pale brow. “And now?”

“I want to feed them dinner and drape sheets over their heads.”

“Kinky.”

“We all have our little fantasies.” Black opened the door and ushered them both inside. “I dare say I’m starting to see the pattern to yours.”

Draco scowled. “It isn’t what it looks like.”

“I beg to differ.” Black’s frustratingly keen gaze snapped to the girl still clutching onto his side. “The resemblance can’t be denied.”

Draco sighed heavily, stopping in the entry and turning to face him. “That was the point.”

Black slid the heavy bolt into place. “Point?”

“I’ll explain in a moment. But first I want to get her settled in a room upstairs.”

“She’s staying on then?”

“Yes.”

He rubbed tiredly at his eyes. “Put her next to Luna. I’ll ask Parvati to take her-”

“No.”

His eyes snapped open. “No?”

“I need to minimize her interaction with others.”

His brows drew in, mouth opening but no sound emitting, realization sparking in the depths of his dark gaze a moment later.

“Fucking hell…” His complexion turned waxen. “She’s one of them?”

Draco nodded, an invisible weight pressing hard upon his lungs, making it difficult to breathe, to stand still.

“Yes.”

“We need to get her to a hospital.”

“I took her to Riddle. He examined her himself and told me to bring her here for safekeeping.”

“We’re taking orders from him now?”

“I’m not keen on the prospect either. But he’s seen this before and may be the only one capable of treating her.” He wet his lips, peering down at her vacant expression. “He’s coming by later to examine her further.”

Black tipped his head back with a groan. “Fantastic. Everyone is popping round for tea and a biscuit _other_ than my bloody godson.”

Draco ignored the man’s frustrated musings as he attempted to extract his arm from her tight grip.

“Dawn.”

She snapped to attention. Black tilted his head, watching her transformation with blatant interest. Draco’s jaw tensed as she met his eye, an automatic smile stretching her lips in an obscene parody of a grin.

“Would you like anything to eat before I take you upstairs?”

She shook her head. “No.”

And then she released his arm of her own volition, trailing a hand over his chest as her eyes smoldered.

“Let’s go to bed.”

He caught her wrist, drawing her hand away as he took a wide step back, meeting Black’s narrowed gaze over her slender shoulder, only to scowl anew at the accusation written across the man’s face.

“Give me a little credit.”

Black crossed his arms, widening his stance. “I didn’t say anything.”

Dawn followed his retreat, pressing her body flush to his. He released her wrist and grasped her shoulders, pushing her back and holding her at arm's length.

“I won’t be joining you for the night.”

Her brows drew in.

“But-”

“It’s not up for debate. Come along.”

He grabbed her hand and started for the steps, relieved when she fell into step without protest.

As they rounded the landing he peered over the banister at Black, still standing in the middle of the marble entry, eyes firmly affixed to the pair.

But there was no longer judgment housed within their gleaming depths.

What Draco saw was far more unsettling, for it was echoed strongly within his own head and heart.

Fear.

He swallowed heavily, tearing his gaze away as he cut a quick path into the hallway leading to a row of guest rooms.

The door closest to the stairs remained shut. He knew the ethereal blonde they’d rescued from Yaxley was housed within. The girl unnerved him greatly with her mysterious talk about auras, but she had a calming presence that made her company somewhat endurable in short doses.

He was relieved she would be the one in closest proximity to Dawn. He doubted the blonde would seek to meddle or pry as the iron-willed Parvati would likely attempt.

He pulled her inside the empty bedroom and quickly closed the door, intent on getting her settled as quickly as possible, but before he even opened his mouth to speak she descended upon him like a cat in heat.

She grasped handfuls of his shirt and pulled him into her body, pressing along his front and surging upward, lips aiming for his mouth. He turned his head away just in time and her teeth collided with his jaw. She was undeterred, trailing a line of heated open mouth kisses down across his neck.

“Dawn- stop!”

She jolted violently, body going taut as a bowstring.

“What’s wrong?” She panted, breathless.

He finally got a hold of her arms and pushed her back with more force than intended, struggling to regain his bearings as he braced her in an iron hold.

“We aren’t going to do this.”

She blinked slowly, settling back on her heels.

“I thought you said I was beautiful.”

His fingers tensed against her, heavy stones dropping to the pit of his stomach.

“You are. But it changes nothing. I’m not going to touch you.” He swallowed past the constriction in his throat, dropping his hands from her flesh as he spoke the words. “No man is going to touch you. You’ll be safe here.”

A deep crease appeared between her brows, lips curving down.

“You don’t want me?”

“Dawn-”

“I’ve done bad.”

His blood ran cold at the haunting cadence of her voice.

“What?”

She staggered back on unsteady legs, grabbing handfuls of her long hair and pulling violently.

“I’ve done bad!”

He gaped, shocked by her outburst, this uncharacteristic display of raw emotion.

“Stop-”

“I’m bad I’m bad I’m bad!”

Her screams quickly turned shrill, cheeks flush and eyes glassy as she released her hair, spinning to face the bed and gripping the tall wooden post with both hands.

He blinked, lunging forward as she began to ram her head into the barrier, the entire frame shaking with the powerful impact of her skull.

“Dawn, stop!”

He grabbed her arms and tore her back, ripping her clear off her feet and tipping her into his body. But she was lost to her frenzy, thrashing wildly in his hold as she pounded her fists into her temples, cheeks wet with tears.

“I’m bad I’m bad-”

“You aren’t bad!” He grabbed her wrists, crossing his arms across her front and sinking to the ground, forcing her to descend with him, trapping all of her limbs against his body. “You haven’t done anything wrong!”

She continued to sob hysterically, straining against his hold as she dug her heels into the carpet and tried to gain traction.

The door flew open.

Draco glanced sharply to his left, face pinched in hostility.

“Get out!”

Blaise raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, blinking as he took in the scene on the ground.

“I heard screaming.” His eyes flickered to Dawn, eyes widening as his arms dropped. “Holy shite. Thought it is was Granger for a second.”

“Blaise, leave.”

Her sobbing turned to sharp keening, eyes squeezed shut as she began to curl in on herself, and thereby into Draco. Blaise’s expression was transfixed.

Draco held her tighter.

“Get the hell out!”

Blaise opened and closed his mouth but finally took a step back, reaching blindly for the brass knob. Draco waited until the door was shut with his friend on the opposite side before directing his attention forward.

“Dawn,” he whispered, voice thick. “Listen to me. You are not to hurt yourself again, do you understand?”

His chest absorbed the aftershocks of her broken sobs.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t-” He took a deep breath, shaking his head and closing his eyes. “It’s alright, luv. It’s alright.”

She finally fell still against him.

“Just calm down.”

He rested his chin atop her head, loosening his grip enough to stroke her arms in as soothing a gesture as he knew how.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. This is my fault.”

He swallowed heavily as she went limp in his hold, sinking into him fully. He was hardly aware he’d begun to rock her back and forth in the same manner his mother did when he was a child.

“This is all my fault.”

His chest tightened with conviction, molten steel running through his veins.

“And I’m going to fix it.”

* * *

Astoria watched with rapt fascination as Mistress Tonks scooped another spoonful of sugar into her porcelain cup, stirring with precise and measured movements, manners as impeccable as any governess she’d ever seen.

“Does your father know where you are tonight?”

The question startled her. She sat straighter, pressing back into the chair.

“Yes.”

Her companion raised a dark brow. “Really?”

“Well...” Astoria glanced at her own cup, tracing a finger along the gold filigree on the handle. “He thinks Draco is here with me, introducing me to his extended relatives.”

Mistress Tonks nodded, setting her spoon aside. “Ah. I see.” She brought the steaming cup to her lips, watching Astoria over the rim. “So you’re engaged?”

“Unofficially.”

The Mistress took a small sip, setting the cup in the saucer with such practiced skill it made not a sound.

“Are you fond of my nephew?”

Astoria blinked, feeling the blood drain from her face and into her feet.

“Y-Yes, of course-”

“It’s quite alright, dear. I was also engaged to a Malfoy at your age.”

Her jaw clamped shut, heart stuttering.

“I’d like to think my nephew is leaps and bounds the man Lucius ever was, however I know what it is to be trapped in a loveless union all the same.”

Astoria took a deep breath and smoothed the linen napkin over her lap, fingers trembling.

“I do care for Draco. Truly. He’s one of the few people I can be completely honest with.” Despite her wrought nerves a wry grin managed to break free. “Although this has been a recent development. It seems we’ve grown quite close in our mutual pursuit of freedom.”

The Mistress smiled, leaning back with casual repose.

“But you’re not in love.”

Astoria opened and closed her mouth, lies failing her as she was pinned with a supremely knowing look. She sighed, shoulders dropping in resignation.

"To be fair, I've never been in love. I know it's different for everyone. Sometimes it's instantaneous, sometimes it takes a while to flourish." She twisted the napkin into a rope beneath the table. "My sister couldn't stand Gregory when they were children. Now they’re mad for each other.”

She forced her eyes back up. “They’ve been engaged for over half her life. Draco and I have known each other for just as long. But I’ve never…” She shook her head, rib cage swelling. “I’ve never felt anything more than sisterly affection.”

She took a deep breath, one weight lifted, another added. “It’s the same for him.” She swallowed lightly, glancing down to the gleaming table surface, staring upon her own pale reflection. “It’s worse for him, actually.”

The Mistress tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “Why do you say that?”

“Because he…”

She bit her lip.

_It’s not my secret to tell._

“Because he’s trying to protect me from the fallout. He feels responsible for me.”

Her hostess's expression turned pensive. "I rarely had the opportunity to see him when he was growing up. It brings me great joy to know the kind of man he has turned out to be."

Astoria nodded quickly.

“I am fortunate to be paired with him. I could have easily ended up with someone who thinks I’m nothing but decoration for the mantle.”

“Is there no one else you desire to marry?”

The question took her so off guard she broke out in a blistering blush.

“I…”

The Mistress smiled coyly, eyes creased with humor. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Astoria swallowed thickly, squirming her chair. “When I was younger, I thought perhaps…” She looked into her lap once more, pressing the mangled linen smooth. “It was merely a crush. We’ve barely spoken a handful of words throughout the course of our acquaintanceship.”

She laughed dryly, misery edged in her voice, in her soul.

“I don’t know the first thing about him.”

And then she delicately cleared her throat, tipping her chin back up and holding the Mistress’s keen gaze.

“Truthfully, the idea of marrying anyone frightens me a great deal.”

“I could relate to that sentiment quite well, once upon a time.”

She blinked.

“But I thought…”

“I ran away from home to marry Ted?”

The Mistress erupted into a fit of melodic laughter, sounding genuinely delighted.

“No, darling. I just refused to marry Lucius, and the Tonks were willing to take me in.”

Astoria’s hands fell still, drawn forward by the smooth cadence of her voice.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d been secretly pining for Ted for quite some time. His mother was a maid in our household for many years, I spent nearly as much time with him as my own sisters. But love didn’t blossom until much later, after we both grew into adulthood.”

“Weren’t you scared to run away?”

“I feared my father’s backlash more than anything. He had the power to destroy the Tonks. The power to kill me.”

Astoria paled once more, knees pressing as tension stole through her entire body.

“He’d kill his own child?”

The Mistress gazed idly at her teacup, tracing a fingertip around the rim and relaying the news no differently than a weather report. “He harbored no fondness for his children. Not in the paternal sense. He loved the status we could bring him and nothing more. Once I threw his name into scandal I was convinced he would end my life.”

Astoria wet her lips, eyes wide. “And yet you ran anyway?”

“Marrying Lucius would effectively end my life just the same. I thought it better to exit this world abruptly than drag out my demise for many years.”

Her heart stuttered. “Is Lord Malfoy really that bad?”

Mistress Tonks sighed. “He was never cruel. But he was never warm. Of course, he was also madly in love with Cissy, so I imagine he resented me a great deal.”

She shook her head, adjusting in her seat.

“It was long ago. We were only teenagers. Emotions ran high.” Her spine straightened, as though braced against the world. “But I am grateful I acted on those whims. They led me to Ted. To this life.”

She smiled fondly, teeth gleaming beneath the chandelier. “And I couldn’t be happier.”

Astoria leaned back at last, her face a mapwork of awe. “I wish I had your bravery.”

“Don’t you?”

She couldn’t contain the laughter that bubbled up and over spilled her lips.

“I’m not exactly courageous.”

“I think it took a great deal of courage coming here tonight, knowing how your father will react if he knew the truth.”

She bit her lip, pulse thrumming anew.

“It still doesn't feel real. That you want to publish my book.” A smile curved her lips. “I felt so much joy leaving your shop that day.”

“And now?”

Her smile fell.

“I still feel it. But it’s matched by fear.”

A heavy shadow swept in from above, blanketing the room.

“Of your father.”

"Yes. As well as the rest of the gentry. They would never accept me as anything but a proper housewife. Women of my station do not take careers. Certainly not in male-dominated fields."

“Then you will start the trend.”

Astoria smiled sadly.

“My father is terrifying, but I harbor no fear of him killing me.” Her expression sobered. “The fact that you were strong enough to leave your life behind at such a young age is truly remarkable. I admired you a great deal before tonight, but now I think I shall build a shrine for you in my closet.”

Her companion’s laughter echoed all around, unrestrained and joyful, rhythmic and contagious.

“Oh, how you flatter me, dear girl!”

She wiped the corners of her eyes, settling down after a few more moments. “But I wonder… is it admiration you feel, or envy?”

Astoria’s heart skipped.

“I…I don’t understand.”

“Do you dream of escaping your life? Your name and family?”

She swallowed thickly, fingers interlacing tightly atop her lap.

“I love my sister very much.”

“Then you don’t have to worry about losing her. Once she marries the young Mister Goyle she will be free to converse with whomever she pleases, regardless of your father’s wrath.”

She shook her head. “I still couldn’t leave.”

“Why not?”

Nervous laughter escaped, unbidden.

“Are you… is this a game of some sort?”

Mistress Tonks tilted her head, eyes gleaming bright and hypnotic. “It’s not a game, my dear. It’s your future.”

Astoria released a slow breath.

“I would never be able to show my face in London society again.”

“Thank goodness the world is so big.”

She shook her head, pressure loosening in her chest as another frightening sensation took hold.

Hope.

“I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Hm…” The Mistress began to drum her slender fingers atop the table. “What languages do you speak?”

Astoria leaned forward, unable to escape the powerful lure. The conversation was utterly ludicrous. Utterly dangerous.

And yet she couldn't resist playing along. 

“Italian, French and Spanish.”

“I daresay that’s a marvelous start.”

She tucked an imaginary loose strand of hair behind her ear, fighting the urge to fidget.

“I _have_ always wanted to visit Spain. I thought perhaps after Draco and I married I would ask for a villa in Barcelona. That way he could remain in London and live as a free man while I was allowed to pursue my own interests.”

The Mistress smiled, bringing the teacup to her lips once more.

“A marvel idea.”

She took a hearty sip, setting the porcelain down with more force this time.

“Now let’s subtract my sweet nephew from the equation.”

Astoria reared back, feeling light-headed.

“I… I don’t...”

“Would you like to stop talking about this subject?”

She held the woman’s gaze in tense silence, the walls pressing upon her, the roof caving in.

“I would love nothing more than to continue talking about it.”

She wet her lips tentatively, picking at the edges of the napkin until the fabric began to fray. “Which is why I think we should stop.”

Mistress Tonks nodded slowly.

“I understand.” Her smile was warm, genuine. “Whenever you are ready to resume the discussion, you know where to find me.”

Astoria breathed a heavy sigh of relief, not fully comprehending the last few minutes, terrified of reflecting upon the words for too long.

“Thank you.” She slowly grinned, something breaking free inside her chest at last. “Andy.”

The older woman chuckled softly, falling quiet as the sound of the front door opening echoed loudly down the hall and into the dining room.

Andromeda’s smile took on a new, radiant light. “Ah, that will be Ted. Just in time for supper.” She pushed back from the table, rising swiftly. “I’ll be just a moment, darling.”

“Of course.”

She watched her leave the room at an unhurried pace, though her eagerness to reach her destination was clear.

Astoria’s heart swelled at the obvious love and devotion between the Tonks, even after three decades of marriage.

It also made her stomach knot.

Because deep down, she knew she craved such love for herself.

So badly she could barely breathe at times.

The only companionship she had ever known was Daphne's, their mother having died before she was old enough to retain any solid memories of their time together.

But she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be loved by a _man_. To be wanted above all else. To be desired to the point of madness. To be looked at the way Greg looked upon Daphne, as Ted looked upon Andy, as Draco looked upon Hermione.

She wondered if anyone could ever love her with such intensity, desiring her not in spite of her flaws but _because_ of them.

And she wondered if running away from this life would rid of her such crippling loneliness or merely provide a new backdrop for her misery.

She set the napkin on the table, trying to reign in her thoughts and emotions before her hosts returned.

Yet she couldn't shake the phantom whisper.

_“It’s not a game, my dear. It’s your future.”_

She closed her eyes.

A dangerous notion indeed.

* * *

Hermione followed McGill at a steady pace as he led her down the long and narrow corridor to a familiar black door at the end.

The orderly had appeared in her room only minutes after she awoke from a fitful sleep, plagued by strange dreams she couldn’t fully recall upon waking, though glimpses of a vibrant, paint saturated sky continued to flash through her mind’s eye without rhyme or reason.

She barely had time to reflect on the surreal imagery before he was escorting her out of the room and across the sprawling structure.

To the Doctor’s office.

Her fists clenched at her sides as they reached the end of the line, the door situated just before them. He seemed to sense the unrest within her, allowing her a moment to gather her bearings before he rapped softly against the wood.

Her heart swelled, fit to burst with latent terror, her earlier encounter in the bizarre equipment room still spinning through her mind, trapped in a tidal wave of memory fragments, the wreckage left behind from the poison pill.

“Enter.”

She cringed, unable to quell her visceral reaction. McGill spared her a sympathetic glance before opening the door and stepping aside.

She swayed on her feet as the office was revealed, bathed in orange evening light, shadows stretched high upon the walls, casting patterns along the Doctor’s many framed certificates.

Yet her eyes fastened immediately upon the man in question, seated behind his large ornate desk, gazing up from whatever paperwork sat before him.

“Ah. Hermione. Do come in.”

She swayed on her feet, a dark force field centered at the threshold.

She knew if she crossed over, all would be lost.

_No._

_Hope… and wait._

_The time will come._

She stepped inside.

A chill raced up her spine, setting the fine hairs along her arms and neck on end.

The Doctor smiled, teeth bright and deadly.

“Have a seat.”

She refused to cower, to feed into his twisted amusement any further, pushing forward and crossing the rug until she reached the chair situated opposite his.

As she folded into it he dismissed the orderly lingering in the corridor with a simple nod of his head. Her blood ran cold the moment the door closed behind her, the click deafening and final.

And suddenly she understood…

She was in the Ninth Circle, seated across from the Devil himself.

He pushed the papers aside, awarding her with his undivided, unsettling attention.

“How are you feeling?”

She swallowed tentatively, recalling the rage in his eyes when they last spoke, noting the casual repose he now sat with, completely unconcerned.

She didn’t trust the act for a moment.

“A bit groggy.”

He nodded once, as though anticipating such a response.

“That is a normal side effect of the drug, nothing to worry about.”

Her jaw tensed, hands curling over the ends of the armrests.

“What exactly _was_ the drug?”

His silver grin was sharp as a clever.

“I’m afraid that information is classified, my dear. But I assure you, all the ingredients are perfectly safe.”

Her eyes narrowed. "Perhaps separately. But they obviously cause hallucinations when combined, which can lead to self-harm and accidental injury. I hardly deem such a drug _safe_.”

She saw malevolence in his bright gaze. Along with intrigue. She wasn’t sure which unnerved her more. And then he leaned back, tilting his head to leisurely study her at an angle.

“Has your memory returned to you?”

His tone was edged with disinterest but the tight set of his shoulders told another story. There was greedy hunger in his eyes, reminding her of Dolohov. And yet the two men were polar opposites, one desiring her body, the other her mind. She tread carefully along the narrow plank, surging ocean beneath the rickety beam, snapping jaws eagerly awaiting her misstep.

“Somewhat. I remember McGill escorting me into the room with the deprivation chamber.” She wet her lips, doing her best not to squirm. “I recall only brief flashes after that.”

He arched a grey brow. “Such as?”

Her knuckles turned white as she dug her nails into the leather upholstery.

“Being placed in the water. Feeling as though I was drowning.”

“I assure you, Hermione, you were perfectly safe the entire time.”

Despite the forced calm of his tone, she felt her skin crawl in fear and disgust, unable to bear the sound of his voice forming her name. Her eyes flickered to his hand, curled around his bicep, and fantasized about slicing his fingers clean off.

The blood fueled imagery soothed her.

“Perhaps. But it did little to minimize the terror I felt.”

“You recall being inside the tank then?”

Her gaze darted back up.

“My memory fades the moment the lid was shut.”

His smile grew, lines stretched taut like a marionette.

“How convenient.”

Her jaw set. “I fail to follow.”

“You’re a terribly clever young woman, you follow just fine.”

Her own lips pressed thin.

His expression melted away a moment later, arms unfolding, dropping to the table instead. His forearms were sinewy with firm muscle. He was in good shape for his age. The observation inspired great frustration. She quickly discarded any notions of overpowering the man by herself.

“You received a visitor.”

She blinked, heart jolting.

“Last night and this morning while you were undergoing your treatment.”

He drummed his fingers along the wood, each successive tap a needle plunging through her flesh.

“The most persistent man, I am told. And a fellow Doctor no less.”

His gaze darkened, fixing upon her with predatory stillness. And then he traced the edge of his teeth with his tongue, as though savoring the words to come.

“Thomas Riddle.”

Her pulse thrummed madly, muscles turning to unforgiving stone, adhering her permanently to the chair. She struggled to keep her visage neutral, free of reaction, but his answering smile told her he saw right through the poorly constructed rouse.

His fingers continued to drum an even beat, gaze unwavering.

“I admit I reacted quite strongly to the name as well.” He tilted his head in consideration. “You see, I also knew a Doctor Thomas Riddle. Once upon a time.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a disturbingly wry smirk.

“But he is long since dead.”

She jolted as his hand flattened upon the desk with a thump.

“Perhaps it is mere coincidence a man of the same name should show up at my door.” His arms bent, fingers steepling before his mouth. “Perhaps it is also a coincidence he is the physician at the Umbridge Home. And that you are his patient.”

He smiled anew, fangs glistening in the violet light emanating through the tall windows.

“So _many_ coincidences.”

Her chest felt tight, breathing became a struggle.

“Tell me, Hermione… how long have you been acquainted with Doctor Riddle?”

She swallowed thickly, thoughts caught in a whirlwind, hands trembling too hard to pick out a single one from the raging storm.

“Since the start of his tenure.”

“Is that so?” His joyous expression didn’t bode well. “How peculiar.”

He suddenly reached forward, grabbing up the paperwork from moments ago.

“According to the documents he left at the desk last night, he’s been your primary physician for the last five years.”

She wondered if she was having a heart attack, hands clutching the chair so tightly the wood groaned beneath the strain.

“I-”

“Don’t fret, dove. I spotted the forgery the moment I laid eyes on the papers.”

His gaze roamed the top sheet with passing interest, as though reading a restaurant bill.

“I admit, they are very well done, I imagine if he had more time he may have managed to put one over even on me.”

His eyes rose once more, glittering from the swelling shadows.

“Not that it matters. I have no intention of letting you go either way.”

She pressed back in the seat as hard as she could.

“Not while you’re still so unwell.”

“I’m not unwell.”

“No?” He seemed pleased by the venom in her voice. “So you aren’t plagued by ghostly hallucinations?”

She inhaled deeply, spine poised. “They aren’t a plague.”

His eyes traced the lines of her face. “What a fascinating response.”

“Is it?”

His laughter set her nerves aflame.

“Oh, you certainly do have spirit. No wonder so many powerful men want you.”

Her stomach knotted painfully, causing her to shrink back once more.

“And now I see for myself what drives the mysterious Tom Riddle out of hiding at long last.”

“He was never in hiding,” she said on instinct, chest burning with a smoldering flame.

He wet his lips, considering her for several moments with narrowed eyes.

“What a treasure you are. An unexpected gift. I had no idea the advantage you would grant me when I accepted your case. I naively assumed you would be like all the others. But then you managed to resist the pull of the drug, and now you bring me Tom at long last.”

She felt light-headed, the shadows spreading rapidly across the walls at his back, vying for her attention.

“What a magnificent creature you are.”

The fire in her chest spread through her limbs, breathing life into her anew. “You would know all about creatures.”

He blinked.

And then a slow, sinister smile crept upon his face, more frightening than all the others combined.

For the final mask fell away before her eyes, the true face of the Dollmaker visible at long last.

“I suppose it’s long time we did away with pretense.” He leaned in, bracing his forearms against the lip of the desk. “You obviously know who I am.”

She, in turn, pressed back, disgust shrouding her body and words.

“You’re a monster.”

He tilted his head. “That is often the name applied to individuals society cannot understand.”

“It’s applied to soulless beasts. And there’s nothing to understand. You aren’t a genius. You aren’t a god.”

“Nor have I claimed to be either.”

Her claws lengthened, tearing through the leather upholstery. “Why else would you go to such lengths destroying innocent lives if not to make up for your own inadequacy?”

He tipped his head back and erupted into a fresh round of wall trembling laugher.

“Oh what spirit indeed!” He shook his head ruefully. “What a shame I must break it.”

She inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring as she leaned in, propelled by the force of her hatred.

“You will _never_ break me.”

His smile faded in intensity but remained hauntingly fixed.

“I harbor no doubt you will pose a great challenge, my dear. Fortunately, I love to be challenged. Nothing worth having in this life is easily obtained.”

“You will never have me either.”

“Look around you, child.” He gestured to the office. “You are already mine.” He sighed, arms lowering to the desk once more. “In a manner of speaking, of course, since legally you now belong to someone else.”

Her heart lurched violently, battering at her ribcage.

“I suppose it won't come as a shock to you that Mr. Dolohov perished away last night in a horrific house fire.”

She scowled. He continued on, voice light and undaunted.

“I’d assumed he would be the one to come here, based on the rumors I’ve heard about his… shall we say, _fascination_ with you.”

Bile rose in her throat, thick as the sludge she watched pour from his eyes and mouth in the equipment room.

“I also had a sneaking suspicion he would deny me the opportunity to cure you. Luckily, your new guardian is a close acquaintance of mine, and is more than happy to continue your course of treatment.”

She reared back as his smile grew fangs.

"However, I will be unable to do so at the asylum. Not with Tom battering down the door. I harbor no doubt he’ll set the entire building aflame to get to you, and I’m not keen on suffering the same fate as the poor Mr. Dolohov.”

He licked his lips, practically salivating before her.

“But fear not, pet. Your guardian has sent someone to escort you to your new home.”

Her entire body rattled with the force of her heartbeat.

“I will join you in the morning, and we shall pick up where we left off.”

As if awaiting some silent cue, the door opened and a man stepped inside, dressed in dark uniform.

“No!” She screamed, leaping to her feet and staggering back into the wall, adrenaline making her sick and light headed.

“I wasn’t exaggerating before, Hermione.” The Doctor stood gracefully, slowly emerging from around the desk. “Many powerful men want you. Never have I received so many requests before the product is finished.”

“You vile bastard!”

“I am sure you will call me far worse before our sessions are through.”

He nodded to the stranger.

“Please detain the patient so that I may sedate her for travel.”

“Don’t touch me!”

“Don’t let him take you, Hermione.”

She gasped, a fresh scream emerging from her lips as Dolohov materialized at her side, the endless black of his eyeless skull drilling holes through her head.

“You’re only chance to escape is now.”

The words caused a stir of emotions within her, both in their urgency and the perverse concern in which they were delivered.

The uniformed stranger started towards her, hands lifting. She dashed to the tall shelf in the corner, grabbing the heaviest book she could spot and throwing it with all the strength contained in her slight form.

Her aim was terrible, limbs still shook and weak from the drug and water tank.

But she continued launching missile after missile, until at long last she landed a hit on her target, the corner of a heavy spine clipping the advancing man on his temple with a powerful thwack.

He gasped in shock, grabbing his injured forehead and stepping back on instinct. She seized the opportunity and charged past, losing a shoe halfway across the room before grabbing the chair she'd previously occupied and knocked it over in his path as he barrelled after her.

He tripped over the obstacle with another shout of pain, crashing to the floor hard enough to shake the wall. She wasted no time celebrating the small victory, kicking her other shoe off for balance and sprinting into the hall as though hellhounds were nipping at her heels.

She heard the Doctor sigh in annoyance as the uniformed man struggled to regain his footing, and then the only sound in the world was the deafening wail of her heart.

By some miracle she reached the door at the other end of the corridor, living out the escape fantasy she’d played through her mind countless times since her arrival, arm outstretched to grab the handle, when suddenly the barrier gave way of its own accord, swinging outward as a large body appeared in the frame, blocking her way to freedom.

She didn’t have time to check her momentum, colliding into the solid mass at full speed, the impact jarring her bones and knocking the wind from her lungs as she bounced back and toppled to the hard ground.

She scrambled to her hands and knees, gazing up with wide, terrified eyes, meeting McGill’s equally perplexed gaze as the sound of pounding footsteps echoed loudly behind her.

“Granger? What-”

“Grab her!”

“Please!” She screamed mindlessly, clutching McGill’s leg like a small child. “Please help me!”

His face looked utterly stricken.

The man at her back drew near.

The orderly shook free of her grasp and stepped forward, inserting himself between her trembling form and the scowling beast charging down the narrow divide.

“What’s going on?”

“I'm here to take the girl to her guardian. She attacked me!”

“Please don’t let him take me!” She begged, sobbing openly as she struggled to her feet.

“McGill.” Her blood ran cold as the Doctor started down the hall at a casual pace. “Stand aside.”

“Sir-”

“Stand _down_.”

His voice was edged with as much poison as the pill, leaving no room for dissent. McGill swallowed heavily, peering over his shoulder and meeting her desperate gaze. The look in his eye shattered her heart to pieces before he even uttered the words.

“I’m sorry.”

She shook her head frantically, too miserable to form any additional pleas. His jaw tensed.

“Any life outside of these walls is better than one within.”

And then he moved aside.

She screamed anew as the darkly clad man reached out and captured her arm, wrenching her forward.

“Don’t make me hurt you,” he hissed.

“Go to hell!”

She thrashed like a madwoman, driven by animal instinct and Dolohov’s haunting words.

She scratched, kicked, clawed, streaking his arms and face with red, caking it beneath her nails. He wrapped both arms around her and began dragging her back down the hall, towards the awaiting Doctor. She went limp in his hold, causing him to grunt in frustration as he tried to reestablish his grip. She braced a foot against the wall and kick with all her might, causing him to lose his balance and topple backward with her still tightly encased in his arms.

His spine hit the hard tile with a deafening crack even as the air was driven from her chest with the painful impact. His arms loosened and she scrambled away, crawling on all fours, screaming like a feral cat as her ankle was seized in an iron grip, leg wrenched back and chin hitting the ground with enough force to fill her mouth with blood as her tooth cut her cheek.

She gritted her jaw against the sting, pulling her leg forward as hard as she could.

“Get off me!”

“You little bit-”

"There's no need for such base antics as childish name-calling," the Doctor calmly supplied as he appeared at their sides, gait even and unhurried.

“Hold her steady.”

The man crawled over her body, grabbing her hips and flipping her over. She gasped in shock, clawing at his face, aiming for his eyes-

Only for both wrists to be caught in his manacling grip. He ground her bones beneath his hands, rage clear upon his blood-streaked face.

And as she attempted to twist her arms free, she felt the ribbon snap beneath his unyielding palm.

And a piece of her soul snapped along with it.

Forever gone. Dissipating in the wind.

The Doctor kneeled beside her head, face hovering above her own.

“You sick twisted-”

“As I said, there’s no need for name calling, my dear.” The Devil smiled. “I am merely trying to help you.”

“You won't get away with this!”

He raised the needle to the light, examining the clear contents as he pushed the plunger up, removing air bubbles.

Tears clouded her vision. Smoke filled her lungs. Hatred festered in her heart.

“Tom will find you.”

The message was delivered with utter calmness.

For she knew the words to be true and believed them with every powerful beat of her heart.

His movements froze, eyes darting down once more.

And then he smiled anew.

“Oh, I’m counting on it, pet. I’ve been waiting a very long time for the boy to become a man.”

She screamed as he plunged the needle into her arm, thrashing anew, helplessly pinned by the oppressive weight bearing down upon her.

“He’ll cut out your heart,” she hissed.

He pushed down on the plunger. Ice surged through her veins.

“Perhaps he will. Lord knows he’s earned the right.”

Her muscles went instantly lax. The restraining hands loosened and her wrists dropped lifelessly to the checkered floor.

The ribbon floated down to the ground, sitting upon the white tile like a smear of blood.

“Or then again, perhaps I’ll cut out _his_ , just as I did to Thomas.”

The words echoed through her head at half speed, the meaning lost to her rapidly fading mind, but the shadows racing along the ceiling and walls told her everything she needed to know about what awaited her on the other side.

“Only one thing is for certain, Hermione.”

She hardly felt his hand weaving into her hair, fingers grasping the back of her skull and lifting her head from the ground, bringing her face close to his, mouths nearly touching as he hissed a sinister promise across her lips.

“You will be my greatest creation yet.”

The shadows crashed and collided, merging as one.

And then they swept down.

Consuming her entirely.

* * *

Draco took the stairs two at a time, eager to reach the landing, eager to put the ordeal at Grimmauld out of his mind.

He was wracked by guilt and shame, fear and panic, terrified there was no cure for whatever the bastard had done to Dawn.

Which didn’t bode well for any of the Dollmaker’s other victims.

But right now he had to shift his focus to another woman, someone he _could_ help.

If he played his cards right.

And he was willing to play every card in his deck, propelled forward by the memory of her impassioned voice.

_“Those with means have a responsibility to help those without.”_

_“What a load of shite, Granger. Sounds like a bunch of people wanting a handout.”_

_“Everyone needs a helping hand at some point, Draco. And someday, you will, too.”_

He'd scoffed at her that day, rolled his eyes, eager to provoke her ire, her heated flame. But despite his youthful flippancy, her words had burrowed deep within his mind, unsettling him for years to come.

And now he understood why.

They were a dark omen of the trials he would soon face.

His hands twitched at his sides, plagued by the phantom sensation of holding Dawn as she sobbed hysterically in his arms. Twitching with the need to reach across the hospital bed and drag Hermione into his arms, shouting to hell with the world around them.

His selfishness had driven away the woman he loved, his weakness had prevented him from mending the wounds. His shortcomings were a festering rot, an infection quickly spreading to every vital organ.

It was time to cut away the dead flesh.

Starting at the source.

He strode down the hallway with great purpose, taking a deep breath to steady himself before knocking on the closed door at the end.

“Come in.”

He drew his shoulders back and entered swiftly, spotting his target across the room, seated behind his vinewood desk with a stack of papers in his hand and reading glasses resting low on his nose.

“The prodigal son returns.”

Draco shut the door behind him, stepping further into the opulent office he’d so admired as a child.

“I could say the same for you.”

His father arched a pale brow, removing the glasses and setting them aside. “Meaning?”

“I got in early this morning, you were already gone.”

He nodded. “I had some emergency business to take care of.”

“Involving Dolohov.”

He blinked, setting the papers aside next. “You’ve read the announcement I take it.”

“Yes.”

He ran a hand along his jaw absently, leaning into the high backed chair. “Such a shocking tragedy.”

His voice held no trace of grief or sadness. Draco stopped on the other side of the desk, crossing his arms to hide his clenched fists.

“Do they know how the fire started?”

“Arson.”

He tipped his chin up, heart leaping.

“Murder?”

His father idly traced the rim of his eyeglass lens. "His remains were blackened, destroying most of the physical evidence. Though the investigators found two of his fingers clear across the room, as well as several empty gas cans littering the floor."

“Fucking hell.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Draco inhaled slowly, making a concerted effort to keep his tone unaffected. “And why were you called in?”

His father glanced back to the paperwork, his own voice unnervingly measured. "To oversee the execution of his will. Given the nature of his cases, it was imperative everything was transferred immediately."

Draco wet his lips. “His cases.”

“Hm.”

His muscles started to tense as he fought for control. “It couldn’t wait until regular business hours?”

His father’s eagle gaze flickered up. “Unfortunately not.” He tilted his head, eyes unblinking, eerie in their stillness. “Is something wrong, Draco?”

He counted four heartbeats before forcing his arms to drop casually at his sides. “I’m just shocked to hear about Dolohov.”

“It was jarring news to me as well.”

He nodded slowly. “At least you were able to carry out his final wishes.”

And then the anger struck, sinking its claws deep and seeping venom in his bloodstream.

“I’m sure he’s very grateful for such devote loyalty.”

His father narrowed his gaze, voice deepening, slowing, the opening stance of his infamous verbal fencing dance.

“Perhaps this conversation would progress faster if you spoke plainly, son.”

He barely tamped down a cringe.

 _Fuck_.

“Nevermind.”

He spun on his heel, silently berating himself for showing his hand too soon, always inept in the midst of his father’s effortless sparring.

“Where were you last night, Draco?”

His body went rigid, steps slowing to a stop halfway to the door. His jaw worked silently, still facing the opposite direction.

“Where I always am at three a.m. Gambling in the East End.”

“I ran into my contact at your regular haunt on my way home. They denied having seen you.”

His hands clenched as he spun around, signature scowl firmly centered in place.

“Why do you always insist on asking questions you already know the answers to?”

His father’s answering smirk only infuriated him further. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black now, isn’t it?”

“ _What_?”

His father’s expression rapidly sobered, silver eyes gleaming. “You knew where I was this morning. Just as you knew Dolohov was dead.”

Draco crossed his arms once more. “I didn’t know for certain.” His lips curved into a sinister grin. “I merely hoped.”

“And why is that?”

He shook his head, taking a wide step back. “I’m done playing your childish games.”

“Then act like a man and speak the truth aloud!”

The command unleashed something wild within the pit of his chest, clawing desperately to break free, breathing flames into him anew. He surged forward, eyes feral, smoke billowing, slamming his hands on the desk and knocking the oil lamp to its side, pinning his father with a lethal glare.

“You knew about that bastard's obsession with her and you allowed him to take custody anyway!”

Lucius appeared supremely unaffected his son’s outburst. “I didn’t _allow_ anything. Her parents were the ones who allotted him controlling rights.”

The fire burned hotter, brighter, scouring away his flesh to reveal gleaming black scales beneath.

“They didn’t know the man was a pedophile and a pervert!”

His father finally reacted, color rising in his neck, voice edged in steel.

“I only saw the contract after it was signed and registered with the courts. I hardly had any say in the matter.”

“Are you sure about that, father?” He pushed away from the heavy desk with force. “Dolohov wasn’t exactly the sharpest sword in the armory. The ironclad terms of his will carry a very distinctive stench.”

Lucius blinked. “You’ve seen it?”

Draco set his jaw. “I’ve heard about it.”

His father seethed, slamming his fists on the desk before unfolding to his full height.

“Your mother and I saw right through that little song and dance you performed at the breakfast table, insisting you were past your little crush.”

“Then why the hell did you let me join the legal team?”

“Because for the first time in all my life I prayed to God I was wrong!”

“You knew Dolohov intended to abuse his power over her.” His voice filled the expansive room, walls trembling with the force of his explosive rage. “You wanted him to.”

His father braced his hands against the desk, eyes narrowed to slits. “I assure you, my days are quite filled with far more pressing concerns that Hermione Bloody Granger.”

Draco leaned in, matching his expression. “No, they aren’t. Because you know what she means to me.”

“This is merely a passing phase, Draco-”

“If you truly believed that you wouldn’t be so quick to sign her off to another man. You’d exercise your conscience and petition the judge to transfer her guardianship to Black.”

Lucius laughed bitterly, tipping his head back, the river of blonde gleaming down his spine. “You think _Black_ is a more appropriate choice? It’s a miracle the Potter spawn hasn’t met the same fate as his imbecilic parents under that heathen’s care!”

Draco reared back as though struck, chest seizing painful, ribs cracking with the impact of the hateful words. His gaze slowly roamed his father’s impeccably-built form, taking in every detail as if for the first time.

His heart blackened and decayed with the discovery.

“Christ.”

He shook his head slowly, meeting the mercurial gaze that was an identical reflection of his own, wondering how he could bear to look in a mirror ever again.

“You really are a monster, aren’t you?”

His father’s expression fell, brows drawing together. “Draco-”

“I didn’t want to see it before. I defended you countless times. Justified your behavior however I could…”

He raised his arms, carding his fingers through his hair, shaking his head in disbelief.

“But it’s true.” His voice thickened. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

Lucius paled, rocking back on his heels.

“One of _who_?”

Draco’s stomach knotted, bile rising. He backed away quickly, desperate for freedom, for clean air outside of the toxic gas cloud.

“Draco, don’t you dare walk away from me!” Heavy footfalls rounded the desk, following in his wake. “ _One of who_?”

Draco stopped short, spinning on his heel and breathing fire. “If he touches her, if he so much as _looks_ at her, I’m going to kill him.” He braced his shoulders, spine lengthening. “And then I’m coming back here. For you.”

His father’s visage twisted into a demonic mask, flesh mottled and veins throbbing as he closed the distance between them.

“How dare you threaten me, boy! After everything I’ve given you! After serving you the entire world on a silver platter!”

“I don’t want the world you have to offer.”

He began to turn once more, only for his arm to be seized in an iron grip.

“Look at what you’re doing! Throwing your future away on a filthy harlot-”

He wrenched his arm free, heart rioting.

“She’s anything but. And _when_ I get her out of that asylum, I’m taking her as far from England as possible, and you will _never_ hear from me again.”

“Draco, you aren’t thinking logically-”

“It’s a little difficult when I can barely curb the urge to throttle you!”

His father reached forward again but Draco evaded his grasping hand, chest heaving. Lucius inhaled sharply, wheels visibly spinning in his gleaming gaze, posture changing as he seamlessly switched tactics before Draco’s very eyes.

“I never intended for her to come to harm. I promise you, son.”

“I don’t believe a word you say.”

"Why not?" He raised both palms in a gesture of surrender. "I've never lied to you, not once in your entire life. All I've ever wanted is to see you thrive, succeed, become the man I always knew you were capable of being if only you could let go of these base distractions."

“Don’t-”

“Just listen, and then you can storm out like a man possessed. If I’m truly to never see you again at least allow me this final say.”

Draco ground his teeth, the grating sound echoing loudly through his skull as he crossed his arms and set his feet in a defensive stance. “You have thirty seconds.”

His father wet his lips, altering his own repose to reflect his courtroom posture, though it seemed a gesture was born of habit more than intent. “As much as I detest admitting it, I know full well if harm befalls her you would be inconsolable. Broken. I would never bring harm upon you, Draco, no matter my dislike for the girl.”

Draco unconsciously leaned forward, drawn by the powerful lure of his hypnotic baritone, the intensity of his words, the frustrating hope in his heart, his lingering desperation to believe the man he’d spent his entire life idolizing wasn’t capable of such malevolence.

His father continued on, calm and beseeching, hands lowering as he took a slow step forward.

“I knew Dolohov wouldn’t pressure her to take a husband as another solicitor would. I’d hoped his advances would encourage her to leave the country to start anew elsewhere. Far from England. Far from him. And far from you. Underhanded motives, to be certain, but I never wished grievous harm on her person.”

Draco tore himself from the man’s powerful thrall with great effort, taking a wide step back to resume the distance between them.

“We have different definitions of the term grievous.”

“I’ve known Dolohov for years, I didn’t think he would-”

“Yes. You did.”

His father blinked, spine straightening.

“Draco…” His chin lowered, eyes darkening considerably. “Were you involved in what transpired last night?”

“You mean did I kill the bastard?”

He laughed without humor, shaking his head manically. "Unfortunately no. But I want to find who did and buy them a diamond-studded flask."

“Draco-”

“I didn’t kill him!”

Lucius raised his hands once more. "Alright, I believe you, son."

“Stop doing that! Stop acting like a concerned parent!”

“I am concerned and I am your parent. You might hate me right now but you’re still the most important thing in the world to me.”

“If that’s true then you’ll help me.”

“That’s all I’ve been trying to do-”

“No, you’ve been trying to control my life. If you truly love me then you’ll support whatever decision I make regarding my future. Even if you don’t agree with it.”

His father began to speak once more but Draco barrelled on, undeterred.

“You think removing her from the equation will set me straight. But I have news for you, father. If anything happens to her, I’m changing my name and moving to America. You’ll never hear from me again. So if you’re really so concerned with keeping me close, I suggest you help me get her guardianship overruled.”

His father narrowed his gaze.

“I don’t respond to ultimatums.”

Draco arched a pale brow. “Then this will be a learning experience for you.”

They held each other's impenetrable silver gaze for several earth shattering seconds.

Until at long last, Lucius sighed deeply and drew back, shoulders lowering.

“If I help transfer her guardianship to Black, will you allow your mother and I the opportunity to speak with you plainly about your future? _Without_ interrupting or storming out of the room?”

Draco inspected his face closely, looking for signs of duplicity. All he saw was the very same visage he’d been staring upon his entire life.

Which provided little comfort at the moment.

And yet, he understood the sacrifice his father felt he was making, what it cost him to extend such an offer.

Draco was just desperate enough to accept.

“Yes.”

His father nodded.

“Then consider it done.”

Draco’s spine lengthened as gleaming black wings unfurled at his back, eager to take flight and tear the roof off the bloody asylum.

“I want confirmation.”

“I’ll write the letter now.”

“And I’ll read it.” His eyes flashed. “And then I’ll hand deliver it to Judge Thicknesse.”

His father sighed deeply. “Very well.” He finally looked away, turning on his heel and heading for his desk. “Take a seat.”

He gestured across from his own high backed chair as he lowered into the leather cushion, grabbing a clean sheet of parchment off a nearby stack. He kept his eyes carefully affixed to his pen and inkwell as Draco crossed the room in his wake.

“Earlier, when you said-”

"I'm done answering questions." Draco folded into the seat, drumming his fingers impatiently along the armrests. "Start writing."

Lucius shook his head as he dipped the nib in ink, skillfully scraping away the excess with a rueful smirk.

“While I regret the circumstances leading to this confrontation, I must commend your skills of persuasion.”

Draco scrubbed a hand his face, eyes briefly closing.

“You just can’t turn it off can you?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

He nodded, opening his lids once more, watching carefully as his father wrote the date in the upper right-hand corner of the page.

“That’s what scares me.”

The room fell silent but for the sound of the pen scratching along the paper, guided by his father’s sure and steady hand.

Draco pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, brimming with anticipation, heart fluttering with hope even as his bones remained weighted by the unshakable fear his father was still concealing an ace up his sleeve.

* * *

“Evening, Winslow.”

Theo stepped past his butler and into the entryway, shrugging out of his coat as his mind drifted to the tasks ahead. It wasn’t until the man standing beside him cleared his throat that Theo noticed the tense expression marring his features.

“What is it?”

The butler accepted his coat, folding it primly and draping it across his arm, reluctantly meeting his young charge’s gaze.

“Your father is waiting for you in the drawing room, Master Theo.”

Theo blinked.

His father never waited for him.

He rarely even acknowledged him when they were in the same room.

“What’s he doing home so early?”

Winslow took a deep breath, acute discomfort evident in the hard set lines of his face and shoulders.

“I believe he has been awaiting your arrival, Sir.”

Theo paled, pulse quickly rising.

“Do you know what this is about?”

The servant shook his head.

“I do not, Sir.” He hesitated, eyes shuttering. “But he’s been… drinking.”

Theo sighed deeply, running a hand through his thick locks and nodding.

“Thank you, Winslow.”

He started down the hall.

“Master Theo.”

He stopped, glancing over his shoulder with a quirked brow.

The faithful butler held his gaze steady.

“Do not hesitate to summon me should you need assistance.”

Theo smirked, even as dread twisted at his heart, wringing out every drop of blood until the chambers ran dry.

“I’d never put you in such a position, Winslow. But thank you all the same.”

He started for the drawing room once more.

The doors sat open, a flickering glow emanating from within, splashing the hallway with orange light. Theo paused at the threshold, eyes adjusting to the roaring flame in the massive hearth, his father’s dark silhouette cutting an impressive sight at the center.

The image was as deeply unsettling as it was familiar.

Within a stuttered heartbeat Theo was eight years old again, creeping past the room on tiptoes, lungs burning as he fought to hold his breath, desperate to escape his father's notice, his explosive ire.

He blinked, instantly transported back to the present, but no less fearful than the childlike phantom roaming the halls.

The room reeked of scotch, as it always did, but the half-empty tumbler resting atop the arm of the leather tufted chair was a good indicator of the direction this encounter was undoubtedly headed.

He couldn’t see his father’s expression as the man continued to face the hearth, but he harbored no doubt he knew he was there.

He could never escape his notice as a child, what chance did he stand now?

He took a deep breath, entering the room with every muscle tensed, awaiting the strike sure to come when least expected.

“Father.”

The man gave no reaction. He never did. Only content to address his son’s existence when convenient to him.

“Theodore.”

His blood ran cold. His father sounded tipsy, but not drunk enough to be easily evaded.

“Where have you been, boy?”

He folded his hands behind his back to conceal their tremor.

“I was at the-”

“Come here. I want to see your face.”

Theo took a deep breath, forcing his legs forward and crossing the expansive room until he stood at the opposite end of the hearth. His father’s face came into view at long last, lit by flame. His dark eyes remained fixed upon the roaring fire, bright with demonic glow.

“I was at the construction site, Sir. Overseeing a shipment.”

“Were you now.”

He swallowed thickly, fighting the urge to fidget as his father’s gaze flickered up at long last.

“You’ve been at the site all day?”

He fought to maintain his steady breath, to keep his feet firmly rooted in place.

“I had to run a few errands related to-”

“Don’t lie to me, boy.”

His jaw fastened shut.

“I spoke to the foreman. He saw you leave.”

He brought the crystal glass to his lips, taking a slow sip and watching him over the rim. Theo held his breath as his father set the glass back down on the armrest, dark gaze never wavering.

“With Potter.”

Chills of unease raced from his nape across his spine and along all four limbs. His father’s hand tightened on the crystal, grinding the base against the wood.

“Always fucking _Potter_.”

Theo’s lips turned pale as a corpse. “I-”

“Did you know Lucius pays men to watch Grimmauld?”

He rocked back to avoid the sharp edge of his father’s lethal grin.

“He’s concerned about Black bringing one too many tarts home and staining the family tapestry.”

His vision began to tunnel in and out, the flames crawling out of the hearth and spreading across the floor, eager to drag him into their smoldering depths.

“But it seems his worries are misplaced. Black’s never brought anyone home with him.” He took another heavy swig, licking his top lip. “His ward on the other hand…” He shook his head slowly. “It seems the real scandal lies with the boy.”

The dark humor etching his features transformed into pure malevolence.

“A filthy deviant. It makes my stomach turn just thinking about the depraved acts such men engage in.” He gripped the armrest with white knuckles, leaning forward and driving Theo further back. “Imagine my reaction when I found out my own flesh and blood is guilty of the same.”

Theo’s back collided with the wall. “Father, I-”

“Don’t you dare!” He threw the tumbler into the fire, the crystal shattering against stone, flames hissing and snapping as they hungrily devoured their meal. “You are no son of mine! I would have you shot and buried if you weren’t my sole heir!”

“It’s not like that-”

“Isn’t it?” He pushed out of the chair with surprising dexterity. “Because Malfoy’s spies caught quite an eyeful the night of the Naval party. I lost my lunch halfway through the report.”

Theo’s hands pressed against the wall for balance, the floor tilting beneath his feet.

“We don’t- I don’t-”

“There’s no use in denying it.” He began a measured trek toward him. “I gave up any hope of you becoming a man worthy of the Nott name a long time ago. You’ve always been a disappointment, but you’ve never disgusted me down to my very soul until this moment.”

He shook his head with a twisted sneer. "Gallivanting about in broad daylight, strutting about town like a couple of trussed up hens. It's a miracle someone didn't draw and quarter the pair of you."

Theo swallowed once more, the noose cutting off his airway. “We only had lunch-”

“I know _exactly_ what you get up to.” The venom in his voice traced along Theo’s skin like a rusted hook. “So who sticks it to who, eh?”

Theo’s stomach turned violently as his father’s bitter laughter filled the room.

“Why do I even bother asking? _Of course_ my son takes it up the arse! You’ve always been a bloody ponce.”

He continued forward, closer and closer, the flames sizzling angrily at his back.

“Do you let him bend you over the railing and stuff you full? Look at me when I’m speaking to you! Do you let him turn you into a bloody woman?”

Theo’s jaw was fastened in horror, lungs constricted, oxygen evading him entirely.

“You’re a vile degenerate. I’m ashamed to share the same blood. Thank god you murdered your mother on the way out, otherwise she would surely die to see the fucking fairy her son has become!”

“I- I don’t-”

“Shut your filthy fucking mouth!”

He closed the distance between them and drew his arm back. Theo watched in abject misery, eight years old and frozen in place, as a fist drove into his left eye with bone-cracking force, driving him off his feet and into a heap on the ground. He clutched his skull, braced for the violence he knew would follow, blood rushing through his ears and swallowing his father's accompanying taunts.

“You even cry like a woman. Look at you! Fucking pathetic.”

A heavy boot collided with his side, driving the last bit of air from his lungs.

“You’re nothing but a barnyard animal, you’d probably fuck a horse if it would have you!”

The words echoed through his head on an endless loop.

The flames crawling across the floor reached him at last.

But instead of swallowing him whole, they consumed him from the inside out.

He let out a feral scream and surged forward with his entire body, catching his father around the legs and driving him to the floor. The man shouted in shocked pain, eyes wide as Theo pushed up on his arms, face hovering close.

“The only filthy animal in this room is _you_ ,” he hissed menacingly.

His father blinked several times, mouth opening and closing, too bewildered to struggle.

Theo leaped to his feet with graceful swiftness before leaning down and grabbing his father’s lapels, wrenching him off the floor and driving him back into the wall, in the same spot he stood frozen with fear moment’s ago and for countless years prior.

"I've spent my entire life vying for your affection, your approval, and you've never given me more than a few seconds of your time! Your disdain!"

He pulled the man away from the paneling only to slam him back into it.

“Now you want to talk, do you? Want to ask me questions, get to know me better?” He smiled wickedly, eyes bright, hands trembling with the force of his grip. “Wonderful, allow me to oblige.”

He leaned in close, holding his father’s horrified gaze steady.

“Yes, Potter has fucked me.”

His father let out a feral scream of his own, finally breaking from his stupor, thrashing against Theo’s iron hold but finding no purchase.

“He’s fucked me until I can’t breathe, until I’m clawing at the mattress, the headboard, anything to hold onto the face of the earth because surely the pleasure will drive me off the face of it.”

His father sputtered in outrage, face blistering red, eyes bloodshot. Theo panted with exertion, a smile stretching his face taut as he continued to pin him into the wall.

“But rest assured, father, I’ve also fucked him. Plenty of times. Though I must admit, as fond as I am of all his orifices, I do prefer his mouth to his arse, because he’s so _very_ talented with it. He does this trick with his tongue… I can’t begin to describe what it does to me.”

“You’re a heathen!”

His smile fell like a stone to the bottom of a black lake. “And let me guess, you’re a saint? If men like you are roaming free in heaven I’ll happily burn in the pits of hell for all eternity.”

He licked his lips, the next words bubbling up without thought or permission.

“But you didn’t let me get to the best part of it all, father. My very _favorite_ part. When the wild, animalistic rutting is over, and everything falls still and calm, and we lie beside each other on the bed, or the floor, soaked in sweat and panting.”

He pulled his father away from the wall once more, lifting his coat until he was forced to stand on tiptoes, hands desperately clawing at Theo’s shirtfront.

“That’s when Harry starts talking, rambling really, about the most frivolous and mundane of topics. And I roll onto my side and stare at him, memorizing every line in his face, every curve of his body, every nuance of his voice, as though each moment will be our last.”

He shook his head, chest tightening. “Because I always knew this day would come. That eventually you’d discover us, seek to destroy him and kill me. Which only drove me further into his arms. Made me linger in his bed. Made me crave him with every breath until I was consumed entirely.”

His jaw set, eyes reflecting the flames at their side. “Until I couldn't give a _fuck_ what you thought.”

His face twisted into a sneer of disgust that so closely reflected the man hanging limply before him.

“You’re not even a real person. You’re a drunk, worthless shell of your former self, driven to ruins by your own bigotry and hatred for the world. I don’t know what made you into such a hatemonger, and I truly don’t care. Not anymore. I’m no longer a boy. I stopped idolizing you years ago. And now I can’t even bring myself to fear you. You’re too pathetic.”

He loosened his hold, allowing his father to gain his footing once more. “I handle every facet of the family business, I attend every meeting, speak at every public event. You can’t even be trusted with the grocery ledger. You’ve fallen from grace, been knocked from your mantle, _replaced_.”

Theo released him entirely.

“By your fucking fairy son.”

He took a step back, gazing upon the trembling form of his father as though seeing him for the first time.

"You can't kill me because you know I keep this household together, keep the factory running and keep our name relevant in proper society. Without me, you would be _nothing_.”

He raised his chin, shoulders drawing back.

“You're not ashamed of me, father. You’re ashamed of yourself.”

He watched with detachment as the man sank back against the wall and slid to the floor in a sweaty, liquor-soaked heap.

“And so am I.”

He took another step back. “In fact, I can’t bear to look upon you for another second.”

He ran a hand over his front, smoothing the material of his shirt, then carded his fingers through his hair to tame the fallen locks.

“Have another drink. That’ll fix everything.”

“You’re- you’re-”

“Done with you.”

He turned on his heel and strode for the door, heart thundering like a thoroughbred. As he turned the corner into the hallway a cluster of servants scattered like mice, gasping as they sprinted past with their faces carefully averted down.

He sighed, rubbing tiredly at his eyes as he made his way for the entry. Winslow stood by the door with Theo’s coat folded across his arm, as though he’d never moved from the spot.

Theo smirked.

“You read my mind.”

The butler nodded in turn, handing over the garment.

“Thank you, Winslow.”

“Of course, Master Theo.”

“I’m heading out. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, or if I’ll even return before daybreak.”

“Of course, Sir. Do be safe.”

His smirk rose into a crescent grin. "I pity anyone who tries to challenge me on this night."

Winslow arched a grey brow. “As do I, Sir.”

Theo clapped him on the back before exiting swiftly, trotting down the steps with speed and purpose.

And only one destination in mind.

* * *

Tom leaned forward to maintain his balance as he trekked the steep incline of the grassy hill. He’d made it through the rod iron gates just in time to avoid another row with the guard, the sun setting in the distance, plaguing the land with undulating shadows as the branches swayed in the wind.

He’d come straight from the Library of Records, where public registries were kept in accordance with government mandate. He’d spent hours scouring the stacks for any trace of the elusive Angus Bumby.

He’d found his medical license, registered in the UK seven years prior, but failed to turn up any education transcripts.

Which meant the man attended medical school in another country.

Or under a different name.

So Tom had searched for change of name documents, which were filed publicly for certain professions, healthcare included. If Doctors were allowed to disappear into the night every time a medical malpractice suit was brought forward the medical field would be even less ethical than it currently stood.

However, Tom found no such form. Which lent towards the theory Angus Bumby was an immigrant.

But he could find no visa on file.

So somewhere along the way, documents were mishandled, a common occurrence among government workers and not necessarily a cause for alarm in and of itself.

But this man had Hermione under his care.

And something clearly wasn’t adding up.

Tom knew his attention was needed elsewhere, but he couldn’t concentrate on treating the witnesses or following up on his lead regarding the Lestranges until he knew she was free of this prison.

So he cut a quick and deliberate path to the front doors of the massive grey structure for the benefit of all. The sooner Hermione Granger was in his grasp the sooner he could lock her away in Grimmauld for safekeeping and be free of this burden, this driving obsession that possessed his mind and rendered him incapable of seeing the mission through.

He pushed open the double doors, boots clicking loudly across the checkered tile as he cut a straight path towards the desk at the other end of the lobby, a familiar spectacled gaze latching onto him with steely focus.

“Ah, Doctor Riddle.” Cratchet’s voice was sugary sweet, eroding his teeth as he ground them in annoyance. “How good of you to-”

“I’m here to see Bumby.”

He stopped on the other side of the desk, pinning her with a severe look, braced for rebuttal. All trace of fear from their last encounter had vanished, her eyes once more set with calculated menace.

“The Doctor has been expecting you.”

He blinked, thoughts stuttering.

“Tonight?”

“He had a sneaking suspicion you would return before your appointed meeting time.” She pushed aside the leather bound appointment log. “He said to send you right up.”

His jaw clenched as she pushed swiftly to her feet, frame tall and ready.

“Please, follow me.”

His chest tightened with unease as she led him through a door on the back wall and into a narrow corridor beyond. It wasn’t _what_ she said that unnerved him so, but rather, what she clearly was leaving out.

But his treacherous musings were pushed to the far recesses of his mind as they emerged into a sprawling common room brimming with potted plants and gleaming surfaces. Several chairs lined the walls, as well as bookcases featuring rows of well-worn spines, but not a patient in sight.

“When is curfew?”

“Half an hour before sundown.”

“And patients are confined to their rooms at such time?”

Her shoulders tightened, back ramrod straight. “Of course. For their own safety.”

He arched a dark brow, carefully scanning her tensed posture. “Of course.”

As they progressed through a set of swinging doors a noise caught his attention. He glanced over his shoulder, making eyes contact with a mustached orderly holding a dripping mop for a brief but tense second before the barrier closed between them.

Tom averted his gaze forward, quickly dismissing the occurrence, trying to rein in his this heightened sense of unrest. Something about the establishment was perturbing, though he imagined any insane asylum would inspire such disquiet.

Knowing Hermione had been confined within these ominous walls for nearly an entire day did little to quell his anxiety.

And then they turned another corner and were suddenly heading for a tall black door at the end of the corridor.

_How fitting._

“How many employees do you have on staff, Ms. Cratchet?”

Her hands tensed briefly at her sides. "Thirty-six full time, fifteen part-time."

“And how many patients?”

“We are currently at capacity with two hundred and fifty.”

“That seems excessive for a single physician to manage.”

She tipped her chin up, expression radiating with obvious pride. “Dr. Bumby is an extraordinary man.”

Tom’s gaze narrowed. “I look forward to meeting him.”

“He’s expressed mutual excitement.”

His blood ran cold, but before he had the opportunity to reflect on the statement they were standing before the black door and her bony hand was knocking delicately upon its center.

“Enter.”

The voice was deep and muffled. Tom felt a cold draft blow across his skin. He blinked, glancing down the hallway in confusion but spotting no open window.

And then she was turning the knob. He spun forward as the interior of the room and its sole occupant were revealed.

“Dr. Riddle has arrived, Sir.”

“Marvelous.”

Tom's gaze narrowed, adjusting to the low lighting of the office. The sun had finally dipped beneath the horizon, casting the room into darkness beyond the dimly lit sconces along the wall.

A shadowy figure moved behind the desk, a click sounded, and then an oil lamp sparked to life, illuminating half a face and a pair of gleaming eyes.

Tom drew back reflexively, every muscle drawn taut, the instinctual reaction unnerving him greatly as the man seated across the room made no overt movement or gesture towards him.

Yet his eyes remained fastened to Tom with such unwavering intensity he found his lungs crushed by their invisible weight.

And just as suddenly as the predatory thrall overcame him, it was lifted, the Doctor's eyes flickering just past Tom’s shoulder.

“Thank you for escorting our guest, Ms. Cratchet. That will be all.”

The woman nodded once, tightly, before departing promptly down the hall, heels echoing loudly off the patchwork tiles.

Tom continued to stand in the doorway, trying to shake the strange sensations that blanketed him a moment ago. It had been many years since he'd been made to feel like cornered prey. Around the time he silently vowed to never again suffer such desperation and helplessness.

The Doctor tilted his head, lips curving at the edges. “Apologies for my strange reaction, Dr. Riddle.” He wet his lips, eyes roaming Tom with calculated precision. “I thought I saw a ghost, you see.”

Tom arched a dark brow, the deep baritone reminding him of another haunting visage and therefore grating to his nerves.

“You are his spitting image.”

His heart thundered wildly, shadows surging along the walls like ocean waves, closing in all around him.

“Though I’m sure you’ve heard that a great deal throughout your life.”

Tom inhaled slowly, swaying on his feet as his lower half went numb.

“You knew my father.”

The Doctor nodded, leaning back casually, evading the glow of the flickering lamp and submerging himself into darkness.

“That I did. Many years ago. Though I never knew he had a child.”

Tom set his jaw, fists tightening of their own accord until the bones cracked and the skin split in jagged seams as his talons burst through.

“We were estranged.”

“I see.” A weighted beat. “I apologize if I’ve spoken out of turn.”

He forced his hands to relax, shoulder blades flexing in an attempt to alleviate the tension.

“You’ve caused no offense.”

“Good.” He beckoned Tom forward with a steady hand. “Please, do come in. And allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Doctor Angus Bumby, sole physician at Rutledge Asylum.”

Tom swallowed heavily, throat scorched with flame, emotions stirring in his gut like a bubbling pool of acid at the awakened memory of his sire.

He crossed the room gracefully, steps slow and measured. “It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Doctor Bumby. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

“Of course. I recognize your name and couldn’t resist meeting you in person. And please, call me Angus. You are my colleague after all.”

His jaw tensed once more as he folded into the chair on the opposite side of the desk, grabbing the handle of the dagger and twisting, opening the wound wide.

“Angus.” The name tasted bitter on his tongue. “May I ask how you knew my father?”

Bumby drummed his fingers to a slow and silent beat. “Through mutual acquaintances in the field. I had many colleagues working out of St. Mungo’s, where Thomas was employed at the time.”

Tom’s nose twitched. “That would have been before I was born.”

“My, how time passes.”

He curled his fingers over the ends of the armrests. “Indeed.”

“And despite your estrangement, you ended up following in his footsteps.”

Neither man blinked, the tension palpable, filling the air with dark smoke.

“I did.”

The Doctor's Cheshire grin gleamed in the glow of the oil lamp. "Well, it is wonderful to meet the child of a former colleague. But the hour is late and I can see you are eager to cut to the chase."

Tom blinked, the weight upon his chest pressing in until his ribs groaned beneath the strain. His mask was obviously slipping. The Doctor had taken him off guard at the onset of their meeting, gaining the upper hand with merely a simple greeting.

Perhaps it was tragic coincidence. Since graduating Cambridge Tom had met many of his father’s former colleagues. They’d all made the same comment regarding the uncanny resemblance, asked the same questions regarding their strained relationship.

Yet his instincts screamed this occasion was different from the others. That the man seated across from him was a skilled verbal adversary.

And possibly linked to much more than Rutledge Asylum.

Still…

He could make no forward momentum until he completed his original mission.

“I merely wish to expedite Ms. Granger’s discharge process.”

Bumby’s eyes narrowed just a fraction even as his smile grew.

"Of course, you argued quite adamantly for her release with two of my employees already."

“And I am prepared to do the same with you.”

Bumby’s amusement seemed to swell in time to the shadows along the bookcase at his back. Tom absently noted several titles were missing from their spots along the middle shelf, stacked in an uneven pile on the floor.

"You've been her Doctor for several years if I recall correctly?"

“You do indeed.”

“And you never observed any signs of a mental affliction?”

Tom leaned back, affecting an eased disposition. “She has no affliction, I assure you, merely an overactive imagination. She was admitted solely upon the witness testimony of a young girl who overheard a conversation Ms. Granger was having with another resident. The witness misunderstood what was said.”

“I see.” The Doctor mimicked Tom’s posture with disturbing accuracy. “Well, young women are certainly prone to exaggeration.”

Tom traced the backs of his teeth with his tongue before smiling in turn. “I couldn't agree more.”

Bumby tipped his chin up, eyes sparking like flint. “They are also prone to developing mental health disorders at nearly twice the rate of their male counterparts, particularly between the ages of eighteen to twenty-five.”

Tom’s hands tightened on the armrests. The Doctor leveled him with the full intensity of his eerie gaze.

“I took into consideration the possibility that Ms. Granger was brought in under false pretenses and conducted a thorough assessment of her mental faculties myself.”

Tom's heartbeat reverberated through every limb, gaze sharpening to a lethal point as he rapidly thumbed through his mental list of alternative plans to abscond with her. Too many witnesses had seen him enter this room, instantly ruling out over half the options.

“I found her quite remarkable. Though as her physician for the last five years I am sure you already know the qualities I allude to.”

His knuckles turned white as the wood threatened to buckle beneath his clenching grip.

“She is brilliant.”

“Terribly so.” The Doctor smiled anew. Tom reconsidered killing him. “And I am happy to conclude she is perfectly sane as well.”

His mind went stunningly blank all at once, leaving his ears ringing as the man continued, oblivious to his own brush with death.

“She does not belong at this facility. I updated her medical file to reflect a clean bill of health.”

Tom’s hands loosened, as did his chest and stomach, though his heart continued to thrum rapidly, something dark lingering in the far recesses of his mind, a nagging sense of unease that refused to dispel with his body’s tension.

“I am relieved to hear you came to the same conclusion as myself.” He wet his lips, continuing to lean back with forced ease. “I will take custody of her immediately and oversee her safe return to the Home.”

Something swirled treacherously in the depths of Bumby’s gaze, a look Tom recognized well, for he’d seen it in his own reflection countless times.

“What a commitment you have to your patients.”

His knowing grin caused Tom’s homicidal longings to flare anew, hot and scorching as his blood pressure spiked.

“But such a gesture is unnecessary. I notified her guardian as soon as her discharge paperwork was complete. He sent a footman to pick her up only hours ago.”

There it was.

Tom leaned forward swiftly, eyes black and gleaming.

“Her guardian is dead.”

Bumby was unmoved by the predatory advancement or warning edge in his tone.

“I assume you are referring to Mr. Dolohov.” His brows creased in exaggerated duress. “What a tragedy.”

Tom struggled for breath as the invisible vice tightened once more, snapping his ribcage cleanly down the center, piercing his lungs.

“As soon as I read this morning’s paper I contacted the Family Offices on Ms. Granger’s behalf. They were kind enough to put me in touch with her new guardian, perhaps you know him-”

“I do.”

“Excellent. Then you know she’s in capable hands.”

Tom pushed to his feet, towering over the desk and his adversary. Bumby tipped his head back, following his ascent with idle curiosity etching his aged but handsome features.

But not a trace of fear.

The urge to drive Hermione’s letter opener into the man’s carotid artery was nearly overwhelming. Tom rocked back on his heels, disturbed by his sudden loss of control. It had been a long while since he allowed his dark proclivities to get the better of him.

Killing the Doctor to quell his appetite would change nothing of the current circumstances, other than labeling him a fugitive of the law as the Yard hunted him through the city.

Preventing him from getting her back from the creature who now had her in his clutches.

“Thank you for your time.” His words were clipped, laced with poison he hoped would corrode the skin long after his departure. “I will allow you to get back to your many patients.”

Bumby's smile was equally deadly and genuinely delighted.

“Of course. Please, allow me to walk you out.”

Tom was hardly aware of crossing the room once more, though suddenly he was faced with the black door, his vision tunneling as the walls seemed to press in rapidly.

“It was a true pleasure meeting you, Thomas.”

Steel infused his spine as he glanced sharply over his shoulder.

Bumby feigned chagrin. "My apologies. Force of habit. You truly are his doppelganger."

 _Enough_.

Tom spun around, facing him head-on.

“You knew him when he worked at St. Mungo’s you said?”

“I did indeed.”

“You were practicing in London at the time?”

Anyone watching the scene from the outside wouldn’t have noticed the Doctor’s smile falter, the shutters that fell across his eyes.

But Tom was on the inside, eagerly observing every subtle nuance.

Bumby blinked and his transformation was restored, hands casually tucked into his pockets.

"I was on sabbatical if memory serves. I'd just returned from an extended stay in Germany. I've spent the bulk of my career practicing in Eastern Europe."

Tom tilted his head, searching his gaze. The man had directed the trap, sidestepping it in plain sight.

Tom met the challenge without pause.

“That explains why I couldn't find any record of you practicing in the UK before the last seven years.”

Bumby’s delight was palpable as it was unsettling.

“You did your research.”

“I merely like to be prepared.”

“Your father was the same way. So very thorough and meticulous.”

Tom ground his teeth, the blow striking him dead center. Bumby's expression lit with victory.

"I apologize if this oversteps, given your estrangement, but I would like to express my condolences all the same."

Tom raised chin. “Thank you.” His voice was cold as death, submerged beneath frozen water.

“I remember reading the obituary, but I do not recall his cause of death.”

He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing beneath his collar, bile stinging his throat.

“He was stabbed horrifically during a robbery.”

The Doctor shook his head, sighing deeply.

“The world harbors such darkness and cruelty.”

“That it does.” His fists tightened anew. “But the scales always have a way of balancing out.”

The silence was a sentient being, watching them in sinister wait.

“I suppose they do,” Bumby replied at long last, then shook his head ruefully, visage brightening. “Well, I’ve certainly shown my age, rambling like an old fool. Please, allow me to bid you a good evening.”

He opened the door, leaning against the edge of the frame. Tom held his gaze until the final moment, desperate to leave, eager to stay, unable to sort through his chaotic thoughts and unleashed backlog of emotions in such close proximity.

“Good evening.” A heavy beat. “Angus.”

And then he forced one foot in front of the other, pressing forward down the long and narrow hall with his shoulders back, every nerve ending sparking to life.

He had many questions he’d love to ask the reclusive Doctor, but every moment he lingered in his dark office was another moment she lingered in the demon’s lair.

A voice whispered frantically at the back of his mind but he couldn’t hear it over the raging storm taking root at the center, overwhelmed by haunting images of very possible fate she may be suffering at this very moment.

Movement at the end of the hall caught his eye and pulled him from his sinister musings. His gaze flickered to the corner, shining brightly as he spotted a familiar figure hovering with a mop and bucket.

Tom narrowed in on his prey immediately.

“You.”

The man’s head snapped up, eyes widening upon seeing Tom cutting a straight path towards him.

“Sir?”

“What is your patient turnover here?”

The man blinked, clutching the mop handle with both hands. “I’m sorry?”

He came to a stop directly before him, invading his personal space to throw him off guard and decrease his ability to fabricate lies on the spot.

“How long is the average stay? How many do you discharge a year compared to admission rate?”

“Oh… I… don’t know.” His brows drew together. “You’d have to ask Ms. Cratchet.”

Tom inhaled deeply, drawing back.

_Utterly useless._

“Very well.”

He continued walking past without a parting glance.

“You came for Hermione.”

He stopped abruptly, as though colliding with an invisible wall, turning swiftly and searching the man’s face with greater precision than before.

“I did.”

The man nodded, glancing away as he reached into his trouser pocket and extracted something small, easily hidden within his palm.

Tom tracked his movement carefully, heart racing.

“This belongs to her.”

He unfurled his fingers.

Tom’s entire body pulsated.

“I wish I could have done more to help her.”

Tom fought for control, every muscle set to spring as he slowly reached for the faded ribbon, vision rapidly sharpening with predatory intent.

“What do you-”

Suddenly the stranger stiffened. He glanced up sharply, but the man’s eyes were averted over Tom’s shoulder.

Tom glanced back, meeting Bumby’s watchful gaze as he stood at the mouth of his dark cave.

He smiled pleasantly, waving a congenial farewell. Tom bit his tongue until it stung, nodding in turn, just as footsteps sounded at his back. He looked over his shoulder once more and spotted the abandoned mop propped against the wall, the orderly's rapidly retreating form already halfway across the room.

Bumby disappeared inside his office a moment later, closing the door with a deafening click, leaving Tom alone in the hallway.

He gazed down at the ribbon, clutching it until his fist shook, and then he continued forward, containing his building rage with a silent vow to the moonlight.

That any man who laid hands on her would be dead before sunrise.

* * *

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She plummeted to the earth's surface, breaking apart as she breached the atmosphere, flames erupting at her back as she careened through the air faster than the speed of sound, the ground coming closer closer closer-

Impact.

Hermione awoke with a sharp gasp, colors exploding before her eyes. She rubbed at them furiously, shuffling back on whatever plush surface she’d been laying across as her adrenaline surged.

She gazed around frantically, vision blurred and head filled with jagged rocks as her surroundings slowly came into focus.

A bedroom.

Dimly lit, but obviously part of a sprawling estate, if the size of the room and quality of the antiques and textiles were any indication.

There was no movement, no noise.

She was alone...

And getting the hell out.

She scrambled from the richly adorned mattress, losing her balance and toppling to the floor with a groan.

Her limbs felt weak and sore, hip throbbing in time to her rapid heartbeat, but not from this fall… no, from her scuffle with the man at the asylum. She gazed at her trembling arms, twin bracelets of purple flesh wrapping her wrists.

Her pulse stuttered painfully as her eyes continued their journey downward, taking in the rest of her body sprawled across the rug.

The grey uniform was gone.

Replaced by a floor length gown of deep, gleaming red silk, wrapping her form so tightly it appeared as though her skin was glistening with congealed blood.

Her stomach twisted painfully, nausea rising as she pictured strange hands upon her unconscious body, stripping her bare, violating her mercilessly as she remained limp and pliant in their hold.

She grabbed the carved bedpost and pulled up to her feet, pushing away and limping to the door on bare soles, unable to take large steps thanks to the tightness of the garment and the deep ache radiating through every joint.

She pulled at the gold-plated handle with all her might, tears brimming as it refused to budge.

She staggered to the floor to ceiling windows next, pushing aside the gossamer curtains and pressing her hands to the glittering glass, looking for a seam, a handle, any type of opening.

Her thoughts of shattering the barrier and jumping to freedom were curbed as she gazed down at a sprawling green lawn cloaked in darkness several meters below, realizing she was on the second floor and such a leap would surely cause grave injury. She pressed her hands to her face, staring up at the waning moon through her fingers in abject misery, debating if it was still worth trying.

Surely dying on the gravel cement was better than suffering whatever horror awaited her inside these walls…

She quickly shook her head.

_Don’t let your fear make you foolish._

_There has to be another way out._

She rushed to the closet, tearing open the double doors, only to draw back in bewilderment.

It was overflowing with gowns and petticoats of the highest quality. She reached inside, grabbing handfuls of fabric, rich velvet, glossy silk and intricate lace, as fine as the outfit she currently wore.

And equally as risque.

She slammed the doors in disgust, racing for the dresser next and wrenching open the first drawer. It was filled with delicate, lacy undergarments, as was the one beneath. But the third and final draw was filled with a sight that left her staggering back in horror.

Black satin ribbons and coiled silk rope.

The tears finally broke the surface as she raced for the door a second time, ready to batter it down with her bare hands if need be.

Only for footsteps to sound down the hallway outside, unhurried but constant.

And drawing near.

Her body quaked as she spun in frantic circles, searching desperately for a weapon.

She spotted no candlesticks, no heavy tomes, nothing but-

Her eyes widened, heart fluttering madly as she rushed to a vase in the corner filled with fresh roses. The sight and smell were sickening, instantly transporting her to Dolohov's bedroom.

She shoved the dark memory aside with all her strength, grabbing the blooms in a tight fist and tossing them aside, petals scattering at her feet, grabbing up the vase with both hands and pouring the water onto the expensive rug as she spun to face the door.

There was light emanating from under the gap, broken by the appearance of feet on the other side.

The sound of sliding metal filled her head at deafening volumes, a key twisting a lock.

She darted to the wall just beside the frame, pressing flat and holding her breath as she clung to the vase with trembling hands, fearful of breaking the porcelain before she could put it to use.

The door opened, concealing her from view as someone entered the room, heels clicking across the polished wood.

The footsteps stopped. Silence filled the dark void in her head, the terror in her mind far worse than anything that could possibly be standing before her.

But by the next fluttering heartbeat the footsteps resumed, the entrant making their way towards the abandoned bed.

Hermione inhaled deeply, spots appearing before her vision.

_It’s now or never._

_While you still have the element of surprise._

Tears dripped from her jaw onto the plunging neckline of the gown as she charged forward, vase raised high overhead, a desperate battle cry ripping free from her throat beyond her control as she darted towards the room's new occupant.

They spun around quickly, rearing back with a sharp gasp as Hermione came into view, curls flying free and wild.

And just as suddenly as the chaos unleashed, she skidded to a stop, the rug piling at her feet, heart galloping out of her chest.

She released the vase without thought, porcelain shattering loudly on the hardwood, her ears deaf to the explosion as she continued forward with a far different purpose, body pulsating with the force of her shock and relief.

“Parvati!”

She closed the distance between them, throwing her arms around the girl.

“What are you doing here?” She cried into her dark hair, loose around her shoulders.

Her friend went rigid in her hold, arms stiff and pressed to her sides.

“Parv, are you okay?”

Hermione leaned back, clutching her bare arms tightly as she blinked, taking in her friend's appearance fully. She was adorned in a floor-length, sleeveless black gown, equally tight as Hermione's.

Questions overflowed her mind, speeding by too quickly to give voice to a single one. Her eyes darted up, searching her face desperately, lips parted as words turned to ash on her tongue, filling the back of her throat and choking her with dread.

Glassy, blank eyes stared back at her.

From a lovely face Hermione had seen countless times.

And yet never before.

The realization shook the floor and split the walls, igniting pain in her chest so sharp she couldn't breathe, couldn’t speak, only managing a breathy whisper of despair and disbelief.

“Oh my god…”

She clutched the stranger’s arms tighter, her only anchor in this vast ocean of terror.

“Padma.”


	24. Tea Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I’m awful. And I have no excuse. I'm simply a chaotic, unorganized, procrastinating SOB. My brain's been utterly useless these last few weeks. I dunno maybe I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown or something. I need to check my horoscope and see what planet's in my celestial house. I also need more energy drinks in my actual house. 
> 
> Thank you for being such patient, beautiful angels. I love you all ❤︎ 
> 
> And remember how much you love me in return when you finish and want to mow me down with a city bus :)

_I've heard self-reliance is a virtue._  
_Now you've heard it._  
_.   .   ._

After speaking the name aloud the differences between the sisters became glaringly obvious to Hermione’s assessing gaze.

They were surely indistinguishable from afar, possessing the same build and height, the same caramel skin, almond-shaped eyes and thick river of glossy black hair tumbling to their lower backs. But after living beside Parvati for so many months, Hermione was shocked she mistook them for even a moment, especially when the most obvious contrast was staring her right in the face.

Padma’s eyes were a much lighter shade of brown than her sister’s, flecked with burnt gold, whereas Parvati’s were woven with deep red, making her keen gaze glow hellish when especially incensed. Padma’s hair was stick straight unlike her sister’s heavy wave, her nose a touch more narrow, brow less arched and cupid's bow more pronounced.

And that was just above the neck.

Hermione took a step back and allowed her gaze to roam, too shocked to form anything more coherent than labored breath.

Padma’s skin appeared smooth and unblemished, at least the flesh that was exposed, and there was quite a bit of it. She lacked the rough patches Parvati wore on her elbows and palms from exposure, the thin scar marking her collarbone, the teardrop birthmark on the inside of her right forearm.

The girls were identical, and yet completely distinctive.

Hermione brought a hand to her mouth, the figure standing before her turning blurry with the tears rapidly filling her gaze.

"Padma!" She found her voice, at last, lurching forward as though pulled by a cord, embracing the girl tightly for a second time. "You're alive!"

Her entire body rattled with the force of her heartbeat. “Parvati is going to be-”

Padma seized in her grip, entire frame jerking violently. Hermione gasped, rearing back to meet her eye.

“Padma-”

The girl jolted once more, muscles locking as though in the midst of an epileptic fit. Hermione clutched her more tightly, eyes wide with terror, racing through her mental stores for what to do, images of her father’s medical books taking shape in her mind, a morbid comfort to her wrought nerves.

“Padma, it’s alright, just breathe, don’t-”

She wrenched free of Hermione’s grasp, staggering back on her obscenely high heels, swaying precariously. She opened and closed her mouth several times as if unable to speak, prompting Hermione to reach for her once more, only to freeze in place as her raspy voice filled the room.

“My n-name is Selene.”

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat before thudding heavily, painfully, against her sternum.

“No,” she said forcefully, hands clenching upon the open air. “Your name is Padma Patil.”

Padma raised her arms, grasping her long hair at the roots and pressing the heels of her palms against her temples. Hermione wet her lips, taking a careful step closer.

“Padma-”

“No!” Padma squeezed her eyes shut, shoulders drawing in. “Selene Selene Selene Selene...”

Her frantic whispering summoned an arctic blast, chilling Hermione to the bone. She resumed her steady approach, hands raised in surrender, voice soft and coaxing.

“Don’t you remember?” Her brows knit together, pain lancing through her center. “You have a twin sister named Parvati. Your parents brought you to London when you were children, you grew up in Haggerston, near the Timber Yard.”

Padma’s back collided with the bedpost, halting her retreat. Hermione continued towards her. “You got very sick and were taken to a clinic-”

“I-I can’t- I can’t-” She began to quake anew, heaving for breath, face twisting in acute agony.

“Shh, it’s alright.” Hermione reached forward, movements slow and measured, gently gripping her shoulders and drawing her in. “I’m sorry if I scared you before.” She wrapped her arms around the trembling girl, rubbing a soothing hand along her spine. “We’ll figure out how to get your memory restored. But first, we have to get out of here."

Padma’s lids fluttered like butterfly wings, long dark lashes clumped with tears.

“Get out?”

“Yes.” Hermione took a deep breath, steeling her nerves. “Escape. Do you know a way out?”

Padma blinked slowly, eyes clouding. “M-Master instructed me to bring you downstairs.”

Hermione’s jaw clenched, hand tightening against her bare shoulder.

“You don’t have to obey your master ever again, Padma. I’m getting you out of here.”

She reached down and grabbed her hand, interlacing their fingers and spinning on her heel, marching them out of the opulent bedroom and into the long, richly decorated hallway.

The over the top design was frighteningly familiar.

Her stomach twisted like a barrel of snakes.

They were halfway down the corridor when the hand encased tightly in her own started to pull back.

“N-No!” Padma tugged with more force, digging in her heels. “M-Master said to take you downstairs!”

“Shh!”

“Master said-”

Hermione spun around and placed a hand over the girl’s mouth.

“Padma, be quiet!”

Standing barely an inch apart, Hermione saw something flash in the girl’s wide gaze, a brief spark of recognition. Her heart swelled with hope.

“Padma…” She watched her body go lax beneath her hands. “We have to be very quiet. Try your very best not to make a sound, alright?”

She nodded weakly but her eyes held a keen alertness. Hermione squeezed her hand for comfort, stepping back.

“Okay, come on.”

They started down the hall once more, rounding the corner at the end and coming face to face with a banister overseeing the floor below. Distant footsteps drifted up, bouncing off the arched ceiling and dancing all around them. Hermione reared back, grabbing Padma and pushing them into the shadowed alcove.

She met the girl's terrified gaze and placed a finger to her own lips, signaling silence. Padma nodded again, but her eyes were rapidly starting to cloud once again.

Hermione held her breath, trembling with the force of remaining still and quiet when all she wanted to do was scream and rage.

The footsteps below faded away into the distance.

She sagged into the wall.

“How many people are in the house?” She whispered sharply.

Her companion stared at her blankly.

“Padma!”

The girl jolted, eyes briefly closing and opening to reveal a vibrant gaze.

“Five.”

Hermione blinked.

“ _Five_? Including us? What about the staff?”

“Master dismissed them upon our arrival. He wanted privacy.”

Hermione couldn’t suppress her scowl. “Wants to keep me hidden, more like.” She drew a hand over her face, mind spinning. “I take it the other two are guards?”

Padma nodded, rubbing her palms together anxiously. The sight was a small comfort, signifying her access to long-suppressed emotions.

“Okay… we can do this.” Hermione released a slow breath, stepping away from the alcove. “We just have to be invisible.”

She peaked carefully over the banister, spotting a large expanse of mahogany wood floor beneath.

The entry looked clear.

But that was far too easy.

There was no way her captor would leave the front door unlocked.

And if her jailer was who she suspected it was… then this was likely all part of some demented game. Why else would he send Padma to fetch her instead of one of his guards?

She set her jaw, eyes narrowing to diamond points.

_He wants to play?_

She straightened to her full height, chin raised.

_Let’s play._

She grabbed Padma’s hand and led her in the opposite direction of the main staircase, opening closet doors until she found the linen pantry, pressing her hands along the wall inside until she found the hatch leading to the shoot.

Too narrow for either girl to fit through.

But not a lost cause.

She followed the direction of the seam in the wall until she found the entrance to the servant’s quarters. She carefully opened the door and peered down the dark steps beyond.

_Please let this work._

She gazed over her shoulder, gauging how alert her companion was.

“Padma.” The girl snapped to attention. “Take off your shoes.”

She carefully toed them off, placing her bare soles against the hallway runner and standing only a couple inches taller than Hermione.

“Follow me.”

They quickly descended the dark staircase, placing their hands to either side of the wall for balance until emerging on the lower level. Hermione wasted no time barging into the first bedroom, running to the window and pushing on the pane.

Sealed.

“Shite!”

She ran past a bemused Padma into the next room, and the next.

All sealed.

She spun in a tight circle, hands in her hair, tongue pressing the roof of her mouth.

_Think think think think…_

She blinked.

“Come on!”

She grabbed Padma’s hand once more and dragged her deeper into the hall, picturing the layout of most grand estates in her mind. She knew the servants quarters eventually had to spit out into the…

She pushed open a swinging door.

And emerged into the food pantry.

“Kitchen.”

She breathed a heavy sigh of relief, pressing her hands to the outer door and straining to listen through the wood. When she didn’t hear anything beyond the heavy thudding of her heart and pumping of her lungs she carefully turned the knob, pushing the door open just enough to peer into the vast room.

It was cloaked in shadow, no movement beyond the dancing light across the back wall from the adjacent hallway.

“Okay, this way.”

She slipped out onto the tiled floor, Padma tight at her back, making a quick dash to the main door leading to the garden. Surely he wouldn’t have sealed this exit as well, it would be far too great of a fire hazard for the rest of the staff.

But as she pulled on the heavy brass handle to no avail, she realized it was _exactly_ the sort of thing he would do, safety be damned. Anything to prolong her agony, build her hope of escape only to slowly dismantle it at every turn.

“Bollocks!”

She pounded her fists against the heavy barrier, teeth gritted in frustration, gazing through the glass pane with endless longing and desperation.

When suddenly there was a pressure differential in the air, a bitter cold blowing past. Padma shifted anxiously at her side.

“Sleeping beauty awakens.”

Her spine went rigid at the familiar male timbre. She spun around, back pressing the door, palms flattening against the cold wood.

The guard stepped casually inside the kitchen, wry grin curving his lips even as his eyes drilled lethal holes into her skull.

“You gave me a nasty knot on the side of my head, poppet.”

Her eyes shone with bright fury as she lifted her arms, presenting her mottled wrists to his malevolent gaze.

“You left your mark as well.”

“I’m happy to leave more if you decide to resist me again.”

She set her jaw, lifting her chin in open defiance. His smile widened as his eyes flickered to Padma.

"Come here, Selene."

Hermione reached for the girl but it was too late. Her eyes took on the vacancy they possessed when she first entered the bedroom, bare feet crossing towards him with broken, stilted movements.

Hermione settled once more against the door, chest cracking cleanly down the center as she fumbled with the useless knob, drawing his focus.

“Even if you make it outside, there’s nowhere to go. We’re miles from the nearest house.”

The words were a great weight pressing upon her, expelling the breath from her lungs.

“Where are we?”

“Come with me and you’ll find out.”

Her eyes darted quickly around the room, desperate for any alternative means of escape-

Only to settle on Padma’s unnaturally still form at his side.

Hermione swallowed thickly.

And took a reluctance step forward.

His smile gleamed in the weak light. “Good girl.”

Her skin crawled at the mocking praise. He waited until she stood just before him before finally turning on his heel to lead the way into the corridor.

The moment his back was to her she sprang for the butcher’s block on the countertop beside them, fingers curling around the hilt of a gleaming kitchen knife, identical to the one she wielded in the doll room, taking perverse comfort in its weight and shape as she pulled it from its wide slot.

“Son of a bitch!” He hissed loudly, seeing her movement from the corner of his eye and lunging at the same instant, one arm wrapping her waist as the other wrestled her hands for the blade.

She screamed in fury, thrashing wildly as he picked her up off the ground entirely, aiming her heels at his shins and earning a grunt of pain for her troubles.

“You little cunt!”

He took hold of her wrist and bent it back with force, causing her to scream and drop the knife as her tendon stretched to its limit. He released her from his hold a moment later, her feet hitting the ground with enough impact to leave her staggering. He grabbed her arm and wrenched her out of the room, her eyes fixed forlornly upon the discarded blade still spinning a slow circle upon the counter.

He proceeded to drag her down the long hallway, her curled toes leaving tracks along the carpet as she tried to gain purchase. He grunted with exertion, steel fingers cutting off the circulation in her arm and causing the nerve endings to flare hot and enraged.

“Let me go!”

“Not a chance.”

Her mind flickered to another scene, another man. She recalled being dragged through the hallways of the Home by Filch as he snarled and snapped at her. She blinked and was once more in the opulent mansion, knowing full well a fate far worse than Umbridge and the threat of expulsion awaited her at the other end.

And Tom wouldn’t be able to save her from meeting it.

He dragged her around the corner and through a set of gold inlaid double doors, Padma following calmly at their backs, eyes fixed lifelessly ahead as though oblivious to the struggle taking place mere feet away.

The first thing Hermione saw of their new surroundings was an obscenely long and narrow dining table, cut down the center by a vibrant red runner, covered in assorted trays of colorful fruits and pastries, tall candlesticks and ornate vases of fresh roses. It made such an eccentric sight it rendered her mute for several moments, gaze consumed as she tried to process what she was seeing.

She followed the extravagant decorations up the table, spotting a steaming pot of tea and three place settings at the far end…

And a man at the helm, back turned towards her as he flicked open a gleaming gold lighter and lit the tip of a cigar.

Her breath stuttered at the familiar set of broad shoulders and head of burnt umber hair.

He flicked the lighter shut with a deafening snap, jolting her, and slowly turned to face the new entrants at last.

He puffed steadily at the end of the cigar before releasing a steady stream of smoke from his nose and mouth, the cloud rising high, folding in on itself and contorting until it took the form of an angry dragon, wide jaws snapping hungrily, mirroring the expression of its master.

His teeth gleamed in the firelight, predatory yet edged with child-like anticipation, eyes creased at the corners and glowing devilishly.

“Welcome home, pretty minx.”

The end of the cigar burned a bright orange, intensifying the scorching hatred burning a hole within her heart as her worst fears were at last confirmed.

“Rabastan.”

* * *

Tom pushed a low hanging branch aside with exaggerated force, eyes narrowed as he took in the glittering surface of the pond.

This deep in Hyde Park the moonlight was his only source of illumination, turning the water into a pool of black ink and casting every structure and monument in dim outline. He could hardly distinguish bush from bench, and was relieved the gazebo he was headed for made more of an impression on the landscape.

As he drew near the structure he detected a movement of shadows within, verifying he was at the right location.

Good.

There was no time to waste.

He took the steps leading to the platform two at a time, shoulders tightening at the look both men pinned him with as they stood from the railing.

“You’re late,” the blonde bit out.

“I was detained.”

Malfoy scowled. “Not with Dawn.”

Potter glanced between them. “Who’s Dawn?”

Tom paid the inquiry no mind.

“I came from the asylum.”

The result was instantaneous. Both men sprang forward, eyes and mouths agape.

“You saw her?”

“How is she?”

He fought to maintain a neutral expression and tone.

“She was already discharged.”

The tense beat that followed his declaration was deafening in its absolution. “Lestrange has her.”

Potter scrubbed a hand over his face, taking a step back and closing his eyes.

“When did this happen?”

“The Doctor claimed she was taken hours before my arrival.”

Potter shook his head, meeting his eye once more. “I just came from his house, the drive was empty, no carriages in or out.”

Tom drew in a deep breath, wheels rapidly turning in his mind. “What other property does he own?”

They both looked at Malfoy. The blonde lifted his chin, eyes narrowed in thought.

“Three others I know of, all in the West End. We can split up and each search one-”

“No.”

Both men went rigid at Tom’s definitive tone.

Malfoy arched a pale brow, fists clenching. “ _No_?”

“I already know where he took her.”

He reared back even as Potter surged forward.

“How-”

“That’s not important. We have no time to spare.”

Malfoy recovered from the revelation, eyes metallic and sharp. “Then why the hell did you waste time coming _here_ if you already know where she is?”

Tom met his accusing gaze head-on, voice hard and steady. "Because I just realized it myself. Besides, I can’t get to her alone.” His jaw tensed. “It will take all of our combined efforts.”

Potter and Malfoy looked at each other for a brief, charged moment, the air swelling, thick, brittle and cold.

Potter glanced back to Tom first, nodding in acceptance, the inset emeralds of his gaze flashing brilliantly.

“Tell us what we need to do.”

* * *

His smile was perversion personified.

Hermione drew back, only to run into the guard obstructing the doorway. She bit her tongue to stifle a gasp, hands trembling beyond her control as Rabastan gave her body a slow, calculated perusal, the tight dress leaving little to the imagination.

“My, my, how you’ve changed since our last encounter.”

She squared her shoulders, stepping away from the brooding guard and crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “It’s called growing up. Children tend to do that.”

Rabastan chuckled, bringing the cigar to his lips.

“You certainly aren’t a child anymore, minx.”

She cringed, then scowled. “You don’t know anything about me.”

His laughter was grating to her nerves, smoke billowing from his mouth in a long stream. “I intend to find out as much as I can before sunrise.”

He tilted his head, examining her at an angle, eyes lingering on her hips. “Once the Doc sinks his claws in, that pretty head of yours will be empty as a cavern.”

She set her jaw, eyes narrowed to slits. “What have you done to Padma?”

He blinked, gaze snapping back up. “Who?”

“Pad-”

Both their attention was drawn to the girl in question as she jerked in place as though struck by an invisible force. Hermione reached out on instinct but she quickly staggered beyond her reach.

Rabastan arched a dark brow. “Selene, my beauty, where are your shoes?”

“Her name isn’t Selene.” Venom dripped from her lips. “It’s _Padma_.”

The girl jolted anew, pressing hands to either side of her head as her eyes darted frantically around the room, expression pinched in distress and confusion.

Rabastan ground his teeth, fingers squeezing the cigar until it trembled in his grip.

“Her _name_ is Selene” He licked his lips. “Goddess of the night.”

“Goddess of the moon, idiot.” Hermione gazed upon him in disgust. “Nyx was the goddess of night.”

His smile shone with bright amusement, annoyance dissipating along with the smoke from his mouth. “I finally understand Antonin’s obsession.” His eyes scanned her figure once more. “As well as my nephew’s.”

She drew in a shaky breath, phantom flames dancing before her eyes, ghostly screams echoing in her mind. “Antonin was a vile beast.”

He shook his head ruefully, resting his forearm on the back of a chair. “It’s positively gauche to speak ill of the dead, minx.”

“You hardly seem broken up.”

“I admit it’s a bit difficult to be downtrodden when my former colleague’s demise has awarded me with such a splendid gift.”

She raised her chin, the flames taking root in her chest, expelling with her every word. “If you touch me I’ll cut off your hands.”

His laughter rang out once more, boisterous and delighted, sending a ripple of unease across her exposed flesh.

“Let’s sit down for a spot of tea first, shall we? There’ll be plenty of time for death threats later.”

She blinked, the statement so outlandish it successfully scattered her anger and disgust.

“I’m not having _tea_ with you.”

His grin tugged higher. “Then we can retire upstairs immediately.”

She bit back a groan of simmering resentment, striding forward and pulling a chair free at the farthest end of the table.

“Nah ah ah. Next to me, luv.”

She clutched the top of the chair with such force her knuckles turned white, eventually shoving it back into place with enough force to knock an artfully arranged stack of biscuits on its side before walking the gallows to the head of the table, skin curdling like sour milk the closer she drew.

He met her eye and winked. She glanced away sharply and sank into the seat to his left, earning his amused laughter until he directed his focus towards the doors.

“Selene.”

Hermione watched in morbid fascination as Padma moved fluidly to the chair across from her, sitting gracefully at his right.

He tilted his head as he tracked the girl’s movements, sidling close and brushing the long hair from her bare shoulder, fingers skimming the smooth flesh, tracing the long line of her neck until curling beneath her chin and tipping her face to meet his gaze.

“What’s wrong, darling?”

Hermione drew back at the unmistakable concern in his voice.

“Nothing, Master.”

He ran the pad of his thumb across her full bottom lip, gently tugging it down before stroking her chin. Hermione’s hands curled over the edge of her seat on either side of her thighs, nails piercing the fabric backing.

“Don’t lie to me, pet.”

“Of course not, Master.” She swallowed heavily, swaying into his touch. “My head… feels a bit… strange.”

His jaw tightened, eyes flickering to Hermione with embers in their depths.

“I take it this is your doing?”

“Funny, I was about to say the very same to you.”

She was braced for his ensuing rage, taken aback when he sighed deeply instead, stepping away and strolling leisurely for the chair situated between his two captives.

“I can only imagine what this looks like from your perspective, given your history with Antonin and myself.”

Her indignation nearly robbed her of breath, but not of words.

“It looks like you’re part of an organization that kidnaps and brainwashes young women to sell them as sex slaves.”

He arched his brow, lips pressing thin as he took his seat at the head of the table and placed his cigar in a crystal tray.

“We rescue young women from destitution.” He reached for the steaming teapot situated between them. “In Selene’s case, we literally saved her life.”

Her face twisted with disgust.

“You took her from her family!”

“If you knew who she was previously then you surely know she was on death’s door when we found her.”

He tipped the pot carefully, pouring a stream of steaming liquid into her cup.

“When I found her. The others dismissed her as a lost cause, too great of an expense to undertake.”

He began to fill Padma’s cup next, staring at her fondly all the while.

“But her radiant beauty couldn’t be denied. I invested a great deal of resources into nursing her back to health. And she hasn’t left my side since.” His smile was grotesque. “She’s a princess, living every day in the lap of luxury.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed to razor slits. “She’s had her memories and identity stripped away for your own perversions. She’s a prisoner in a golden cage.”

“Her memories were removed for her own well being.” He began to fill his own cup, posture eased. “Why would I plague her with recollections of poverty, sickness and pain?”

“Because she’d spend every waking moment fighting like hell to escape.” She crossed her arms, desperate for any additional barrier between them. “We both know I’ll never fall for this little song and dance you use to lure investors with. You’re only trying to convince yourself you aren’t a disgusting piece of-”

“Sugar?”

She blinked, staring in bewilderment at the porcelain dish in his hand.

“I…” She shook her head, grasping for the threads of her sanity. “I don’t want any tea.”

“It isn’t drugged.”

“You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t take your word for it.”

“You’ve just woken up, why would I waste what precious time we have left by rendering you unconscious again?”

“A sleep tonic is the least of my worries when it comes to you spiking my drink.”

He rolled his eyes, setting the dish aside.

“Very well.”

He carefully grabbed both their steaming cups and swapped them out.

“Have mine then.”

She clutched either side of her head, barely stifling a scream.

“I don’t want your bloody tea!”

“Take Selene’s-”

“Stop!”

She swept her hand over the table and knocked her cup and saucer to the ground, tea splashing across the fine carpet and delicate silk of her dress, china shattering to pieces in an impressive explosion.

“This is madness! What do you want, Lestrange? Why are you doing this?”

She braced her hands against the edge of the wood, meeting his amused gaze with intense focus. “You already have more money than the Crown and nearly as much power to go along with it, what do you possibly stand to gain by involving yourself in human trafficking?”

Her nails dug crescent grooves into the soft veneer. “And don’t regurgitate that drivel about improving the lives of the misfortunate because we both know you don’t believe a word of it. The only help you’d care to provide others is escorting them off a cliff.”

He arched a brow, the corners of his lips tugging higher until he embodied a cartoon villain.

"I'm truly touched by your astute assessment of my character, minx. I didn't think you cared enough to notice." He tilted his head, gaze appraising. "Furthermore, you're the first person to ask me such a question."

He retook his cigar, casually twirling it between his fingers.

“Rod assumes I’m in it for the control. The force of habit. Always eager to follow big brother’s footsteps.”

His eye twitched, the underlying note of resentment palpable in his voice.

“Bella is the only one who understands. The only one who can see the big picture, grasp the magnitude of what all this means. Reasons far beyond money and prestige. Reasons _he_ could never possibly fathom.”

His voice ended on a much softer note, eyes gleaming with a very familiar and perturbing emotion.

Hermione tilted her head, carefully studying his visage. “I’m starting to understand.”

He smirked. “Are you?”

“Women undoubtedly flock to your side every moment of every day, desperate for your favor.”

He shrugged non-committedly while looking supremely pleased by her assessment.

"But you can see right through their pretty rouses, can't you? Their vapid cons. Takes one to know one after all."

The pleasure dropped from his expression like a dead weight. She smiled.

“Of course. You want true devotion. Someone who sees past your name and title, who doesn’t give a toss about your wealth or reputation.”

He laughed shortly. “Are you accusing me of chasing true love, minx?”

“No. I’m quite certain you find the notion of true love horrifying.”

His complexion paled. Hermione lifted her chin.

“Which is what led you here. A doll provides the perfect illusion without the emotional burden.”

His jaw tensed as she struck the killing blow.

“Because you’re already buried by your feelings for another woman.”

He swallowed thickly.

“A woman you can never hope to obtain-”

“Enough!” He slammed his fists on the table, tea splashing the glossy wood.

“How long have you been in love with your sister in law?”

“I said _enough_!”

He pushed back from the table and rose to his full height, arm drawing back as though to strike. Hermione held his gaze, refusing to flinch.

“Do you hit _Selene_ when she doesn’t parrot back the words you want to hear?”

His arm hovered mid-air, a powerful tremor running the length of his body. "I've never laid a hand on her."

She pinned him with an accusing glare. He lowered his arm, straightening his bespoke jacket.

“Not in violence.”

“Violence is obviously a very subjective term.”

“I’ve given her _everything_ , a life any woman would dream of, especially one from her background.”

"Spoken like a true elitist male, operating under the misfortunate belief their company is preferable to all other hardships we're made to endure."

“You think she’d rather have died, do you?”

“I don’t know, we’d have to ask her. If only you hadn’t clipped her vocal chords.”

He seethed, sitting down with enough force to vibrate the floor.

“I assure you, she has no cause for complaint.”

Hermione shook her head, averting her gaze to Padma, unable to look upon him for another moment. He continued to prattle on, entranced by the sound of his own voice.

“We’ve discussed Selene long enough. The point of this evening was to discuss you.”

“I’d rather drink a cup of poison.”

He smiled wryly. “I told Angus I would allow him to continue the treatment so he’d release you into my custody.”

She ground her teeth, still avoiding his gaze.

“I wanted to see you in person,” he continued silkily.

“You’ve already made your intentions for this evening crystal clear.”

“On the contrary, my dear. I’d like to make another arrangement, you see.”

She drew in a sharp breath, holding it until her lungs burned with hot coal. She released the flames in a powerful rush.

“I’m _never_ making another arrangement with you.”

“Why not?” He took a slow puff from his cigar. “I kept my end of the bargain.”

The fire ignited the table and chairs, swallowing her whole as she spun to face him at last. “And I kept mine!”

Rabastan inclined his head. “I never accused you otherwise, minx.” He wet his lips, expelling long tendrils of smoke. “The agreement is simple. You give me what I want and I’ll spare you from your treatment.”

She blinked, settling back in her chair. “Bumby is coming here tomorrow.”

“And I can ensure you’re halfway across the continent by then.”

She opened and closed her mouth. “Why would you do that?”

His smile revealed a row of gleaming, dagger pointed teeth.

“Willing to hear my proposal, luv?”

Her hands curled to fists beneath the table, pulse thrumming powerfully in each limb.

“Willing? No. But it seems you have a captive audience.”

His laughter echoed as loudly as her heartbeat.

“Such a rare delight. But first...” He reached for the steaming pot once more. “Tea.”

* * *

Parvati’s hands moved at blurring speed as she maneuvered the cards with deft skill, Neville’s eyes flickering rapidly as he tried to track the movement.

She smirked at the deep lines of concentration creasing his forehead, ignoring the man seated on the other cushion, gleaming eyes affixed to her face instead of her hands.

“Alright gents, keep your eye on the Queen.”

She gave the cards another skilled shuffle across the table.

Blaise leaned forward, arms resting atop his knees. “I haven’t let her out of my sight.”

She met his gaze at last, rolling her eyes even as her lips twitched. Neville scratched the back of his neck, chewing on his tongue in obvious thought.

“I think I followed it this time.”

She sat back, brow arched.

“Okay, luv, where is she?”

“On the right.” He nodded to himself, eyes transfixed. “Definitely on the right.”

She clicked her tongue, lips curling up. “So close…” She flipped over the center card, revealing the Queen of Hearts. “And yet so far away.”

“Blimey!” Neville threw his hands up and leaned back, shaking his head. “You’re incredible at that!”

“Hardly.” She gathered the cards and slipped them back into the deck. “You should see some of the hustlers in the neighborhood I grew up in. Truly gifted with a deck and a bit of flourish.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” Blaise eyed her carefully, signature grin in place. “You handle the cards seamlessly. Have you ever considered working as a dealer? Plenty of gambling halls have taken to hiring pretty birds to run the tables. Keeps the clients thoroughly distracted while they drain their pockets dry.”

She shuffled the deck idly.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. I usually just drain men of their blood. But if I can get paid to rob them blind as well, all the better.”

He tipped his head back, laughing loudly. Neville smiled as well, but his gaze quickly fastened to a spot just beyond her shoulder, expression rapidly sobering.

“Sirius, want to play a round?”

Sirius paused his rapid pacing, glancing up in confusion.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Cards.” Neville gestured to the deck in Parvati's hands. “Want to go a round?”

Sirius shook his head. “No thanks, kid. I can barely think straight as it is.”

“Potter is fine.” Blaise leaned back into the couch, folding his hands behind his head. “That man has more lives than a cat.”

“Cats are clever, but they only have one life, just like everyone else.”

He sighed, rolling his eyes without mirth. “I hate it when you get all serious.”

Sirius resumed his walk around the perimeter of the room without another word. Blaise exchanged a loaded look with Neville.

“Fuck. I thought for sure he’d jump on that one. It must be bad.”

“Have a bit of empathy, arsehole.” Parvati set the deck aside, watching Sirius over her shoulder. “Everyone deals with fear differently. He takes to tearing the room apart, I like to gamble, and you start making god awful innuendos.”

Blaise kicked his feet up on the edge of the coffee table beside her.

“I’ll have you know my innuendoes are always god awful, regardless of my mental state. Furthermore, I’m not afraid.”

She faced forward, meeting his gaze. “No? Then what are you still doing here?”

“Where else can I find such excitement on a Thursday night?”

“Nice try.”

He blinked, smile wavering. “I don’t follow, luv.”

“I think you do.” She leaned in, braid falling forward and swinging between them. “You’re not half as stupid as you like to act.”

“I’m flattered you think it’s an act.”

“You’re here because you’re afraid for your friends, same as me.”

“Friends is a rather generous label-”

“If you really meant to pull off this I-don’t-give-two-shites-about-anyone-but-myself routine, you shouldn’t have gone through each girl’s bedroom last night, making sure the windows were locked.”

He blinked twice, seemingly taken aback, but recovered by the next beat, flashing a silver grin. “That wasn’t chivalry, pet. It was strategy. I left yours unlatched. Too bad the ledge linking our rooms is so damn narrow.”

He winked.

Parvati smirked and leaned back. “Wouldn’t have done you any good. Hannah and I crawled into bed with Luna.”

“Did you now?” He wet his lips, leaning forward to close the distance she created. “And did you cuddle all night?”

“We mostly kissed.”

His leg jerked, foot slipping off the table and knocking the deck off the edge, cards exploding across the floor.

She shook her head, meeting Neville’s eye and exchanging an amused smirk.

“Too easy.”

Soft footsteps echoed down the hallway, quickly joined by feminine murmurs. A moment later Hannah and Luna turned the corner, entering the room with linked arms. Parvati smiled brightly.

“Speak of the foxes.”

Hannah glanced up. “Pardon?”

“Nothing.” Parvati wrapped her braid around her wrist. “What have you been up to?”

Hannah glanced around the room, eyes lingering on the ornate crown molding. “We were just exploring the house, admiring the architecture.” Her eyes landed on Sirius, still wearing a wide circle into the floor. “I hope that’s alright.”

He slowed his steps, seemingly surprised to see the room’s two new occupants. “Sorry, luv, what was that?”

Luna tilted her head, smile angelic.

"You have a very beautiful home, Lord Black. I most admire your garden, though unfortunately, I can't explore it since it isn't safe to go outside. I also love your large kitchen and would be happy to cook dinner tonight. I wondered if we should offer Avery some food and whether our new guest will be joining us?”

Everyone blinked.

Parvati recovered first, shifting forward.

“Wait… _what_ new guest?”

Luna met her eye, smile unwavering. “The girl in the bedroom next to mine. Does everyone like pasta?”

Parvati shook her head, grasping the armrests tightly. “Someone else is upstairs?” She spun around, glaring at Sirius. “What’s going on? Did you know about this?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Technically yes to the second question and I haven’t the faintest bloody clue to the first.”

She turned to Blaise next, opening her mouth, but he raised his hand, beating her to the punch.

“Ditto to everything he just said.”

She scoffed loudly, glancing at Luna once more.

“Who the hell is upstairs?”

The blonde shrugged. “I’m not sure. She hasn’t come out of her room since Draco left.”

“When the hell was Malfoy here? Who did he bring?”

Sirius sighed, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. “It’s better if we just leave her be. When Draco gets back he can explain it, because Lord knows I can’t.”

“But-”

A knock sounded at the front door, bouncing off the marble entry and filling the drawing room. Sirius snapped to attention, lurching forward as though launched from a cannon.

“Harry.”

He raced across the room, shoulder clipping the doorframe in his haste. Everyone held their collective breath, afraid to move a muscle as they watched him dart to the entrance and wrench open the door-

Only to deflate, sagging against the wood.

“Not Harry.”

The man standing on the other side of the threshold tilted his head. “I shave every morning.”

Sirius blinked.

“I would normally laugh, but it’s been a trying evening.”

“I can see that. I also surmise from your greeting that Potter isn’t here?”

“You’re an excellent surmiser.” He leaned in, examining the visitor with more care. “You also look very familiar.”

“I have one of those hairless faces.”

His eyes narrowed, chin tipping up. “You’re Nott’s boy.”

“Unfortunately you’re correct.”

Sirius smirked. “Even more unfortunate, you’ve picked a shite night to pay a visit.”

“Is Granger still at Rutledge then?”

His smirk fell.

“How-”

“Theo?”

Sirius drew back, making room for the man approaching from the drawing room.

“Blaise?” Theo arched a brow. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“It seems we’re all positively brimming with questions.” Sirius moved aside, holding the door wide. “Might as well come in.”

Theo wasted no time doing just that, gaze widening as the others slowly filtered in from the hall.

“Longbottom?”

“Nott?”

“I didn’t realize you’d all still be here.”

Sirius pushed the door shut. “You spoke to Harry then?”

“Yes-”

“When?” He stepped forward. “Was he alright? Where the hell is he?”

Theo blinked, glancing between their eager gazes. “He was fine at the time, we parted company several hours ago. He was on his way to Lestrange’s house.”

“Which one?”

“Queen’s Gate Terrace.”

Sirius nodded. “Then that’s where I’m headed.”

“I just came from there. The residence is empty and there was no sign of him outside. That’s why I came here.”

Sirius drew a hand over his face. “Shite.”

Blaise’s gaze narrowed as he examined Theo’s profile. “What happened to your eye, mate?”

Theo swallowed, averting his face. “Oh, I…” He raised a hand, touching the corner of the blossoming bruise. “It’s a long story.”

Sirius’s jaw tensed. “Did-”

“Harry wasn’t there when it happened. Last I saw he didn’t have a mark on him. Though he was severely sleep deprived.”

“Fantastic.” Sirius raked a hand through his hair. “And he dragged you into this mess as well I take it?”

“Quite the opposite, I had to drag the truth out of him.”

A heavy beat passed. Sirius’s gaze sharpened, raking Theo’s face like a knife’s edge.

“I didn’t realize you were friends.”

Blaise laughed loudly, clapping Theo on the shoulder with enough force to jolt him forward.

“Are you kidding? Potter and Nott here are thick as thieves, isn’t that right, Theo?”

Theo scowled, twisting free of his hold. “Why don’t you act like an idiot in the other room?”

“Because I just managed to rid the drawing room of his stupidity.”

Theo glanced past his unabashedly amused friend, meeting the eye of a tall brunette watching the exchange from the archway.

“Parvati, I presume?”

Her dark gaze narrowed. “That depends on who’s asking.”

Blaise beamed at his side. “Isn’t she fantastic?”

Theo ignored him, turning to face Sirius.

“When’s the last time you heard from Potter?”

“Almost a day ago. You were the last one to see him, did he say where else he might be heading?”

Theo shook his head. “I don’t know any specifics, just that they’re working on getting Granger out.”

Another knock sounded at the door, quick and loud. Everyone spun on their heel, staring at the barrier with bated breath.

“Bloody hell, Grimmauld hasn’t been this popular since James and I threw a toga party while my parents were on holiday.”

Sirius pulled open the door, posture rigid.

“Of course you aren’t my godson.”

The young man on the doorstep gazed around the crowded entry with wide eyes. “Sorry, Sir?”

“Wait, I recognize you, too.”

“I’m-”

“Dennis.”

The boy reared back at the familiar voice.

“Luna?”

He met her pale gaze from across the room, mouth hanging open.

“Luna!”

He charged inside, nearly knocking Sirius over. “The girls said you were kidnapped! Colin and I scoured the city looking for any information we could find!”

She smiled, stepping forward and breaking from the group.

“How very thoughtful. I’m sorry to have worried you, but I’m quite-”

She fell silent as he threw his arms around her, nearly knocking them both off their feet. They rocked precariously before stumbling to gain their balance. She laughed gently, patting him on the back as he clung to her tight enough to crack a rib.

“I thought I’d never see you again!”

Parvati rolled her eyes, crossing her arms.

“Alright, Creevey-”

“It’s okay, Parvati.” Luna met her friend’s eye over his shoulder, voice as placid as her gaze. “It’s wonderful to see you, too, Dennis. I’m touched by your concern.”

Blaise cocked his head. “You’re being touched by more than his concern, luv.”

Dennis flushed hotly, releasing her at once and staggering back.

“I didn’t, I don’t-”

“Ignore him.” Theo stepped forward. “And I’m confused, if you didn’t know she was here why did you come?”

Dennis opened and closed his mouth, eyes flickering rapidly between the various faces surrounding him.

“Oh, I…” He blinked, seeming to remember where he was. “I have a letter, from Harry-”

“Harry?”

Sirius moved in, snatching the missive from the boy’s hands before he finished pulling it from his satchel.

Theo shifted closer, hands clenching at his sides as he recognized the haphazard messy scrawl across the front of the envelope, spelling out Black’s name. His jaw clenched as Sirius fished the parchment free, quickly unfolding it.

But he managed to keep his feet rooted in place, waiting silently for the man to read through the message without interruption.

“He says he’s alright, but won’t be home for a while yet.”

Theo couldn't remain still any longer, moving quickly to the man’s side. “Where is he?”

“The train station.”

“ _What_?”

He leaned in, reading the brief message once, twice, three times before shaking his head in frustration.

Neville stepped forward, face tense. “Where is he going?”

“He conveniently forgot to include that detail.” Theo dragged both hands through his hair as he began to pace the marble. “But I’m going to find out.”

Sirius blinked, dropping the letter to his side as he stared at him.

“You’re going to the station?”

“Yes.”

He eyed Theo with careful precision, studying every nuance of his visage, the hard set lines of his shoulders and spine, before raising his chin, expression guarded.

“Alright. See if you can talk some sense into him.”

Theo laughed without humor, the sapphires flashing brightly in his gaze. “I stand a better chance of beheading the Hydra.”

Sirius couldn’t contain his smirk. “You really do know him well.”

The comment was flippant, but the tone was loaded. Theo stopped short, glancing sharply over his shoulder. He was rendered bloodless, frozen beneath the man’s knowing gaze. He swallowed heavily, pulse spiking.

“I can’t stop him from being a heroic fool. But I can watch his back while he hatches whatever idiotic scheme he’s most assuredly devised.”

Sirius eyed him carefully once more, expression softening as he, at last, discovered whatever he was searching for.

He nodded slowly, hands loosening at his sides. “Thank you, Nott.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I still have to try and intercept the imbecile.”

“You better get going then.”

Theo strode for the door, meeting his friend’s amused gaze as he passed.

“I was going to tell you to keep an eye on the girls. But I see you already have that covered.”

Blaise rolled his eyes, tucking his hands in his pockets as he followed at a leisurely pace.

“I’ll keep the dames safe.”

Theo smirked at Parvati’s dramatic scoff. “From what I’ve heard, I’m certain they stand a better chance at keeping you lot safe.”

She leaned against the wall, crossing her arms as she appraised him from head to toe. “I know we just met, but I like you already.”

“Feeling’s mutual, luv.” He winked over his shoulder, reaching for the handle. “We’ll chat properly when I return. Assuming I don’t die.”

Sirius scowled. “That isn’t funny.”

“My apologies. I’ve been hanging around Blaise too much. Simple minds are easily amused.”

Parvati’s laughter followed him outside. “I _definitely_ like you!”

He smiled ruefully, closing the door at his back, expression hardening the moment he turned to the street.

He’d already defeated one raging beast this evening and was primed and ready to face whatever new battle lie ahead. For in the chaotic mess that was quickly becoming his life, only one thing stood for absolute certain.

He wouldn’t let Harry go without a fight.

* * *

Draco dodged elbows and shoulders as he pushed through the surging crowd, scowl firmly affixed as he searched the sea of masks for any sign of familiarity.

His target was nowhere in sight.

But his eyes quickly did a double take at a figure lingering near the bar.

He began pushing past bodies to cut a path, random hands grabbing at his clothing, fingernails raking his clothing and hair. He rolled his eyes in disgust, noting half of his accosters weren’t even house girls eager for a high paying client.

Amortentia was the last place on earth he wanted to step foot again, but it was a necessary evil if they wanted to get Hermione back. He'd hand-delivered his father's letter to Judge Thicknesse before heading to Hyde Park. He'd lorded over the man as he read the instructions, leaving only when the official agreed to change her guardianship as soon as the offices opened tomorrow morning.

But of course, Rabastan had taken custody of her tonight. Almost as if he knew…

Draco shook his head.

Rabastan was an idiot, barely able to function without Rodolphus and Lucius providing handwritten instructions. He took her simply because he was an impatient pervert.

And as soon as Draco got his hands on him, he would be a dead man.

But first, he had to find the bastard.

“You.”

He emerged from the crowd, placing a hand against the bar and stepping beside the dark-skinned house girl chatting with the bartender. She spun in place, golden eyes wide behind her half mask.

“Sir.” She shifted her posture, expression morphing into the same feigned interest all the employees wore. “How are you this evening?”

“Pissed off.”

Her rigid facade cracked, the corners of her lips lifting.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do to make it better?”

“Yes, there is.”

She stepped in close, placing a hand to his chest. He grabbed her wrist and gently extracted the limb.

“But not that.”

She blinked, setting back on her heels.

“Sorry?”

“Do you know who I am?”

“Of course, Mr. Malfoy. Everyone here does.”

His jaw tensed. “I’m a friend of Harry Potter.”

She tilted her head, scanning his face as her hands fell to her sides.

“Really?”

He rolled his eyes. “Fair enough. It’s a miracle I managed to say that with a straight face.” He held her gaze. “I’m a friend of Hermione Granger.”

She straightened, arms folding across her chest.

“Now that I believe.” She wet her lips tentatively. “Is she alright?”

“No, she isn’t.”

She jolted. “Christ.” Her eyes darted around the bar, then back to him. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

He appraised her carefully. “What’s your name?”

“Angie.”

“What’s your real name?”

She arched a manicured brow. “That is my real name.”

“You didn’t create an alias?”

She shrugged lightly. “I’m not ashamed of what I do here.”

“What about for protection?”

“The men I need the most protection from are powerful enough to find me no matter what name I give them.”

His hand clenched upon the edge of the bar. “Getting mixed up in this will only put you in those men’s sights.”

“I’m already in their sights.”She lifted her chin. “I want to help Hermione.”

“You barely know her.”

Her spine straightened, eyes brightening behind the mask. “I know enough to think she’s worth saving. And if it wasn’t her it would be one of us. It’s only a matter of time until my number’s called. Too many girls go missing without anyone batting an eye.” She raised her chin, voice strong and defiant. “We have to help each other or there’s no hope for any of us.”

Draco drew a hand over his face, filled with relief and trepidation in equal measure. For though he was grateful Hermione was able to inspire loyalty in such a short amount of time, he was also burdened with guilt for dragging yet another innocent girl into the growing madness.

But despite his misgivings, he knew he was going to use this girl anyway.

He’d drag the entire world into darkness if it led him to Hermione.

So he nodded, shifting closer.

“It’s a pleasure to work with you, Angie.” He tilted his head towards the private rooms. “Come with me.”

* * *

Astoria held her breath as she slipped into her bedroom, biting her lip as the door groaned softly on its hinges, the sound echoing at deafening volume down the darkened hallway and making her heart seize in panic.

She froze in place, straining to listen.

Permeating silence greeted her.

Her father was still asleep. She sighed in relief, walking fully inside and turning to close the door.

A hand appeared around the other side of the wood, pulling the door from her grasp. She gasped and staggered back, heart in her throat, terrified of her father’s wrath-

Daphne emerged from the other side, expression lit with a radiant smile as she pulled her nightdress through and pressed the door shut.

“It’s about time! I was beginning to think you’d be gone until daybreak!”

Astoria pressed a hand to her chest, sagging against the bedpost.

“You scared me half to death!” She caught her breath, pulse settling. “And you didn’t have to wait up for me.”

Her sister rolled her eyes, their shape and color an exact copy of her own. “Yeah, like I could sleep without knowing what happened.”

Astoria shook her head, pulling her lace shawl off her shoulders and tossing it to the foot of the lavishly decorated bed. Daphne advanced quickly, tossing her hands up.

“Well? Don’t leave me in suspense! How did it go?”

Astoria tried to contain her reaction but the moment she met her sister’s eager gaze she felt warmth blossom deep in her chest, racing out into each limb.

“Great!” She bounced on the balls of her feet, clapping her palms together. “They’re going to send the manuscript to an editor next! I’ll review the final draft before printing.”

Daphne let loose a high pitched shriek of delight, jumping in place and then launching forward, grasping Astoria’s arms and pulling her close.

“Shh! Daph! You’ll wake the whole house!”

“Sorry! I’m just so bloody excited!”

Astoria laughed as well, pulling back from the embrace with a wide grin. “You must be, I only hear you swear when you prick your finger doing needlepoint.”

"Oh tosh, you'll hear far more colorful language rubbing elbows with your worldly literary friends."

Astoria rolled her eyes, stepping away and loosening the stays on the sides of her gown.

“Please. Like that would ever happen.”

Daphne moved behind her, helping tug the fabric from her shoulders and arms.

“It _will_ happen. You’re getting published, Tori! This is incredible. I’ve never been so proud.”

Her heart swelled even as her lips turned down beyond her control. She quickly schooled her reaction but it was to no avail, her elder sister finely attuned to her every emotion, no matter how subtle.

“Alright. What else happened?”

“Hm?” She averted her face, pushing the garment to her hips.

“I can tell something is wrong.”

“I don’t-”

“Tori.” Daphne gripped her arms, halting her movement. “You don’t have to tell me everything, but please don’t lie. We’re all each other has in this world and I can’t abide dishonesty.”

Astoria blinked, the warmth that infused her moments ago rapidly dissipating, ice settling into the veins. “You’re all I have.” She wet her lips, pulling free of her grasp. “But you have Greg.”

Daphne drew back. “What?”

“Gregory. Your fiance.”

“I vaguely recall the name.”

She rolled her eyes, shimmying out of the dress, fabric hitting the floor in a wide silk pool.

“Nevermind.”

“No, you brought him up. What does he have to do with this?”

“He doesn’t.” She kicked the expensive garment aside with force, fumbling with the catch of her petticoat.

“Tori.”

“Please, Daph, forget I said anything. I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

Daphne visibly bristled, folding her arms tightly.

“Is this about Draco?”

“Bloody hell.” Astoria nearly tore the fabric as she opened the flap in her underskirt.

“I’ll take that as a yes. He induces a similar rage when I think about him.”

“You’re much too hard on him.”

“He tried to ship you off to a nunnery!”

“That is _not_ what happened and you know it!” She threw the petticoat at the velvet chaise in the corner, storming to her gold lief wardrobe. "Nevertheless, Draco has nothing to do with anything that happened tonight."

Daphne followed at her heels. “But you’re thinking about your engagement?”

Astoria sighed heavily, wrenching open the second drawer and grinding her teeth. “It’s not that either.”

“Then what?”

She dug through the neatly folded piles within, tossing clothes over her shoulder at random. Daphne moved beside her, catching her wrist and gently tugging her away, forcing her to spin.

Astoria met her sister’s keen gaze with great reluctance, something wild scratching beneath the surface of her skin, desperate to break free.

She swallowed heavily, speaking without thought, stunned by her own inquiry.

“What is it like being in love?”

Daphne blinked, grip tightening on her wrist.

“I…” she shook her head, seemingly confused, only to square her shoulders, eyes shuttering. “I don’t know.”

Astoria’s eyes narrowed, tone sharpening. “Yes, you do. You’re just trying to shelter me.” She scowled, summoning her inner Draco and pulling her wrist free. “Like a child that can’t possibly comprehend what's going on around them.”

She turned on her heel, grabbing a nightdress off the top of the stack and slamming the drawer closed.

“That isn’t true.”

“Then _tell_ me the truth!” She faced her sister once more, eyes wide and gleaming in the moonlight streaming through the balcony doors. “You always stress how important honesty is.” She took a steadying breath. “So _be_ honest.”

Daphne held her gaze in silence for several beats, seemingly debating her response. Astoria became convinced another fabrication was on the horizon, prompting her to turn away again, shaking the nightdress open in frustration.

“Being in love is wonderful.”

Her movements stuttered, arms stalling midair.

“It’s the most powerful and exhilarating feeling I’ve ever experienced.”

She slowly met her sister’s eye, swaying back with the intensity of the woman’s expression, the raw emotion in her voice.

“But it’s also terrifying. Knowing how much I stand to lose. The thought of Greg being torn from my life… it’s second only to the fear of losing you.”

Astoria clutched the pale dress tightly, stepping close.

“Greg is a skilled soldier, Daphne, and he hasn’t-”

“It’s not just that.” Daphne glanced down, leaning over to pick up the random articles Astoria threw to the ground. “More than a bullet threatens to take him from me. Until we stand before the minister and recite our vows he isn’t truly mine.”

She moved to the wardrobe, opening the drawer and placing the clothes back inside. “Father can change his mind if he really wants. Sell me to a higher bidder or potential business associate. Whatever raises his bottom line.”

Astoria pressed a hand to her heart, fingertips absorbing the rapid beats. “He wouldn’t do such a thing, surely. You’ve been engaged since you were both children, breaking the contract now would be scandalous.”

“Only to my reputation. But if he breaks it to marry me off to someone else then my reputation hardly matters, does it?”

“He wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t he?” Daphne braced her hands against the edge of the wardrobe, glancing over her shoulder, glacial eyes filled with misery. “I’m twenty, Tori. We should have been married two years ago. But father added a clause stating he can delay our nuptials however long he sees fit. Why else hasn’t he allowed the marriage to take place unless he’s waiting for someone else to make a last minute offer?”

Astoria shook her head, closing the distance between them and placing a hand to Daphne’s shoulder.

“It’s because Greg’s deployed. Lots of families delay weddings to prevent their daughters from becoming young widows.”

Her sister rolled her eyes, slumping against the tall structure.

“The only Peerage family who places their children’s well being above their own reputation is the Weasleys.”

Astoria deflated, hand skimming down her sister’s arm to grasp her fingers.

“I had no idea you were holding all this in. I’m so sorry.”

Daphne smiled sadly, squeezing her hand. “It’s not your fault. Talking about it only breathes life into the fear. It does nothing to remedy the situation.”

Astoria jolted in place, inspiration striking like a lightning bolt, animating her limbs.

“What if you and Greg eloped?”

Daphne’s head snapped to attention, eyes wide.

“ _What_?”

“The next time he’s on leave you can elope. A private ceremony. I’ll bear witness. No one else ever has to know. You can still have the proper ceremony later, but if Father tries to pull the rug out from under you before then you’ll be protected.”

Daphne opened and closed her mouth, carefully scanning her face, then glancing to the ground unseeing, lost to thought.

“He’d force us to have an annulment.”

“Then you run away together.”

Daphne looked up sharply, eyes flaring anew.

“Tori… what’s gotten into you?”

Astoria sidled closer, propelled by the force of her conviction, the lingering despair of her earlier musings and her sister’s silent suffering.

“Would you be willing to give up this life to be with Greg?”

“I…” Daphne blinked, swallowing thickly as her shoulders lowered. “Yes.”

Astoria smiled. “Then it’s decided.” She released her hand, taking a wide step back, mind spinning and pulse thrumming. “When does he come home next?”

Daphne’s hand lifting to her neck to play idly with the golden locket laying against the hollow of her throat, a sweetheart gift from the man in question. “He’s already en route, he’ll arrive early next week.”

Astoria nodded, pulling the nightgown over her head. “Perfect. We’ll go dress shopping tomorrow.”

Daphne stepped forward, helping tug the garment into place. “This is insanity.”

“It’s romantic.”

They shared a loaded look.

And then both burst into bubbling laughter, until Daphne released another glass shattering squeal, launching forward to embrace Astoria tightly and nearly knocking both girls to the ground.

“Thank you so much, Tori.” She whispered into her hair, voice thick. “I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have you.”

Astoria’s gaze clouded with tears, casting the room into nothing but pools of shadow and moonlight. “You’ll always have me.” She squeezed tightly, until she felt her sister’s heartbeat echoing against her own. “Always.”

* * *

Draco slid his mask free, arm dropping to his side as he took a steadying breath, silently bracing himself.

And knocked heavily on the door.

A distant thump sounded, followed by rapid shuffling, and then something banged into the other side of the barrier, rattling the wood.

“You fucking moron. You open a door with your hands, not your head.” The voice was muffled, but painfully recognizable.

Draco rolled his eyes, already anticipating the circus about to greet him.

Sure enough, the door gave way to reveal a thin, sallow man, fidgeting anxiously as he shifted from foot to foot.

“Oh! M-Mr. M-Malfoy, Sir, I-”

“Am in the way. Move.”

Quirrell staggered aside.

“Drake?”

Rodolphus gazed up from his stack of paperwork, leaning back in his chair from his spot across the office. “I’ve been seeing more of you in the last week than throughout your entire life.”

Draco gripped the mask tightly, tracing the edge with his thumbnail. “Is this a bad time?”

“I was just getting ready to head home. Come on in.” He tapped the cluster of paper against the wood, straightening the stack. “I admit I’m surprised to see you here. I didn’t think you’d be leaving your bedroom for several days. At the very least, I expected to see you limping.”

Draco fought back a scowl as he crossed the threshold, sparing Quirrell no mind as the jittering man closed the door at his back.

“It was difficult pulling myself away.”

Rodolphus grinned like a jester, setting the papers aside and awarding him his full attention. “You’re enjoying her then?”

Draco came to a stop at a safe enough distance to prevent losing control and throwing a punch.

“Immensely.”

“So what brings you here?”

His spine straightened. “I had some questions…” His silver gaze landed on the room’s third occupant, nestled in the corner with his eyes on the floor. “Perhaps better asked in privacy.”

“Pretend he isn’t there, I certainly do.”

“That doesn’t make him any less of a viable witness.”

“I think _viable_ is a bit of a stretch.” Rodolphus leaned back, steepling his fingers before his face. “But rest assured, he knows the fate awaiting him if he ever repeats anything said within these walls. Don’t you, Quirrell?”

“Y-Yes, Sir.”

Draco set his jaw. “And I take it he knows about the products?”

“Indeed.”

His blood snapped and sizzled, scorching a path through his veins. “Very good.” He sent the man a lethal glare that left him trembling anew before focusing upon his uncle. “I wanted to know more about how she… _works_.”

Rodolphus arched a dark brow. “Works?”

“Whatever the hell you call it.” Draco rolled his eyes. “How she’s programmed to obey.”

“I’m afraid I can’t share details about the process." Rodolphus sighed, hands dropping to the armrests. "Mostly because I've no bloody clue how it's done. Your Aunt is far more knowledgeable on the subject."

Draco’s heart skipped a beat. “Does she help program them?”

“Not exactly.”

He blinked, curiosity almost overwhelming his original objective.

Almost.

He reigned himself back, picturing Her face in his mind, remembering his mission.

“What if I wanted to… change the settings?”

Rodolphus tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “What do you have in mind?”

“I’d rather not go into specifics.”

The man chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I can’t help you if I don’t know what you want.”

Draco tipped his chin up, pulse throbbing. “She only obeys me. But what if I wanted to share her?”

Rodolphus smirked. “Just tell her to obey whoever you’re with.”

“She turns into a dead fish the moment I leave her line of sight.” Draco wet his lips. “I’d rather she stay… _animated_ , even when she can’t see me.”

Rodolphus nodded, teeth gleaming. “You like to watch, eh?”

Draco squeezed the mask until it threatened to snap in his grip. “What man doesn't?”

His uncle’s laughter rang off the walls and ceiling, surrounding him on all sides, suffocating.

“I suppose that is a dilemma, assuming you want to give the illusion you aren’t in the room.” He rubbed thoughtfully at his chin. “I’ll have to ask the boss and get back to you.”

“I’d rather not hear what you call my Aunt in the bedroom.”

Rodolphus laughed anew. “Rest assured, I have far more colorful names for her there.” Draco cringed. “I was referring to our actual employer.”

Draco blinked, pulse spiking. “You have an employer? I thought you only answer to the Crown.”

Rodolphus’s amusement faded instantly, eyes gleaming predatory. “If only it were so. Someday soon, that will be the case.”

Draco arched a pale brow, curiosity brimming anew, eager to press the subject, garner more information about this elusive Dollmaker character-

 _No_.

He drew his shoulders back.

_Stay on track._

“When can I expect to hear back from you?”

“You’ll have to quell you sexual appetites for a short while longer, I’m afraid. I’ll send word to the Manor when I have more for you.”

“Wonderful.” He took a step back, desperate to escape the oppressive weight boring down on his chest, constricting his lungs. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

Rodolphus smiled indulgently. “What are uncles for?”

A distant shout sounded from downstairs, faint but clear.

His cue.

He started towards the door, scowling anew as Quirrell moved to open it.

“Drake.”

His step faltered, head turning to meet his uncle’s gaze of its own accord.

Rodolphus’s smile turned wry, eyes flashing.

“She’s a close match, isn’t she?”

Draco felt the blood drain from his head in a powerful rush, collecting at his feet, robbing him of coherency.

“I don’t… what do you-”

“It’s alright. We’re men. We can’t control our natural impulses. I certainly don’t judge. I think the mouthy little bitch is quite delectable myself.”

His fists clenched at his sides, the side of the mask splitting. Rodolphus calmly folded his hands atop the desk, leaning in.

“Truth be told, I wanted to get you the real thing. Alas, Bella thought it would create too much of a stir. Especially if your father caught wind.”

Draco blinked, rearing back as though struck dead center.

“My father?”

Rodolphus shook his head. “I know what it’s like to be consumed by raw, animal lust. I told Bells you just needed to fuck the girl a few times to get it out of your system. But she wouldn’t relent.” He shrugged, sprawling back. “Still, the one we found is a close match, isn't she? If you take her from behind it’s almost like having the real thing.”

Draco trembled with the force of his rage. Rodolphus threaded his hands behind his head.

“Trust me. I speak from personal experience.” He winked. “Had to test her out when we first acquired her, make sure she obeyed _every_ command.”

Draco surged forward, propelled by a scorching white heat that melted away all rational thought. All that mattered was tearing the bastard limb from limb-

The door burst open, riotous noise filtering in.

Rodolphus dropped his arms, springing to his feet as Draco spun around, breath labored as he fought to regain control.

“Angie?” Rodolphus walked out from behind the desk. “What the hell is going on?”

She shook her head wildly, tears streaking her pretty face.

“A huge fight, Sir! Dozens of clients! We can’t break it up!”

“Jesus Fucking Christ.” He stormed past her. “Drunken fools.” He paused at the door, glancing over his shoulder. “Sorry Drake, we’ll finish this conversation another time.”

He disappeared into the hallway before Draco could formulate a response, which was just as well as he couldn't see past the red clouding his vision. Quirrell made a squeaking noise before sprinting after his Master, unable to keep up with his long stride.

Their footsteps soon faded, the sound of explosive violence continuing to echo off the walls- shrill screams and breaking glass- along with Angie’s labored, panicked breath.

She moved forward, closing the door.

And then fell perfectly silent, spinning to face him with a bright smile, wiping her glistening cheeks with the backs of her hands.

“Sorry it took so long, had to enlist a few more girls to help stir the pot.”

He ran a trembling hand through his hair, briefly closing his eyes and counting backward from five, focusing upon Hermione’s face, the memory of her voice.

“You okay?”

He swallowed thickly. “Yes.” He opened his eyes, arm dropping. “Thank you, Angie. You did great.”

She crossed her arms, leaning into the wall. “I know.”

A laugh escaped him, the weight dissipating just enough to inhale a full breath. “How the hell did you incite a riot in five minutes?”

“I have my ways.”

He nodded, glancing to the closed door. “How long do you think it’ll take him to break up?”

She hummed low in her throat, following his gaze. “I don’t know. With help from the bouncers… maybe half an hour? Not including clean up.” She arched a brow, looking to him once more. “Do you need more time?”

He sighed deeply, squeezing the broken fragments of his borrowed mask until his knuckles turned white. "I've no fucking clue." His eyes narrowed, the bone-crushing weight returning all at once. "The distraction wasn't for me."

* * *

Tom ascended the stone steps with agile speed, driven by pure adrenaline and unwavering resolve, knowing if he paused for even a moment of consideration or reflection he would lose this burning momentum.

And every single minute counted.

There was no telling what Rabastan was up to-

He ground his teeth, pushing the treacherous thought aside, forcing his shoulders to relax, his stomach to loosen, fist drawn tight as he brought it down upon the gleaming black door with all the strength in his body, desperate for a physical release to expel the latent aggression festering in his very marrow.

The door gave way with surprising speed, a young maid standing before him, barely dressed and unable to suppress her reaction to his presence.

She flushed hotly, shuffling in place before recovering her senses and smiling coyly.

"Good evening, Sir." She dipped into a low curtsy, shortened skirt riding obscenely high on her fishnet-clad thigh. "How may I assist you?"

“I’m calling on Madam Lestrange.”

She blinked, rising to her full height and licking her lips.

“Is she expecting you?”

His eyes narrowed, hands resting in his pockets. “I suppose we’ll find out.”

“Oh… alright. And your name?”

“I think it best if I keep that information to myself. Just tell her she has a visitor, she’ll know who it is.”

She blinked again.

And then smirked, eyes gleaming from beneath long lashes.

“How intriguing. Please have a seat in the receiving room to your left while I fetch the Madam.”

She spun gracefully on her heel and started across the marble entry, hips swaying with every step, skirt dancing around her legs.

He stepped inside, closing the door and dismissing her from notice, taking in the sight of the lavishly decorated interior instead. Black velvet damask adorned the walls, molding stained dark, causing the shadows to breathe in the flickering glow of the sconces.

He made his way into the receiving room, the chandelier casting the space in scattered light and causing the red textile to gleam as though soaked in blood. He traced a fingertip along the heavy drapes, the color blinding to his eyes, and withdrew his other hand from his pocket, fingers bound by a familiar strip of fabric.

Its color had greatly faded since the night he first claimed it from the floor of his office, but as he held the bit of satin next to the velvet curtain he was reminded of exactly where he stood.

And what dwelled within these walls.

A phantom breeze blew past, causing a chill to race along his spine. He turned his head on instinct, gaze drawn by an invisible force, and his attention immediately fell upon the portrait hanging above the mantle, light centered upon its gleaming silver frame.

A young Bellatrix stared down at him, feline eyes tracking his every movement as he drew near, tucking the ribbon back into his pocket, heart rate increasing with every step.

The oil painting was done by a poised and skilled hand, so realistic it was as though he could see her breathing.

The air around him sweltered and sparked, charged and alive.

He stopped directly before the portrait, transfixed by the keen, heavy-lidded eyes boring down upon him. He wondered why she chose to hang this particular painting in her home instead of something more recent, commissioned after marriage.

The sound of clicking heels drew his gaze away at last, though the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, as though the painting continued to watch him as he drew closer to the doorway.

The steps grew louder, quicker, a shadow appearing on the opposite wall, and then the woman herself was entering in a cloud of pale gossamer silk and flowing black hair, skin flushed and eyes bright.

His stomach clenched at the sight she made, at the knowledge of what was to come.

The ribbon burned red hot in his pocket, a searing brand against his flesh.

“Doctor.”

She stopped just past the threshold, lungs pumping though her limbs fell unnaturally still.

“I hardly believed Margo when she told me you were here.”

“I didn’t give my name.”

She licked her burgundy stained lips. “Nor do you need to. Your presence is unmistakable.” She crossed her arms, the loose sleeves fluttering around her hips as her eyes roamed his form with methodical precision. “My husband isn’t home.”

“I’m well aware.”

She blinked.

“You’ve come to see me?”

“Obviously.”

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing “Why obviously?”

“Don’t fish for compliments, luv.” He took a casual, measured step towards her. “It’s unbecoming.”

She smirked. “So I’ve heard.”

Her arms dropped to her sides but she made no movement forward or back as he drew near.

Almost as though she were leaving the ball in his court.

But he knew better.

She was testing him, still holding firmly to the reins.

He decided to rip them violently from her grasp.

His pace increased until he was advancing aggressively, causing her to gasp and retreat, back colliding with the wall. He caged her in, hands slamming beside her head and sliding down, arms trapping her, body pressing in, driving the air from her lungs.

She swallowed thickly, palms flattening against his chest, nails pricking the flesh.

“The audacity, coming to my home for a rendezvous in plain sight of my staff.”

He dipped his head in. “I have a feeling they’re used to keeping their lips sealed.”

“Sealed?” She laughed, though it sounded more frantic than amused. “How boring. We keep their mouths _occupied_ , darling.”

He smirked, eyes darting to her lips.

“What a splendid notion.”

He descended on her without warning or restraint, one arm looping her narrow waist and pulling her flush against him while the other threaded through her long hair, grasping the back of her skull and holding her in place as he took violent possession of her mouth, devouring her with teeth and tongue, pulling the breath from her body, pouring every ounce of frustration and anger and desperation into the kiss, pushing the graveyard as far down into his memory as his strength would allow.

He kept his eyes open and fixed upon his prey, refusing to allow his exhausted mind to wander, to replace the femme fatale pressed against him with the other object of his desire, the face that haunted his every waking moment as of late, the body he’d explored with meticulous precision, memorizing every swell, every dip, every curve.

She moaned low in her throat, voice deep and raspy, helping ground him in this moment, this twisted reality.

His tongue battled with her own, fingers digging into her flesh until he was certain he’d leave proof of this infidelity upon her skin for days to come. A dirty secret she would desperately try and hide. Physical evidence she wasn’t untouchable, none of them were untouchable.

He could tear her apart with his bare hands if he wanted. He would tear each of them apart...

His thoughts raged on, broken, fragmented, caught in a chaotic storm of adrenaline and sleep deprivation, matched only by the explosive fire in his chest. He squeezed her harder, until she gasped in pain, twisting her head away, pupils blown wide, chest heaving.

“Rod will be home any moment,” she panted, breathless and dazed.

He nodded, lips brushing her jaw. “Then we better act fast.”

Her swallow echoed through his fingertips as his hand slid down her silken nape and around her throat. “What do you have in mind?”

“I can’t wait until this weekend.” His teeth skimmed her flesh, trailing back to her bottom lip, nipping the swollen flesh. “Let’s go to Bath.”

She jolted against him, pulse thrumming manically as the pressure of his fingers increased, slowly tightening her airway.

“Now?”

“Now.”

He sealed their mouths once more, tongue tracing the backs of her teeth and eliciting a keening moan as she writhed, straining, clawing, before going boneless in his grasp, hands clutching his arms tighter as he slowly drew back, her hot breath cascading into his mouth and down his chin.

She met his eye, her own clouded over with blatant hunger, raw desire, and nodded mindlessly.

“Let me pack a bag.”

* * *

Hermione stirred the tea with tense fingers, silver spoon clanking against the side of her new cup, chunks of broken china still scattered at her feet. She felt his eyes upon her and squirmed in her chair, skin crawling.

“We aren’t in London.”

He smiled, smoke billowing from his lips. “That we aren’t.”

She chanced an upward glance, refusing to cower. “This is your brother’s house.”

Her seemingly innocent statement hit its mark, causing his eyes to narrow dangerously.

“It’s _both_ of ours. Father left it to us in his will.”

She tilted her head, clutching the spoon tightly. “Do you share everything?”

He bared his teeth in a snarl. “I’ve never shared Selene with anyone.” He flicked the end of the cigar, ash littering the glossy table surface. “I found her. She’s mine and mine alone.”

She shook her head in disgust, averting her face forward, eyes landing on Padma. The girl sat motionlessly, hands folded primly in her lap, empty gaze fixed to a spot just beyond Hermione's shoulder.

Rabastan sighed, setting the cigar in the bowl. “We’re getting off topic. Again.” He turned his focus to the guard standing sentinel by the door. “Leave us, Elliot.”

“Sir?”

“You heard me. Out.”

The guard nodded stiffly, backing into the hallway and reaching for the knob. His eyes fixed upon Hermione as he pulled the door shut, flames igniting in their depths. She raised her chin, holding his gaze steady until the barrier closed.

Rabastan arched a brow, grinning. “You certainly know how to make a lasting impression.”

“I assure you, there’s nothing I’d love more than to escape everyone’s notice for the remainder of my life.”

"Slight chance of that, minx. A face and mind like yours aren't easy to forget."

She pressed back in the chair, shoulders drawn tight. “Your compliments fall a bit flat when I’m being held hostage at your dining table.”

His smirk deepened, eyes glittering beneath the chandelier. “I don’t want to extinguish your flame. Antonin was always dead set on taming you, turning you into a docile kitten lapping milk from his palm.”

She fought back a cringe, looking away.

“But not me,” he continued, causing her hands to clench beneath the table. “I want you just as you are. A tigress. Snarling bite and all.”

She ground her teeth, pulse skipping. “And turning me into a doll would make me too dull for your liking.”

“Something like that.” He leaned back. “Some girls are able to act spirited on command.” He shook his head, fingers tapping along the edge of his saucer. “But it’s just that. An act.”

His eyes shone with bright intensity, rendering her motionless in her seat. “I prefer the real thing. The thrill of unpredictability. The impending flame that threatens to scorch your flesh from the bone.”

Her gaze sharpened to a knife’s edge. His laughter cut just as deadly.

“Precisely, luv.” He licked his lips, eyes unwavering. “I love that burning heat in your eyes. It can’t be manufactured. It can’t be instructed.”

“Get to the point.”

He leaned in swiftly. “Agree to be my mistress and I’ll get you out of England. I’ll put you up anywhere in the world you want, give you an obscene allowance to play with. You’ll be-”

“Another one of your princesses?”

He glared. “No.” His expression softened, the earnest visage more frightening than his anger. “You’d be my Queen.”

Her face twisted with disgust, heart galloping a broken beat in her chest.

“What makes you think I would ever agree to such an arrangement?”

“What other future do you have awaiting you? You’ve no family, no marital prospects, no way to access your funds except through me.” His voice held an edge of anxiety, unsettling her more than the hunger in his gaze. “I’m your _only_ chance at freedom. Your only way to escape the Dollmaker."

Her breath became short and labored, his every word puncturing her lungs.

“Who else gives a shite about what happens to you?” He tilted his head. “Drake?”

She swallowed thickly, pain lancing through her heart, tears burning behind her eyes. His laughter echoed off the walls, surrounding her on all sides.

“I thought you were more clever than that, minx. Draco’s had his fun. And that’s _all_ you are to him. A passing amusement. He’s set to marry the youngest Greengrass any day now. Perhaps he’d offer to take you as a mistress, but the moment Lucius caught wind you’d be out on the street. Damaged goods. Gutter trash.”

His hands braced the edge of the table. “I can give you freedom. Autonomy. Riches. A new start.” He slowly pushed back, chair sliding across the hardwood. “And all I want in exchange is the pleasure of your company every now and then.”

He rose to his feet, stepping towards her.

“I want your fire.” His hand rested atop her shoulder, sending a powerful shockwave through her body. “I want to be consumed by it.”

She trembled violently, unable to quell her visceral reaction to his touch.

“I’m not Bella.”

He visibly jolted, hand clenching upon her, fingers pressing painfully.

“I’m well aware.”

“Are you?” She jerked away, unable to endure the weight and heat of his hand a moment longer. “You’ve dressed me in her gown.”

The muscle in his jaw throbbed. “I had no other option, lest I leave you in the potato sack you arrived in.” Darkness unfurled in his gaze, reflecting her pale face. “Besides. Red suits you.”

He rested his hand upon her once more, fingers sliding along her collarbone as she tried to twist away. She gasped, falling still, unable to evade his touch as he stood behind her chair and blocked her path of retreat.

“A body like yours is meant to be wrapped in silk.” Gentle fingertips traced the hollow of her throat and along her throbbing pulse, skimming her jaw and tipping her face up. “Your neck should be draped in diamonds.”

She closed her eyes, refusing to meet his gaze, unable to hide the tremor in her limbs.

“And I simply must know…”

His other hand encircled her throat entirely, causing her lips to part as she gasped instinctively, terrified he would strangle her outright.

“Who left these marks upon you?”

Her eyes snapped open, heat spilling across her skin like a crashing wave.

“ _None_ of your business.”

He tipped his head back and laughed, releasing her throat but forcing her head to stay tipped. At last, he gazed down, eyes gleaming.

“Will you consider my offer, pet? You must decide quickly. Once the Doctor arrives, you belong to him.”

“I belong to no one.” Each word was laced with venom she hoped would poison him from the outside in.

His thumb rose, tracing along her bottom lip. She jerked her head away with force, the chair rattling on the floor.

“Hermione.”

She jolted.

“Don’t make me surrender you to him, luv. Is being my mistress truly such an awful fate?”

She scoffed loudly. He drew back, attempting to capture her gaze.

“At least you'd have free will. And I’d never share you. You’d be as precious to me as Selene.”

Her eyes darted up at the reminder. Padma’s gaze was still averted blankly ahead, unseeing. Hermione wet her lips, the air thinning around her as the atmosphere was ripped away.

“If I agree…” She throbbed with the force of her pulse. “Will you release her?”

He took a step towards his abandoned chair. “I’m afraid I must keep Selene as collateral. Otherwise what would stop you from running away the moment my back was turned?”

She clenched her teeth, fists tightening beside her lap as she scraped together every last remnant of her courage and resolve, a haphazard plan finally taking shape in her mind.

Completely mad.

But mad seemed to be all she had at her disposal, so she’d learn to make due.

“Her _name_ is Padma.”

Right on cue, Padma awoke from her stupor, jerking in place. Hermione raised her chin, eyes blazing.

“Her sister is Parvati.”

The girl rocked back in her chair, nearly tipping it over. Rabastan blinked, freezing in place.

Hermione smiled.

“And I’m taking her home.”

And then Padma began to convulse, toppling from her seat and hitting the floor with a dull thud.

“Selene!”

He darted around the table and lowered to her side, disappearing from view. Hermione reached forward and grabbed the half-full teapot with both hands, pushing her chair aside and darting across the room for the doors.

“What have you done!” He shouted, clutching Padma’s trembling shoulders as he attempted to hold her still.

The door flew open a moment later, Elliot appearing in the frame, eyes wide as he quickly took in the unfolding chaos before him.

Hermione allowed her surging adrenaline to propel her forward, mind turning off as she let her instincts take over.

The guard's eyes lingered on his boss, still huddled on the floor with a convulsing girl in his lap, before finally darting up to Hermione.

His mouth opened but before he could release a sound she brought the teapot crashing into the side of his skull. He reared back in shock, rocking precariously on his heels as hot liquid and broken porcelain cascaded down upon him, blood running along the side of his face in a bright red line.

She gaped in silent horror as he continued to lunge for her, only to lose his balance and crash face first to the floor in a lifeless heap.

She gasped, leaping over his motionless form and taking off at a full sprint down the hallway. She saw movement from the corner of her eye, the second guard charging forward from his post in the entryway.

Except he didn’t make a move for Hermione.

He darted into the dining room instead. She breathed a heavy sigh of relief as she turned the corner at full speed, bare feet skidding along the runner as Rabastan’s enraged scream chased at her heels.

“Don’t just stand there, you fucking fool! Grab her!”

Rushing blood filled her ears, vision fading at the corners as she charged forward.

_“...only poor decisions for the remainder of the night.”_

Her pulse spiked at the faded memory, hands gripping the wall as she quickly rounded another corner, on a path towards the kitchen.

* * *

Harry scrubbed a hand over his face, boneless in his exhaustion. He'd taken to slowly staggering around the platform bench in lieu of sitting upon it, fearful of falling into a coma-like sleep and missing the train.

He was more than aware of the odd stares he was garnering, stumbling about like a drunk. Patrons were no doubt waiting for him to tumble onto the tracks head first.

He kept his gaze averted down, tracing the cracks in the cement for means of distraction and alertness, though his mind continued to drift into a twisted dream state, fatigue taking hold with both hands and refusing to let him go.

So when footsteps approached from behind he was hardly aware they were real.

“You look like shite, Potter.”

He rolled his eyes. “Always sweet talking me.”

His gaze widened, spine going rigid as he spun on his heel, the familiar voice at last waking his senses.

“Theo?” He blinked several times, waiting for the mirage to dissipate. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I happened to be in the neighborhood.” The man came to a stop at the other end of the empty bench, hands tucked into his coat. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Harry shook his head, eyes narrowing. “Hilarious. What happened to your eye?”

“Long story.”

“Don’t give me that.”

“I assumed you preferred short and concise answers lacking any valuable information, seeing as your letter consisted of a single run-on sentence.”

“My lett-” He rocked back on his heels. “You spoke to Sirius?”

“I was at Grimmauld when it arrived.”

He blinked again, pulse spiking as he took a reflexive step closer. “What happened?”

Theo sighed deeply, raking a hand through his hair as he spun to face the tracks. “We’ll talk on the train. I assume you’re waiting for the next one?”

Harry’s jaw tensed, eyes still fixed upon the bruised and swollen flesh framing the sapphire gaze he was so very fond of. “Yes.”

“What’s in Bath?”

He took another step closer, finally tearing his gaze away to also stare upon the barren tracks. “Hermione, supposedly.”

“And a dash of mortal peril, I presume.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Naturally.”

“Excellent.” Theo slid his hands back into his coat, causing their elbows to brush. “I was worried my evening would only consist of a good night’s rest. Leave it to you to add a bit of flourish.”

Harry’s head snapped around, eyes wide. “You’re coming with me?”

Theo smirked, still facing ahead. “Naturally.”

“Theo, you don’t-”

"We're long past that, Harry." Harry's heart skipped a beat. He stared at Theo's profile with such profound concentration he felt light-headed. "Where you go, I go."

Warmth exploded in his chest, rushing out in a powerful wave, spots appearing before his vision, only Theo’s face in perfect clarity.

And then his lips parted in a wide smile far beyond his control, hands clenching at his sides as he fought to stay still, reminding himself they were still in a public venue, even if it was mostly empty.

“Stop grinning like an idiot.”

Harry wet his lips, smiling wider. “I don’t think I can.”

Theo shook his head dramatically. “ _Such_ an embarrassment.” And then he flexed his jaw, fighting back a smile of his own.

* * *

Hermione panted wildly, arms and lungs pumping hard as she struggled to run in the skin-tight garment, losing her balance more than once and stumbling into the wall and tapestries, knocking a decorative Ming vase off its pedestal and catching it a stuttered heartbeat before it shattered on the hardwood.

She held her breath, arms trembling as she righted the antique, hands hovering beside it as she strained to listen. She heard the second guard’s pounding footsteps in the adjacent hallway, advancing quickly.

_Shite shite shite shite_

She charged down the corridor leading to the kitchen, darting into the shadowed space and spinning in a tight circle, racing to the utensil rack and grabbing a meat tenderizer, clutching it tightly to her chest as she searched out a stool, finally spotting one tucked beneath the center island. She dragged it to the kitchen door, peering through the large pane at the garden beyond.

She only had one shot at this.

 _God, or whoever else might be listening, please help me out this_ one _time._

_I’ll never ask for any favors ever again._

She took a deep breath and held it, drawing back and ramming the tenderizer into the glass, shattering it cleanly through. Shards exploded outward, glittering on the stone steps on the other side of the sealed door. Her entire body vibrated with the force of the impact and her jittering pulse, limbs erratic with adrenaline and she knocked the remaining glass free, pieces falling loudly to the tile.

The racing footsteps changed course, coming straight for her.

She bit her lip in concentration, desperately trying to settle her nerves as she stepped away from the shattered window once she ensured the hole was large enough for her slender body to fit through.

She pushed the stool in front of the door.

And darted into the pantry.

She closed the door but for a crack to peek through, clutching the weapon so tightly it pressed into her skin, dimpling the flesh between her breasts.

The guard skid into the room a second later, crashing into the island before checking his momentum and rushing to the door.

“Fuck!”

He tossed the stool aside. It hit the wall with a crack, one of the legs snapping off. He dragged a hand over his mouth, shaking his head as he peered through the shattered opening, eyes frantically scanning the dark trees and bushes.

“She’s outside!” He yelled at the top of his lungs, spinning on his heel and skidding on the glass shards before darting out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

She gasped in relief the moment he rounded the corner, shadow and footsteps fading into the distance, but remained standing in place for a count of thirty, body throbbing in time with her rapid pulse, desperately trying to string together the rest of a plan.

She wondered if the property was gated, what the terrain was like beyond the shadowed lawn.

_I’ve no shoes or transportation or currency…_

She lowered the tenderizer, gnawing her lip as her mind raced.

_And I’ve got Padma to think about…_

Because there was absolutely no way she would leave Parvati's sister behind.

She took a deep breath.

_It’s alright. Stay calm. You can get out of this._

_You just have to keep your senses._

She raised a trembling hand and pushed the door open, walking out of the pantry on tiptoes, convinced her heartbeat could be heard from a mile away.

Her pulse spiked as she heard footsteps approach from the opposite direction the guard has just disappeared. She turned on her heel, taking a half step towards the pantry before shaking her head and darting for the sink instead, dropping to her knees and opening the cabinet. She pushed aside a metal bucket and folded herself within, dragging the flowing hem of her dress into the dark cubby and closing the door just in time.

Noise filled the kitchen, light emanating from the gaps in the wood, causing her breath to hitch.

“How the hell did this happen?” Rabastan exploded, boots treading dangerously close to the sink. “How does one tiny girl evade _two_ fucking men?”

“I didn’t see the pot in her hands, Sir.”

She pressed her hands to her mouth to stifle her gasp.

Elliot was awake.

“Once I find her I’m going to strangle the bitch-”

“You’ll do no such thing. She’s mine, and you’ve put enough marks on her for one evening.”

“But Sir-”

“You were outmatched by a teenager. You deserve what she did to you.” Something hard hit the countertop, causing her to jolt. “Now go help Stephen search. I won’t have her reaching the main road.”

“Yes, Sir.”

There was a lingering pause, so thick and ominous she was certain she’d explode from the tension swelling within her chest and stomach. Boots treaded past at long last, but not in the direction of the hall.

“I said go!”

“Sir, I don’t think she’s outside.”

Her heart lurched painfully.

“What?”

“Look at how jagged the glass around the frame is. She’s small, but there's no way she could have cleared it without slicing herself.” She closed her eyes, tears brimming past her lashes. “And the shards on the steps outside aren’t cracked or bloodied. No way she stepped on them.”

"Maybe she leaped over the mess."

“She’s too short.”

A deafening pause. “Fucking hell.” She held her breath. “Clever girl.” Footsteps cut closer. “She’s still in the house.”

“I’ll grab Stephen-”

“No. She may have found another way out by now.” Rabastan’s voice grew louder, closer. The light framing the cabinet door dimmed. He was leaning against the sink. “I'm going to search upstairs, she may try and kidnap Selene. You tear apart the main level.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The light shone brightly as Rabastan moved away from her hiding spot, crossing the kitchen and entering the hallway. She bit her lip until the skin threatened to break, counting the footsteps as they receded.

And then Elliot moved.

To the opposite end of the room, wrenching open the pantry door.

“I’m going to find you, bitch.” He slammed it shut. “And I’m going to hurt you.”

The blood froze in her veins as he stormed out of the kitchen, the floor and walls radiating with the force of his rage.

She sat in a trembling heap long after silence blanketed the room. The inside of the pantry was shroud in darkness, her rapid breathing echoing loudly off the narrow enclosure.

_I can't stay here all night._

_I have to escape before sunrise. Before the Doctor arrives._

She pushed the door open, tumbling out, hands bracing the floor as she pulled her silk clad legs free, bare feet scrambling for purchase as she pushed up, slumping against the countertop and setting the tenderizer aside, hands trembling.

_What the hell am I supposed to do now?_

She covered her face with her hands, shaking her head, only to see a glimpse of light peeking out from between her fingers.

She blinked, dropping her arms and staring in confusion at the item lying before her.

The butcher knife she’d grabbed and discarded earlier in the night.

She blinked again, tilting her head to gaze upon the blade more carefully. The metal reflected the moonlight, glowing brightly as a beacon amidst a sea of blackness.

She wet her lips, reaching forward slowly. Her fingertips grazed the handle and a powerful tingle rushed along her limb, pooling as warmth in her chest. She inhaled sharply and grabbed the hilt, holding the knife aloft.

Its unnatural glow faded. She turned the blade slowly, drawing it closer to her face, and saw her own hazel gaze reflected back. She tilted the knife and half her face came into view.

She barely recognized herself, the image disturbing in how strange it appeared.

And then to her great horror, the reflection arched its brow and smiled, teeth gleaming in the moonlight.

Hermione jolted, gripping the hilt tighter, fear rapidly dissipating with a fresh rush of adrenaline.

Footsteps echoed in the distance.

She pulled her gaze away, staring at the empty doorway, waiting for another beat before drawing her shoulders back and darting out of the kitchen and headfirst into the sentient darkness beyond.

* * *

Draco ground his teeth, slamming the train station door with enough force to rattle the glass inset above the frame.

He stormed down the stairs leading to the entrance, bumping shoulders with a man ascending and scowling with enough malevolence to silence whatever affronted outburst lingered upon the stranger’s lips.

“Miss your train there, Sir?”

Draco blinked, halting on the sidewalk, glancing around.

“Over here, Sir.”

His gaze lifted to the driver’s seat of a nearby carriage.

“I’m happy to take you to wherever you were headed.”

He raised his chin, face contorting into a sneer.

“I need to get to Bath.”

The driver raised a sandy brow, whistling low.

“My, my, that _is_ a bit of a jaunt.” He smiled widely, revealing a row of crooked, yellowed teeth. “But something tells me you can afford such a jaunt just fine.”

Draco's fists tightened in his pockets. He couldn't direct his rapidly budding hostility at the true source of his misery but would make do with whatever target lie in his path.

“And what will you charge for such an excursion?”

The driver chuckled to himself, idly thumbing the reins while the horses brayed softly, clomping against the cobblestone.

"Hm… well, let me think on that…"

His eyes slowly roamed Draco's tall figure, lingering on the fine Italian leather of his boots, the bespoke line of his coat, the meticulous precision of his hair despite the increasing wind.

Finally, he met his eye, lips stretched in an obscene grin.

“I think ten pounds should just about cover it.”

Draco’s jaw ticked. “I’ll pay you twenty if you can get me there within an hour of the train.”

The man’s smile fell as he gagged on his own tongue.

“Twent-” he wet his lips, fumbling with the reins. “You said _twenty_ pounds?”

“I also said within an hour of the train. A minute later and I only pay ten.”

Which was already highway robbery, but hardly a dent on his pocketbook.

The driver cleared his throat, pulling at his collar.

“That’ll be near impossible, Sir, what with only four horses-”

“Near, but not entirely.” He tilted his head. “I suppose it depends on how badly you want to double your fare.”

The driver swallowed heavily, pretending to think it over though the answer was already clear in his covetous gaze.

“I can do it.”

He smiled anew, leaping down from his perch as he walked around the side of the car. “I know a shortcut. Technically it’s illegal, but it’s dark enough we shouldn’t be spotted.”

Draco smirked, drawing near. “My, my,” he parroted back. “You are quite the aspiring opportunist, aren’t you.”

The man opened the door, smile widening. “You’ve no idea, Sir. Hop on in, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaint-”

“Spare me.”

Draco strode past, grabbing the handle and stepping inside.

“I’m not interested in your life story, only results.” He unbuttoned the front of his coat as he took his seat, inspecting the interior. “The train departed five minutes ago, I suggest you do the same.”

The stranger nodded, slamming the door. “Quite right, Sir!” He shouted down as he swung into the driver’s seat once more.

Draco braced a hand to the window and ceiling as the carriage surged forward with a powerful lurch, the horses exploding into movement, the rapid pounding of their feet echoing through his bones, mirroring the beat of his heart.

* * *

Hermione pressed flat against the wall behind a marble sculpture, knife clenched tightly, blade pointed to the ground.

She listened to Rabastan head upstairs seconds ago, but before she could breathe a sigh of relief she heard Elliot turn the corner into the next hallway, opening doors one by one, knocking furniture aside as he tore the room apart looking for her.

She leaned forward, straining to listen for his location, only for another chilling sound to meet her ears.

“ _Mione_.”

She jolted at the singsong lilt, spinning around with a muffled gasp.

“Hermione.”

The feminine voice was sharper, clearer, seeming to surround her from all sides.

And in the resounding echo, it almost sounded like…

“Lavender?”

Her heart jumped into her throat at the resounding blithe and joyous laughter, chiming like bells.

_I’ve finally lost my mind._

“Behind you.”

She spun around, seeing nothing but an empty hallway, decorated by portrait and shadow.

“On the wall.”

She blinked, turning once more, staring wide-eyed at the brass speaking tube affixed within the wood paneling. She leaned in, eyes narrowing upon the dark opening.

“I’m not inside it, genius.”

Hermione blinked again, cheeks staining red.

“My apologies for being daft,” she hissed, lips hovering at the vent. “I should have drawn the line at auditory hallucinations.”

The laughter rang out again, muffled and metallic.

Hermione glanced around the empty hall.

“Where does the intercom lead?”

“Does it matter? I’m not on either end.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

“This isn’t happening…” She stood to her full height, raking a hand through her hair. “What am I doing?”

“Looking for a way out.”

She gazed at the brass fixture once more.

“I…”

_Is the drug still in my system?_

She closed her eyes, gasping as a strange image took root in her mind, vivid and tangible. Lavender standing before a familiar fireplace, smiling radiantly.

Her eyes snapped open, clouded with tears.

“You’re really here?”

“More or less.” She could practically hear the smirk in her departed friend’s voice, the memory of her vibrant nature and playful banter making her chest ache. “Though mostly less, which means you’re going to have to do the heavy lifting.”

The words settled across her shoulders like a physical weight.

“Now pay attention, there isn’t much time.”

She swallowed thickly, wading through the liquid cement until she was once more peering into the dark vent.

“I’m listening.”

* * *

Rabastan pushed open the bedroom door and marched immediately to the closet, ripping open the door and pushing the clothing aside, eyes narrowed on the floor, searching for bare feet.

Satisfied the space was empty he marched to the drapes, pulling them aside. He walked to the center of the room next, dropping down and glancing beneath the mahogany bed frame.

He took a deep breath, raking a hand through his hair as he rose to his full height and gazed upon the slender figure lying across the mattress.

He reached forward slowly, brushing her long, black tresses from her face, straightening the pillow beneath her head and then tracing her lips with the pad of his thumb.

"Just relax pet. I won't let her hurt you." He drew the backs of his knuckles across her high cheekbone. "The Doctor will be here in the morning. He'll make it all better."

Her eyes remained fixed upon the gauze canopy.

Blank and lifeless.

He stared upon her lax expression for several more seconds before inhaling deep and slow, backing away quietly, body tense and jaw set.

There was a muffled noise downstairs, shattering glass perhaps, followed by the sound of rapid footsteps.

He growled low in his throat, storming from the room with great purpose and shutting the door with exaggerated care, mindful of disturbing her further.

He’d spent too much time and money perfecting his night goddess to lose her now, to something as ridiculous as hearing her fucking name for Christ’s sake.

Surely she was programmed to be more resilient than that. He’d take it up with the Doctor, have the man double her treatment next time.

His footsteps receded down the hall quickly, mind already set on the task ahead.

While upstairs in the bedroom he’d just vacated, the girl blinked.

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, dropping past her temples and into her hairline.

Her lips parted, still quivering with the lingering sensation of her Master’s touch.

She released a shallow breath, throat working silently as letters danced before her mind’s eyes, glowing brightly in the dark haze of her thoughts. They formed a word… a strange but familiar word. Long buried, forgotten, forbidden…

And rooted in her very soul.

Her breath hitched as she whispered the sacred prayer aloud for the first time in three years.

“ _Parvati_.”

* * *

Hermione stopped before the designated wall, panting from her barefoot trek through the maze of hallways, following the siren call of Lavender’s voice through the brass piping.

“I don’t see any…”

She blinked, heart stuttering upon spotting the faint rectangular outline in the paneling.

“...door.”

She stepped forward, pressing her hands to the seam, searching out a handle or knob.

“How am I supposed to open it?”

Silence greeted her.

She quickly spun on her heel, staring at the intercom on the wall.

“Lavender.”

She held her breath.

Nothing.

 _No_.

She ran to the speaking tube, leaning down and putting her lips directly before the opening.

“Lav!” She whispered sharply, trembling as she strained to listen for any fluctuation in the air flow.

_Please don’t leave me! Not now!_

She swallowed thickly, stepping away on weak knees.

_I imagined it all…_

She took a deep, stuttering breath.

_This is all madness… this house… this night… my life. Utter madness._

And yet she couldn’t deny that _something_ had led her to this all but invisible door in the wall on the far end of the house.

She shook her head, pushing the sudden onslaught of emotion aside, too far gone to dwell on something as trivial as _sanity_.

There were far more pressing concerns to contend with.

Hermione scurried back to the wall, knife in hand, pressing the blade to the narrow seam, recalling her previous excursion into breaking and entering.

The razor edge slid in effortlessly, pressed snug. A perfect fit.

_Like a key in a hole..._

She bit her lip, eyes narrowed in concentration as she attempted to drag the blade down, searching out a catch mechanism. The knife got stuck halfway, eliciting a grunt of exertion as she tried to pull it free.

_Shite!_

She pressed her shoulder into the panel for leverage, digging in her heels as she threw all her weight into pulling-

She gasped as the wall gave way beneath her, a resounding click snapping through the air, crisp and deafening.

Hermione leaped back as the panel swung open, blinking rapidly.

_I just had to press the damn thing?_

She ran a hand over her face, pulling the blade out and opening the door the rest of the way.

A narrow stairway greeted her, quickly dissolving into murky darkness. But the scent emanating from the lower level was unmistakable.

Oak, wine, and cork.

She wet her lips.

_The cellar._

She stepped away, a cold draft stealing past, blowing her curls back.

_But how am I supposed to…_

The wooden handle heated in her palm. She glanced down at the knife once more.

Realization struck.

Her grip tightened, the smile reflected upon the blade finally her own.

* * *

The first-class carriage hummed gently as the train glided through the English countryside, the landscape rendered black beyond the window, only the couple's pale reflection visible in the pane, backlit by lantern glow.

“We should be arriving soon, luv.” Madam Lestrange spoke from her seat directly opposite, watching him with gleaming cat eyes. “I normally take a private carriage to the Estate but the train cuts the trip in half.” She smiled coyly. “And from our brief encounter, I surmise you are as eager as I to arrive at our destination.”

Tom smirked. “I’m positively restless.” His chin tilted down, gaze predatory. “Of course, if we’d elected to take a carriage, we wouldn’t have to wait at all.”

Her laughter echoed through the enclosed space, racing along his skin. “I appreciate your creativity, darling. Though our first time deserves a bit more flourish than a narrow bench and rickety wheels, don’t you think?”

“Anticipation is a foreplay unto itself.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Her smile turned secretive. “Speaking of foreplay…” She inclined her head, eyes narrowed. “What happened to your lip, Doctor?”

His hands tightened on the armrests. “I thought you’d recognize your own handy work.”

She laughed again, utterly delighted.

“I most certainly do, darling. And trust that when I finally leave my mark upon you it will be in a _much_ more tantalizing location." Her laughter cut off abruptly, eyes flashing. "Besides, I noticed the cut when I first laid eyes upon you. Whoever is responsible for defacing such artwork should be executed on sight."

He smiled. “It was a result of my own clumsiness.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re as terrible a liar as my nephew. Ironically enough, he showed up at my house sporting a battle scar as well.” She arched a brow, lips curving wryly. “Don’t tell me you boys had a tussle?”

He tilted his head, movements slow and measured.

“Is this the same nephew I met at Parkinson’s Estate?”

“Indeed. My one and only.”

Her expression remained fixed but her voice exuded genuine warmth and affection. Tom recalled her somewhat motherly, somewhat disturbing fixation on the boy at the card game.

Curiosity burned an acidic trail through his mind.

“You’re close?”

Her expression tensed. “Not nearly as close as I’d like to be. His mother hoarded him a great deal during his most formative years.”

“Family tensions?”

“That’s putting it lightly.” She averted her face, gazing at the darkened landscape through the window. “Cissy is very critical of my business and life choices.” Her fingers drummed atop her knee. “It can be quite frustrating. But I can’t stop myself from seeking her approval all the same.”

His gaze sharpened. “You mentioned a third sister at the Club, I believe.”

She adjusted minutely in her seat, obviously ill at ease.

 _Fascinating_.

“I don’t like discussing Andy.”

“My apologies.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, luv.” She gazed upon him once more, smile taut and forced. “Let’s not waste our time with such heavy topics, lest they cause premature wrinkles.”

He raised a dark brow. “Is that the secret to your youthful appearance?”

“One of many. Bathing in the blood of virgins also helps.”

“Good to know. I’m always open to trying new things.”

She crossed her legs, causing their calves to brush. “They say with age comes wisdom. But I’m perfectly fine staying witless and beautiful.”

_“I want to live life so fully that I turn old and grey before I’m thirty.”_

His entire body went tense, jaw clenching until his teeth threatened to shatter.

“What is it, darling?”

Her brows were drawn, eyes slowly roaming his form. He took a deep, cleansing breath, forcing his posture to relax, spine pressing the cushioned seat.

“I was just reflecting on the news I received this morning, regarding Dolohov.”

She sighed, leaning back as well. “He certainly isn’t worth developing crow’s feet over.”

“No love lost I take it?”

She laughed shortly. “Not in the slightest. According to Lucius, someone murdered poor Dolly.” Her dark eyes sparkled in the dim light. “I do hope they tortured him first.”

“Murder?” His face drew tight with shock and concern. “How disturbing.” His steel gaze darkened beyond his control. “Do they have any suspects?”

She drew her fingers through the wayward strands that had fallen loose from her haphazard bun, eyes carelessly roaming the cabin. “His list of enemies was greater than his ego. It will be a miracle if they can speak to every potential suspect in a single lifetime.”

“Seems he led a colorful life.”

“No more colorful than the rest of us. If I should be found murdered tomorrow the list of suspects would be twice as long.”

The words took him off guard. Not an easy feat.

He watched her carefully. “And yet you agreed to journey so far from the city with a stranger.”

Her grin turned wicked. “Some risks are worth taking.” Her eyes smoldered. “I have no doubt in my mind you are more than capable of taking my life. Which perhaps explains my unnatural attraction to you.”

He drew in a deep breath, further intrigued beyond his will and detesting every moment of it. “Unnatural?”

She wet her lips slowly. “That is the word best used to describe people like us, is it not?”

They held each other's gaze for several beats, bodies poised and frozen, awaiting the other’s reaction. At last, Tom inclined his head.

“I suppose it is.”

She smiled in triumph, listing into the armrest as though settling in for an intimate chat. “Have you always been… _this way_ , Doctor?”

He raised his chin, gazing down upon her through hooded lids, seeing her true face take shape at last. He didn’t bother feigning confusion, asking for clarification, no... he understood exactly what she meant. Exactly what the seemingly innocent inquiry signified.

Her mask was off.

And she was bidding him to do the same.

The final test.

Molten steel ran through his veins. His spine elongated, shoulders expanding, his true form bursting free from its flesh prison.

“As long as I can recall.”

Her eyes took in his transformation with unabated excitement. And just as he anticipated, she made no retreat.

“Me as well. Even in my well-behaved youth, I was merely playing a role. Watching other girls to know what society considered acceptable. If left to my own devices I would have surely shocked my father into killing me.”

Burning coals smoldered in the far recess of her gaze. “We both learned to survive our youth by hiding our true nature.” He felt the fiery brand rake his skin as her attention descended to his mouth. “Perhaps that also explains my attraction.”

She took a deep breath, biting her lip and causing his own eyes to stray.

Her grin was decadent.

“Now it’s your turn, luv.”

His eyes flickered back up. “My turn?”

“I thought you’d wait to make me beg until I was less clothed.” Her ankle brushed his calf. Then it pressed forward. Lingering. “What is it about me that enthralls you so? That brought the hungering creature to my door this night?”

He set his jaw, clutching the armrest until the leather groaned beneath his fingertips. He blinked once, twice, the seamless lies he normally kept at his disposal failing him.

“You’re everything I may have become.” Heat burst to life within the cavern of his chest, words forcing their way free of their own accord, rationality rapidly giving way to long stored resentment and exhaustion. “If it wasn’t for a meddlesome old bastard.”

A heavy beat passed.

And then she leaned forward, eyes glittering like onyx.

"Oh, how I _do_ love a good mystery.” Her voice was awash with delight. “I want to know all of your secrets, Doctor. Every last one.”

The corner of his mouth tugged higher, the heat growing, spreading.

“Be careful what you wish for, Madam. Pandora herself would not dare to open this box.”

Her wry expression fell, giving way to something far more sinister and predatory.

The air thickened and swelled, fogging the cabin, clouding his throat, damp with the steam rising off their bodies.

“Lock the door.” Her gaze was a lethal point drawing blood at his neck, stirring the beast from its forced slumber. “I’m done waiting.”

His pupils swallowed the grey, vision sharpening as he reached up, sliding the metal bolt into place.

Her shadow quickly descended over him, eclipsing the fire and moonlight. Driving away thought and reason, smothering the voices in his mind and banishing the ghosts to their respective corners.

Her body quickly followed, thighs straddling his lap, hands gliding beneath his coat, nails raking the thin material of his shirt, marring the flesh beneath. Each movement was strong, confident, poised, demanding what it wanted and taking without hesitation.

He grasped her waist and pulled her flush, eyes closing as she writhed in place before claiming his mouth passionately.

And for just a moment... just a single, fractured beat… it was someone else in his arms, another tongue battling against his own, another’s fingers dragging up his neck and through his hair.

He growled low in his throat, lids pressing tighter, hands gripping harder, muscles tensed in their need to claim and consume.

Lost once more to scorching thirst.

But at last, one he could quench.

He gripped her waist roughly, earning a pleased hum as her teeth nipped his lower lip, reopening the wound. She nursed the pillowy flush with her mouth, his blood streaking her tongue and teeth.

His eyes snapped open, gazing upon her at last. But her figure was hazy, lost to the scorching flames, the rising smoke. He wrenched her up and off his lap, eliciting a shock of dismay, followed by a squeal of delight as he tossed her across the narrow cabin, her lithe figure landing in a staged sprawl across the opposite bench, ebony hair falling free of its pins, cascading across the cushion in a dark halo.

He rose to his feet above her, eyes searing pits of hell flame.

She watched him through hooded lids, reclining back fully and grabbing handfuls of her amethyst skirts, slowly pulling the satin fabric up her legs, revealing the barest glimpse of tanned thigh. Her cleavage strained against the tight constraint of her bodice, overspilling the top.

Tom flexed his hands at his sides, knuckles cracking, claws lengthening.

And then he descended upon her.

* * *

Elliot threw a chair against the wall, releasing a feral scream as it splintered down the back, collapsing to the rug in pieces.

“Where are you, little bitch?” He yelled, storming from the thoroughly ransacked room and into the corridor beyond. “You can run, but you can’t-”

Glass shattered in the distance.

Muffled, but distinctly to his left.

A malevolent grin split his face in two.

“Hide.”

He barrelled around the corner, knocking a portrait clear off the wall in his haste.

Footsteps pitter-pattered in the distance.

He doubled his speed, lungs pumping wildly, eyes gleaming, blood caked to his face and neck.

“I’m gonna get you!”

He laughed maniacally, rounding another corner just in time to catch a glimpse of wild curls before their owner dashed into the adjacent hallway.

He released a gleeful battle cry as he leaped over the remnants of a shattered vase in the center of the hall, crossing the remainder of the runner in a single bound before finally turning the corner and following her path-

His shoulder collided with the wall as he fought to check his momentum, spotting the open door in the middle of the corridor.

“Dumb cunt,” he whispered, laughing anew as he charged after her, racing down the cellar steps.

Only to be enclosed in total darkness before reaching the bottom, the door slamming shut behind him.

“No!”

He lost his balance as he attempted to spin mid-step, tumbling down the remaining stairs and hitting the cement floor with a grunt of pain.

Hermione pressed the door flush to the wall with both hands, panting furiously, adrenaline spotting her vision. She waited for the latch to catch before driving the butcher knife into the narrow seam between the hinges, pushing it in with all her strength, baring her teeth and growling with exertion.

Muffled footstep pounded up the steps, followed by a dull thunk against the door.

It rattled, but held true, the knife acting as a steel jam.

He began to riot, screams dulled by the heavy wood. The door was as thick as the cellar walls, well insulated to keep moisture at bay.

She sagged forward in relief, resting her forehead against the paneling and placing a hand to her chest to check whether her heart had exploded yet.

She finally caught her breath, slowly wetting her lips.

“These men are bloody idiots.”

She pulled back, turning to face the front of the hall.

And froze in her tracks.

A familiar apparition hovered at the opening of the corridor, pale hair flowing in an invisible current-

Hermione drew back, overwhelmed by the image of the girl floating in a vast sea.

Pain split her head, causing her to gasp and double over, clutching her skull. She drew in a strangled gasp, mouth agape in silent misery. Her heart skipped a beat and then the throbbing pain dissipated, gone as quickly as it arrived.

She slowly unfolded to her full height, gazing up with tear filled eyes.

The White Rabbit continued to hover, serene expression unaffected by Hermione’s brief outburst.

She drew in a deep breath.

“Was I really speaking to Lavender?”

She knew the girl wouldn’t respond, couldn’t respond, and yet the resounding silence struck her like a physical glance.

“Please.” She took a tentative step forward, footsteps heavy with the dawning weight of her evening. “I just need to know-”

She cut off abruptly, biting her tongue until it threatened to burst in her mouth.

There wasn’t time for this.

“Padma,” she whispered, glancing to the ceiling, willing the barrier to give way and lower the girl at her feet.

_Of course not._

_Nothing has been handed to me yet._

She took a deep breath, gazing upon the voiceless apparition with steady resolve.

“Is she alright?”

The girl made no overt movement, but Hermione gleaned the answer from her unchanged peaceful countenance.

“Will you watch over her while I finish this?”

The girl tilted her head, blinking slowly.

Hermione nodded.

“Thank you.”

The apparition hovered a foot higher, legs gently swaying beneath the opening of her white dress, and then proceeded to disappear sideways through the wall.

Hermione blinked.

 _Right_.

She scrubbed both hands over her face.

_And that’s the least bizarre thing that’s happened to me all day._

She wondered if this insane life was even worth fighting for anymore…

Her arms dropped to her sides, fists clenched.

_You’re not only fighting for yourself. You have to see this through for Padma. For Luna. For Lavender._

_For every girl who was taken, abused and discarded without anyone ever knowing their name._

She blinked away latent tears, too awash with fatigue and determination to feel any semblance of emotion.

“Alright.” She drew her shoulders back, braced against the raging storm ahead. “Two down, one to go.”

* * *

Rabastan emerged in the entrance hall at a casual stroll, hands resting in his trouser pockets and sleeves rolled to the elbow.

“Clever little trick, minx.” His raised voice rang through large space, bouncing off the vaulted ceiling and winding its way down the hallways. “Triggering Selene’s memories like that. Thank goodness the Doctor is on his way. He’ll fix her right up in no time, I assure you.”

He smiled, slowly rotating on his heel and heading for the drawing room. "So I take it the rumors are true. My pet has a twin." He crossed the threshold, gaze sweeping across the disarray with disinterest. "My brother claimed as much but I was reluctant to believe him. The girl he saw at the Club was wearing a mask, after all."

He wet his lips, passing the leather tufted sofa and crossing through the arched doorway adjoining the billiard room. “But then his stuttering gimp reported seeing her doppelganger in broad daylight, in the middle of an Apothecary no less.”

He removed a hand from his pocket to trail a fingertip across the glossy edge of the pool table. “I was quite intrigued.” His hand fell away, head raising as he peered over his shoulder, inspecting the remnants of his guard's tantrum scattered across the floor. “I take it you know her sister?”

Dust settled on the upturned furniture as the silence stretched and solidified.

He laughed, low and deep. “I’ll take that as a resounding yes.” He made his way through the narrow corridor leading to the library. “Wonderful. I simply _must_ have the matching set.”

He emerged into the window strewn room, tall bookcases illuminated half in moonlight, half by candle, long shadows dancing along the walls.

“I think I’ll name her Isis, goddess of the sun. Then I’ll truly have the night and day in the palm of my hand. What do you think, minx?”

_“I think Isis was the goddess of creation.”_

He jolted, rapidly turning, searching out the source of the voice that seemed to surround him on all sides.

_“Daughter of earth and sky, protector of women and children.”_

He blinked, eyes darting around the room as he chased every hint of movement, spinning around and around.

_“And I think she would smite you to a pile of ash where you stand.”_

His hands tightened to fists as he, at last, pinpointed the direction of the voice, walking to the back shelf as quickly and quietly as his hulking bulk would allow.

_"Her husband Osiris was killed by his brother, who coveted his throne and wife."_

His jaw clenched. The closer he got the stranger the voice resonated. Muffled. Hollow.

_“Sound familiar?”_

He bit back a snarl. “I would sew that pretty little mouth shut if I didn’t have plans for it later tonight.”

_“I’m afraid the itinerary has changed.”_

He laughed, rounding the shelf, eyes wide as he peered into the shadows, reaching out and grasping open air. He spun again, brows drawn, mouth open.

And then he saw it.

The brass intercom affixed to the middle of the wall.

He drew a hand over his mouth, feeling the corner of his lips rise.

“Clever, clever girl.”

His eyes gleamed with a potent combination of frustration and hunger as he quickly strode for the exit, speaking loud and clear.

“I desire your insolence as much as I despise it. I suppose I’m a masochist.”

_“That’s not the word I’d use.”_

He could practically hear the scowl.

How he relished her wild flame.

He rounded the corner, rapidly cutting down the hall and emerging into the next room over. “This fire will be extinguished once the Doctor wraps his fingers around your slender throat and clever mind.”

He quickly paced the guest parlor, peering behind every piece of furniture, gazing into each darkened, empty corner.

“I can spare you from that fate, Hermione.”

_“I’m doing a pretty good job of sparing myself, in case you haven't noticed.”_

He ground his teeth, noticing the second intercom on the opposite wall.

“I admit you’re far more resourceful than even I accounted for. Foolish of me, really, considering the handy work you did to Dolly’s face.”

He wrenched open the door, charging into the study. “Still. You can’t escape me, minx.” He made a beeline for the large desk. “And you certainly can’t escape the Dollmaker. He has snatchers all across the city, even if by some divine miracle you make it out of here, you’ll simply be picked up somewhere else.”

He ripped the chair away, leaning down to gaze upon empty space beneath. He growled, slamming his fists on the table top.

_“I’ll avoid London.”_

His head snapped to the side, spotting another voice tube.

_Fucking hell._

_Is the entire floor piped with the damn things?_

He seethed silently.

And then inspiration struck.

A grin unfurled across his lips as he pushed away from the desk.

“And allow your friends to suffer your fate instead? We both know that isn’t going to happen.”

_“You’re right.”_

A brief, contemplative pause.

_“I suppose I’ll just have to kill you both.”_

Untamable laughter erupted from his chest as he charged into the entryway, the room connecting the entire first floor, and cut a path for the second door over, confident in catching her mid-flight.

"Oh, how I'll miss this."

He charged into the receiving room like a man possessed, eyes glowing hellish and triumphant.

“But I’m getting bored now.”

Her laughter rang out, soft as bell chimes, perverse in its feminine innocence when he knew perfectly well the keen mind behind it.

_“How ironic. Greyback said the very same thing when he tried to take me the second time.”_

He blinked, spinning around the empty room, hands interlocked atop his head as his mouth opened and closed.

_“Just before we dragged his unconscious body from the alley.”_

He blinked again.

“We?”

She laughed anew. Except this time it was tinged with unmistakable malevolence, setting his blood aflame even as his skin grew deathly cold.

_“My apologies. I take for granted how very slow your mind works.”_

He stormed back into the entry hall, tipping his head back and screaming loud enough for God himself to hear. “Enough of these games! There’s no use angering me, girl! I’m your only hope of escape!”

_“It seems killing you is my only hope for escape.”_

Steam poured from his lips, chest heaving in his fury as he turned to face the new direction of her voice, emanating from the direction he started from.

“You stand no chance at either feat.”

_“Is that why you sound so anxious?”_

He charged back into the drawing room like an enraged bull.

“You can’t hide from me forever.”

_“I’m not hiding.”_

Acid dripped from his tongue. “No?”

“I’m luring you in.”

He spun rapidly towards the door, barely catching a flash of her pale flesh before something dark was blurring before his eyes.

And then his vision was filled with blinding, pulsating red.

Earth shattering pain exploded outward from his leg, impact tremors echoing across every nerve ending in his body as he collapsed in a heap atop the priceless oriental rug.

“Ah! Fuck! You bloody bitch!”

She hovered before him, bare feet braced apart and body tilted as she held the wrought iron poker aloft, poised as though to strike again. “Still preferable to minx.”

Spittle flew from his mouth as he rocked back and forth, clutching his broken shin. “I’m going to fucking _kill you_.” He swallowed heavily, face turning a brilliant plum. “Then I’m going to destroy him!”

Her eyes smoldered, twin flames in the darkness.

“I’m afraid our previous arrangement is null and void, Lestrange. And I must decline your newest proposition as well, generous as it is.”

She twirled the poker, causing him to rear back on instinct, unable to escape her reach as she pressed the hooked end beneath his chin, tipping his head up and forcing their eyes to meet.

“ _I’m_ making the rules now.”

He laughed, eyes bloodshot and veins throbbing in his neck and temples.

“You?” His expression pinched in lethal derision. “You’re _nothing_.”

He lunged forward, hand wrapping the poker as he attempted to wrench it from her grasp. Hermione screamed, a Valkyrie cry tearing through the air, her small hands rapidly losing purchase.

Her own visage twisted into a feral scowl as she drew close and pressed her foot upon his broken leg, stepping down with her full weight.

He wailed like a dying animal, releasing the weapon and falling back in misery, panting and moaning as she finally relinquished him of the torture, stepping away with her hard-won prize tightly gripped in both hands.

"As I said." She pushed the hair from her sweat-slicked face. " _I’m_ making the rules.”

Her gaze narrowed, the heat of it lancing through him as sharply as the agony in his shattered bone.

“And I suggest you keep your elitist bullshite to yourself, or the next strike will be aimed between your legs.”

He whimpered, pushing back on his arms, only to fall still as she took a menacing step forward.

“That’s better.”

Her smile was saturated in venom, pupils narrowed to slits as she idly batted the poker against her palm.

“Now let’s begin.”


	25. Compunction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday, Tom Riddle!
> 
> Unless you live in Tokyo or Auckland... in which case Happy Belated Birthday!
> 
> Thank you guys so much for your support and encouragement while I tried my hand at writing this year. 2018 was a great year because of you. This fic is now at over 400k words because of you. And I’ll continue creating work in 2019 because of you. You’re awesome, I adore you, and I hope you have a fantastic New Year ❤︎

_I knew who I was this morning,_  
_But I’ve changed a few times since then._  
.   .   .

Tom descended upon her like a dark, crashing wave, one foot bracing the narrow strip of floor and the other bent, knee wedged between the seat and her writhing form.

He gripped her hip with one hand, pinning her in place, the other grasping her neck, fingers tightening as her breath thinned, pupils blown wide.

She pulled her skirts higher yet, bare flesh pressing into his thigh, a searing heat that turned the air to steam around them, filling his lungs with a cloud of water vapor, stuttering his pulse.

_“If I should be found murdered tomorrow the list of suspects would be twice as long.”_

He squeezed her throat tighter, leaning in until his lips hovered just a hair’s breadth away from her own.

Red overtook his vision, swallowing her form and washing away the lines of the cabin interior, suspending him in a river of woe, drowning in bloodlust.

She gasped in his hold, the sound echoing into his mouth and waking him from the powerful stupor.

He drew back, hand loosening around her neck, fingers stiff and wrist locked with tension.

“What is it?” Her voice was gravel thick, dark smoke swirling in her eyes.

He blinked slowly, senses returning in phases. He breathed deeply, arms trembling with the strain of holding the monster at bay.

“What I want to do to you cannot be confined to a train car.”

Her lips curved into a coy grin.

“And what do you want to do to me?”

His jaw tensed as he released her fully, rising to his feet, swaying in place before placing a hand to the overhead rack to steady himself.

She propped her elbow beneath her, making no attempt to lower her skirt.

“For a moment, I wasn’t certain whether you intended to strip me of my clothing or my flesh.”

He drew a hand over his mouth, meeting her gaze.

“Neither was I.”

She blinked. Then arched a dark brow, smiling with pure delight. “Do you mean to scare me away, Doctor?”

He stepped back. “Nothing scares you, Madam.”

“Call me Bella.”

He lowered to his seat, straighten his coat and cuffs.

“Is that what your husband calls you?”

Her smile fell. She glanced away, pushing her skirts back over her knees and sitting up with fluid grace.

“That’s what everyone calls me.”

He regained his faculties at last, hands settling upon the armrests.

“Then I’m not interested.”

Her eyes flickered up, flashing with pleasure.

“Tell me something about you.” She leaned in, crossing her legs, color high in her cheeks. “Something no one else knows.”

“I detest beets.”

Her teeth gleamed. “No more games, luv. Not unless you’re prepared to finish what we started.”

His chin tipped higher, gaze steady even as his heart rioted.

“When I was a boy…”

He wet his lips, unable to capture the words before they were slipping free from his tongue.

“Before I knew who my father was, I prayed every night he would come and take me away.” His hands loosened, the twisting tension inside of him releasing with every word. “To some grand estate with sprawling lawns and private carriages. Or on a massive ship, en route to some exotic land. The fantasies varied greatly. But they all shared a common thread.” He took a deep, slow breath, lungs unconstricted at last. “Escape from my reality.”

The amusement was long faded from her face, the delicate porcelain set with hard intensity.

“What happened?”

He released the breath.

“My wish came true. My father came for me.” His gaze darkened. The interior of the cabin followed suit, shadows flaring to life as the moon fell behind the hillside. “And took me away.”

Her eyes were unwavering, smoldering with black flame. “Hope is a great and terrible burden. We are stronger in its absence. Free.”

His smile glinted with a razor’s edge.

“That is one of many lessons I learned by his hand.”

She tilted her head. “Did you regret praying for an escape?”

He blinked, dark memories crawling through his mind on dirty hands and knees, trailing blood and decay in their wake.

“No.” His expression remained unchanged. “I regretted believing in God at all.”

* * *

Harry rolled his eyes, grabbing Theo’s arm from behind and dragging him into the empty cabin to their left.

“Christ, this one is fine.”

His companion groaned, eyes roaming the tight confines with open derision.

“They obviously forgot to clean after the last change over.”

“It’s _fine_ , you uppity ponce.” Harry pulled the door shut behind them, sliding the bolt into place. “This is how the other side lives.”

“Says the sole heir of two of the wealthiest families in the Realm.”

Harry dragged a hand through his hair before collapsing into a seat beside the window, arms falling lifelessly at his sides. Theo remained standing at the door, fingers clenched as he fought the urge to cross the small cabin and run them through the chaotic mop.

Harry met his eye, brow raised. Theo swallowed thickly, moving slowly to the opposite seat.

"Alright, Potter. What is the asinine plan you've concocted this time?”

Harry scrubbed a palm over his face, eyes bloodshot.

“It’s not my plan.” He yawned into the back of his hand. “Well, not only mine.” And then scratched the back of his head. “Riddle is on the train as well.”

Theo sat. “The Doctor you told me about at lunch?”

“Yes.” Harry slouched lower, knees bracketing Theo’s legs. “He’s going to lead us to Lestrange’s estate.”

Theo blinked, expression tightening, realization quickly sparking to life in his gaze.

“He’s with Bellatrix, isn’t he?”

Harry’s brows furrowed, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“Impressive.”

“I’m capable of analytical thought every now and then.”

“It’s sexy.”

Theo rolled his eyes, glancing to the window, unaware he’d just put his blackened eye in full display of the moonlight.

“Your turn.”

Theo tensed. Harry drummed his fingers atop the neighboring seat.

“Who hit you and why.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Theo. Tell me who put their hands on you.”

He inhaled deeply, holding it until the pressure threatened to rupture his lungs, releasing the gust in a satisfying rush.

“I got into a row with my father.”

Harry’s fingers froze.

“I’m going to break every bone in his fucking hand-”

“I assure you, what I did was far worse.”

He sat up straighter. “What did you do?”

Theo turned his head, meeting his gaze. “Held a proverbial mirror before his face. I will be shocked if he’s able to pull himself out of his drunken abyss before the new year.”

Harry’s jaw tensed. “He deserves worse.”

“Physical wounds heal.” Theo raised his chin, eyes blazing. “I stand by my recourse.”

The train flared to life, pulling slowly out of the station. Harry’s legs jostled, their knees pressing.

“What was the fight about anyway?”

Theo blinked, airway constricted. He opened his mouth but the words refused to surface.

“Theo?”

“It was a squabble about finances.”

Harry arched a dark brow, looking supremely unconvinced. “Finances.”

Theo grasped the armrests, trying to imitate the man’s leisurely sprawl and failing terribly, a childhood worth of social etiquette lessons refusing to bend his spine.

“You know how he gets when he drinks. If he’s in the mood for a row he’ll fight about spots on the silverware.”

Harry’s expression tensed, emeralds glinting. “You need to get out of that house.”

“I’m working on it.” Theo carded a hand through his hair, realigning the strands. “And I’m tired of talking about him.” He held Harry’s gaze, tone hardening. “Besides, you look barely capable of speech.”

“The hair makes me appear far more feral than I am.”

“I beg to differ, though I was referring to the bags beneath your eyes. When is the last time you slept?”

Harry shook his head, averting his face towards the window, dark scenery rushing by at blurring speed. “Christ, you’re as bad as Sirius.”

“Worse. I have the power to bend you to my will.”

Harry’s head snapped forward, irritation falling by the wayside to make room for sultry heat. “What did you have in mind?”

“Something wildly tantalizing. You, taking a nap against the window.”

He smirked. “Utterly filthy.”

“Potter-”

“Bloody hell!” He rubbed his eyes. “I’m fine, Theo. And I can’t sleep right now, I need to-”

“You need to be at your fittest to help Granger. You’ll only sabotage this already flimsy rescue mission if you can’t walk a straight line.”

He sighed deeply, shoulders lowering as he blinked, vision hazy.

“Just a few minutes-”

“Stop fighting it and close your bloody eyes already.” Theo wet his lips. “I promise to wake you once we arrive.”

“If we miss the stop-”

“Harry.”

His compartment mate blinked.

“Trust me.”

Harry’s jaw tensed, but he slowly nodded, adjusting in his seat as his lids fluttered shut.

His features fell lax within seconds, breath slow and deep.

Theo watched the steady rise and fall of his chest for several minutes before his eyes began to wander beyond his control. He traced the hard lines of his arms and shoulders, the swell of his Adam’s apple, the strong curve of his jaw, darkened with five o'clock shadow.

He swallowed thickly as his slow perusal led to the set of his lips, gently parted in sleep.

His fists tightened atop his thighs, muscles locked tight as he fought to remain still.

But the battle was lost within moments.

He leaned forward, arm extended, fingers gently raking through the wild mane atop Harry’s head. The man’s forehead creased, breath stuttering. Theo froze in place, fingers consumed by the thick locks.

A moment later his steady breathing resumed, though his face remained tensed. Theo bit his lip, combing his mane back once more before lightly tracing the worry lines with his fingertips, heat swelling as he watched the tanned flesh fall smooth beneath his touch.

He ran the back of his knuckles across his pert cheek before settling back at last, breath slowing until it mirrored his slumbering companion’s, eyes hooded and fixed upon his still form.

He was content to simply gaze upon him in silence, chest aching as he wondered whether it would be the final time he was afforded the privilege.

* * *

Draco clutched the metal bar above the window, leg bracing the opposite seat, fighting to remain upright as the carriage charged through the wild terrain.

The horses raced over uneven grass, between rocky ravines and through shallow streams, the compartment bouncing violently all the while.

The driver shouted into the night, propelling his animals forward, making good on his promise to cut the most direct path to the countryside estate no matter the difficulty. The horses turned, the carriage rocking precariously on two wheels as it struggled to round the cluster of small boulders. The back one clipped the stone and caused Draco to lose his grip on the bar, crashing into the opposite wall, eliciting a sharp gasp of pain as his shoulder took the brunt of the impact.

The carriage regained its balance, the right wheels hitting the ground with bone-crushing force. His teeth snapped together as he jolted, pushing himself back towards the window, seeing nothing but flashes of dark trees streaked with moonlight. Low hanging branches scraped the roof, snapping as they snagged the frame.

A wolf howled in the distance.

Others joined in, closer.

His blood ran cold as he gripped the bar once more, knuckles turning white.

_Fucking hell, I’m going to be savaged by wild beasts before we even arrive._

And then they were bursting through the thicket, a wide strip of moonlight highlighting a section of woods in the distance.

A large, dark mass sped through the clearing, racing in the opposite direction.

_Christ…_

His heart skipped a beat.

_What is that?_

He blinked as the figure moved into the moonlight once again, drawing closer.

His mouth ran dry.

He pounded a fist against the roof.

“Hey! Are you seeing this?”

“Aye, Sir! It’s a fae spirit! Don’t look upon it or it’ll scratch out your eyes and steal away your soul!”

He rolled his eyes before once more focusing on the figure ahead, heart seizing painfully as it passed them by, separated only by a few yards of petrified trees.

He surged forward, head hanging out of the window as he struggled to keep it in his sights.

“Turn around!”

“Sir?”

“Go after it!”

“Are you mad?”

“I’ll double your fucking fare! Now turn around!”

The driver nearly dropped the reins.

“Forty pounds, Sir?”

Fire raged through his chest. “I’ll make it fifty if you shut your bloody mouth and turn around _now_!”

The carriage made another tight pivot that sent him sprawling into the opposite bench. He was too fixated on the carriage ahead to worry about the pain firing to life in his arm and wrist, sliding back into place and gazing out of the window once more.

He attempted to lean out but the trees were too close, branches clawing at the side of the car, rocks firing like missiles from the spokes.

The horses panted loudly, feet tearing through the grass and leaves as they quickly gained speed on their target. The foreign carriage shook violently, more than the knotted terrain called for.

He narrowed his gaze, silver eyes alighting on the busted back left wheel, causing the car to lurch and drag, its blinding speed and unbalanced weight making the supporting side buckle.

Draco gripped the bar with enough force to nearly rip it off the wall.

“Pull up beside it!”

The driver gazed down over his shoulder. “The route is too narrow!”

Draco groaned, eyes rapidly scanning the terrain.

He did a double take, pulse thrumming.

“Drive it toward the clearing ahead!”

“Aye, Sir!”

They caught up at last, riding its tail, his driver directing the horses just beside the busted wheel, preventing it from the making the turn it obviously was preparing to make.

Instead the broken carriage lurched right, bursting through the bushes and into the moonlight strewn field beyond.

His heart swelled as his compartment pulled forward, the foreign driver finally coming into blurred view.

His hands curled around the bottom of the window frame as he pushed his head and shoulders out.

“Pull over!”

The deafening roar of the horses muffled his voice, but his vision cleared at last, fixated upon her tear streaked face and gleaming, wild eyes. Her face was averted forward, shoulders tight, lost to fight or flight instinct.

He wet his lips, inhaling deeply before shouting with the full force of his lungs.

“Hermione!”

She jolted, head turning.

He met her eye.

“Pull! Over!”

Her jaw dropped, mouth agape for several beats before regaining her senses, pulling on the reins.

The carriage rolled to a gradual stop, as did his own.

He pulled violently on the handle, launching himself free of the car before it stilled, staggering in the tall grass as he charged forward.

She remained seated, panting hard as she gazed down, gaze wide and unfocused.

“Draco?”

He skid before her carriage, reaching up and grasping her waist, pulling her down as she gasped, bracing her hands against his shoulders as his arms encased her fully.

He pressed her tight until he felt the breath squeeze from her lungs, blowing against his ear. Her feet dangled high off the damp grass, arms slowly sliding around his neck, though her body remained stiff and awkward in his hold.

He pressed his face to her shoulder, swallowing past the heavy constriction in his throat.

“Nice dress.”

She jolted.

And then fell boneless, melting into his frame fully as she was seized by powerful, hysterical sobs.

He closed his eyes, feeling the rapid flutter of her heartbeat echoed against his chest.

“I’ve got you.” He buried his face into her wind-blown hair. “I’ve got you.”

* * *

Tom tugged on the reins, the wheels crunching the finely milled gravel as they rolled to a stop outside the entrance of the secluded estate.

The sprawling structure was backdropped by heavy, dark woods. The windows glowed brightly, orange and unshuttered.

Bella adjusted beside him on the driver’s bench, hand tensing upon his arm.

“How unusual.”

He tilted his head, watching the flickering glow of a hearth dancing along the back wall, visible through the large bay windows.

“The staff perhaps?”

She shook her head. “They should be in bed.” Her sigh was laced with aggravation. “I wonder if Rabastan has made an impromptu visit.”

“Shall I wait outside?”

She wet her lips, releasing his arm and sliding to the end of the bench. “Perhaps that is best. I’ll only be a moment.”

“Of course.”

She descended fluidly, heels softly dispersing the gravel as she progressed to the ashen steps, lifting the hem of her dress as she ascended.

The moment the front door closed behind her Tom descended as well, tying the reins to the post and glancing over his shoulder at the top of the drive. He saw faint movement in the distance, horses emerging from the trees, two distinct riders atop, though only one was recognizable.

He had no time to ponder the stranger in their midst, nodding once to Potter before heading for the house. He took the steps two at a time, opening the door with bated breath, braced for utter madness.

Only to be greeted by an empty, silent entry hall.

He closed the door softly, eyes flickering along the various open doorways lining the circular perimeter.

He heard faint movement to the first door on his left.

His fists clenched, boots clicking the mahogany wood as he breached the threshold, stopping in his tracks as his shin collided with an overturned chair.

He blinked, gaze sweeping the furniture strewn floor, littered with shattered glass and bits of busted wood.

The Madam stood in the center of the explosion, dark eyes drifting along the wreckage without emotion.

He stepped around the chair, leaning over to set it right side up.

“I take it you didn’t leave the room in such a state?”

She cocked her head, slowly turning to face him. “My taste is eccentric to be certain, but this avant-garde even for me."

He drew near, pushing aside the remnants of a shattered vase with the sole of his boot.

“Go wait in the carriage. I’ll inspect the rest of the home.”

She wet her lips, grabbing his arm, nails pressing through the material of his coat.

“What if they’re still here?”

He met her gaze. “I can take care of myself.”

She pressed in close, voice low, eyes gleaming.

“There’s a pistol in the study, bottom right drawer of the desk beneath a false bottom. Rod keeps the key on him at all times, but you can pry it open.”

He nodded, placing his hand over her own, gently extracting it.

“Go outside. Wait for me to fetch you. Don’t step foot on the grounds no matter what you hear.”

She swallowed, complexion waning as he stepped back, clearing her path to the door.

“Be careful, Doctor.”

Her eyes lingered upon him for another heavy beat before she gathered her skirts and strode for the door. He remained in place, listening to the echo of her heels across the entry and the open and closing of the main door before resuming his search of the room.

A wrought iron poker lay discarded on the ground.

He picked it up, turning it over in his hands, studying the tip.

No blood.

He eyes grazed the floor once more.

No blood anywhere.

The observation managed to comfort and unnerve him at once.

He pushed the thoughts aside, exiting the demolished space quickly, crossing the hall and glancing into open doorways until he found the room he sought.

He entered the study, crossing to the desk and wedging the tip of the poker into the seam of the designated drawer, jaw clenching as he pried it free, wood splintering as the lock busted.

He laid the poker atop the counter, pushing aside the random contents until he found a crescent notch in the bottom panel. He lifted the plaque away, gazing down at the gleaming pistol.

He picked it up, weighed it in his hand, then flicked open the cylinder, counting the bullets within. He snapped it shut and lowered the hammer, expression fixed as he strode back into the entryway.

And stood in silence, gazing around slowly.

The first level was unnaturally silent, given the destruction gracing each room.

His eyes fixed and narrowed upon the main staircase.

He started up the center, hand tensed upon the gun, finger curled and poised at the trigger. He paused at the first landing, glancing in either direction, picking one at random and venturing down the adjoining hall.

It led to a row of bedrooms, doors unlocked and furniture undisturbed.

Except for one, which bore a shattered vase and the remnants of fresh cut roses.

The bed was made, but the covers were askew.

His jaw tensed as he continued his path, halting when he heard a muffled thump in the distance.

He pressed close to the wall, gun held at the ready as he continued further down the corridor, glancing into each room before reaching a closed door at the end.

The thumping grew faster, more erratic.

He reached for the knob, but quickly reared back as rapid footsteps echoed up the staircase.

He spun around, pistol aimed-

Potter skid to a stop on the landing, hands raised. A dark-haired man was just at his back, eyes wide as he gripped the former's shoulder and dragged him back.

Tom sighed, lowering the weapon.

“Where is Malfoy?”

Potter lowered his arms, shaking his head as he stepped forward, the man’s hand falling away as he advanced quickly.

“I don’t know. We waited on the platform as long as we could, we never saw him leave the train.”

Tom opened his mouth, but before he could respond there was a particularly loud thump behind the door.

The men stopped mid-approach, eyes fastened on the door.

Tom ground his teeth, braced for impact as he grasped the knob, glancing over his shoulder and meeting Potter’s startling green gaze.

The man nodded, once, and then Tom gazed ahead, opening the barrier and raising the gun.

The three men entered swiftly.

And then froze like bronze statues at the center of the room.

Potter opened and closed his mouth, eyes wide, unblinking.

“Holy shite.”

Tom’s arm slowly lowered, weapon resting at his hip, equally transfixed by the sight ahead.

Rabastan Lestrange let out a guttural scream, muffled by the rope-twisted shirt tied across his mouth, acting as a makeshift gag.

He pulled at the silk cords binding his wrists to the headboard, the wood slamming against the wall in a violent cacophony as he sent them each a murderous glare in turn, face flush and veins bulging.

Potter’s companion cocked his head to the side, blinking slowly as his shoulders lowered from their defensive posture.

“Well… I dare say the damsel got tired of waiting for her rescue party.”

* * *

The carriage rolled a steady and even path along the paved road, the horses braying softly as they took a leisurely pace back to the city.

Draco had loaded the girls into his carriage several minutes ago, Hermione sharing his bench while her companion laid down across the opposite seat, eyes heavy with exhaustion. The strange girl hadn’t spoken a word when he shrugged out of his coat and laid it across her.

She was asleep before they even pulled onto the main road.

Hermione had been trembling with cold as well, or perhaps it was nerves. He’d been content to wrap her in his arms, but the moment he reached out she shied back, face averted to the window as she laced her fingers tightly atop her lap, their breathless reunion in the field a distant faded memory.

The rejection unfurled a deep, lancing pain in his chest. He dropped his hand, fist clenching as he studied her profile in the moonlight.

And then his eyes drifted lower.

To the faded welts on her neck, the fingertip-shaped bruises along her arms and the fresh, vibrant lines wrapping her wrists.

Red filled his senses as he envisioned every disturbing scenario of how they came to settle upon her pale flesh.

At last he drew a hand over his face, inhaling deeply, forcing the words free.

“Are you…” His heart stuttered painfully. “Did he... ”

But he couldn’t force the rest out, not without losing control and ripping the carriage apart with his bare hands.

Thankfully she seemed to understand all the same, glancing at the purple mottled wrists in question, covering one with her palm.

“No.” She wet her lips, still gazing down. “I’m alright.”

He released the breath, but the fire still remained, flames licking higher in his throat.

“How did you escape?”

She closed her eyes, face pinching in either concentration or distress, though likely some combination of the two. “It’s all a blur. Though I’m fairly certain I left Lestrange tied to a bed.”

He blinked, fists loosening by the outlandish mental image her words contrived.

“And you commandeered a carriage?”

She nodded lightly, eyes fluttering open. “It was outside, the horses were still attached.” A hand drifted to her neck, fingers gently encasing it, hiding the violet and blue marks beneath. “I’ve no idea how to steer one. The wheel busted and I was afraid we’d have to walk the rest of the way.”

Draco followed the direction of her focus, gazing upon the carriage’s third, slumbering occupant.

“She looks frightfully familiar.”

Hermione swallowed thickly, voice edged in steel. “Parvati thought she was dead.”

He looked back to Hermione, the pain in her eyes causing his hand to jolt, the urge to reach out and touch her nearly overwhelming.

“Is she one of them?”

She looked at him sharply, brows drawn. “One of them?”

“A doll.”

She leaned away, a visible tremor racing through her limbs.

“Yes.” Her eyes shuttered. “But she seems to respond to her name. Especially her sister’s. I think she can recover her memories with time.” She glanced back to the girl, hands lowering to clutch the edge of the seat. “I just wish I knew what he does to them. Maybe then we could reverse the damage faster.”

She shook her head. “There’s still so much to do. Luna is still missing-”

“She’s at Grimmauld.”

She spun towards him, eyes wide. “What?”

“We found her at Avery’s estate.”

She blinked.

“We?”

He opened and closed his mouth, settling on the first explanation that came to mind. “I’ve joined forces with a rather motley crew of misfits.”

She leaned forward, hair falling across her shoulders, causing his heart to swell.

“She’s alright? Did he hurt her?”

“She’s fine. Not a mark on her.” His eyes flickered back to her throat, gaze darkening. “If only I could say the same about you.”

She glanced away, turning forward, the moonlight revealing a bright flush across her neck, steadily working its way to her dirt-marred cheeks.

“I have to warn them about the Dollmaker. I know his identity now. We can go to the police.” Her eyes shone with manic urgency. “Unless he has moles in the force. Maybe I can reach out to Susan, see if she knows who-”

He reached forward at last, setting a hand on her knee, causing her to jolt violently, but his fingers gently encased the silk-clad limb, holding her in place.

“Hermione. Slow down.”

She opened and closed her mouth, shaking her head as she obviously sorted out a rebuttal in her mind.

He squeezed her knee, causing her jaw to snap shut with an audible click.

“Take a breath. You’ve been through hell and back, we’ll wait until daybreak and-”

“I can’t slow down, Draco. They won’t slow down so I can’t slow down-”

“Alright, we'll figure everything out once we get back to London." He breathed deeply, a heavyweight pressing his chest. "But right now, please just rest."

She blinked slowly, tilting her head as her eyes roamed his face carefully, the intensity of her gaze unsettling.

And then her lips parted, her words setting him adrift.

“Why are you here?”

He drew back, though his hand still clutched her tight.

“What do you mean?”

She leaned in, voice louder, firmer. “Why are you _here_ , Draco?”

He continued to stare at her in the resounding silence, his own heartbeat deafening to his ears as his thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind.

“For you.”

She blinked. He leaned in.

“For you,” he repeated, the heat of her thigh sending a scorching heat into his palm, a searing brand he relished.

“Only for you.”

Her eyes glistened, and a moment later tears over spilled the bottom lashes, tracking down her cheeks and dropping off her jaw. He reached out on instinct, wiping them away with his thumb.

She leaned into his touch, the small movement clipping away the final threads of his self-control. He released her knee, sliding his arm behind her back and pulling her slight frame into his side, warmth flooding his chest when she made no attempt to pull away.

She laid her head atop his chest, centered over his rapidly thudding heart, hand gently curled and settled across his thigh.

“You’re safe now.” His chin rested atop her head. “You got yourself out, you got her out, all by yourself.” He rubbed a hand across her arm, trying to dispel the gooseflesh. “You’re incredible.”

And suddenly, his long-buried confession burst free from the depths of his heart, climbing rapidly up his throat, eager to unleash itself at last.

“Hermione, I-”

But it got caught on the back of his tongue, hitting an invisible barrier, unable to travel any further.

She tensed in his hold, head tilting back to meet his eye.

“You what?”

He blinked. Once. Twice.

“I’ll keep watch while you rest.”

She blinked as well, the fire that backlit her eyes dimming. She opened her mouth but seemed just as incapable of speech. She cleared her throat, jaw tensing as she made another attempt.

“Rabastan and his guard may break free, they’ll come for us-”

He silenced her with a soft kiss. His lips didn’t linger or coax. It wasn’t a gesture of passion, but one of gentle assurance, an urge that came naturally and couldn’t be denied.

She didn’t retreat, nor did she seek out anything more. She merely held his gaze, muscles relaxing until her weight was molding against him.

He leaned his head down once more, his promise whispered and filled with lethal conviction.

“I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you from me.”

She swallowed, eyes glittering anew. She wiped them dry with the back of her hand, nodding slowly before resting her head upon his chest once more.

His hold remained firm, as though primed for someone to wrench her away at any moment. He stroked the inside of her wrist with his thumb, tracing idle patterns as he listened to her breathing grow slow and measured.

When he was certain she was asleep, or feigning it to the best of her abilities, he tipped his head back against the seat, gazing at the dark ceiling panel.

He listened to the steady gait of the horses, the faint creak of the wheels, and for one fleeting moment, the rest of the world and all its chaotic inhabitants faded away.

Nothing existed but the endless road, Hermione in his arms, and true contentment in his heart.

* * *

Tom tucked the pistol into the back of his waistband, crossing the carpet to the bed, reaching out and pulling the spit dampened shirt out of Lestrange’s mouth.

“Riddle?” He blinked rapidly, gazing at them each in turn. “Potter? Nott? What the hell is going on?”

The man Tom deduced as Nott inclined his head, dark brow poised high.

“Asks the bound, gagged man.”

Potter surged forward, displacing Tom with his shoulder as he leaned over the bed, eyes gleaming with hellish intensity.

“Where is Hermione?”

Lestrange blinked rapidly. “I-” He drew back, spine pressing the solid headboard. “Untie me at once!”

Potter lunged.

Tom grasped his shoulder and wrenched him back, causing his swinging fist to connect with open air as he stumbled, catching himself against the side table with a scowl.

Tom ignored him, turning back to Lestrange and reaching for the hilt of the gun.

“Where is the girl, Lestrange?”

Rabastan’s gaze flickered back to Tom, narrowed with simmering rage.

“I knew it.” He bared his teeth like an animal. “I told Bella you couldn’t be trusted!”

Tom withdrew the pistol.

And proceeded to whip him across the face with it.

Lestrange bucked with the force of the impact, head snapping to the side and blood flying from his mouth, creating an impressive arc of red across the sheets.

He tried to curl in on himself a moment later, the ropes quelling his attempt, but it was the gasp of pain he emitted after Tom tucked the gun away that sparked his interest.

Tom tilted his head, eyes roaming his crumpled form with meticulous precision.

His gaze settled on his right foot, dark and swollen. He raised a brow.

“Your leg is injured.”

Lestrange licked his busted lip, blood coating his tongue and teeth.

“The fucking bitch broke it.”

Potter edged closer to the mattress. “ _Where_ is she?”

“Fuck you!” He spit, bloody phlegm stringing across his own chin and shirt. “You’re all dead men!”

Tom calmly made his way to the other side of the bed, bracing his hand atop Lestrange’s leg and earning an automatic gasp of pain as he attempted to scoot away. He idly noted the knots in the cord were an approximate match to the ones he used to bind Dolohov.

His heart swelled with pride.

And then it blackened and decayed, hand pressing firm as he sought out the source of the injury. Lestrange screamed like a banshee, the keening pitch nearly taking the paper off the walls as Tom discovered the break, pushing directly upon the torn muscle and tendon.

“I don’t know! I don’t know where she is!”

Tom decreased the pressure, staring upon him calmly.

“Who else is here?”

Rabastan's face glistened with blood, snot, and tears, chest heaving with broken sobs. "M-My guards! But I haven't seen them since she left me here!"

“And how long ago was that?”

His mouth opened and closed, wet and gaping like a fish.

Tom pressed anew, digging his fingers between the gap in the tibia.

Lestrange cried out for mercy, thrashing in his binds.

“I-I’m not sure! An hour! T-Two! Two hours!”

Tom rose to his full height, idly straightening his lapels.

“Did she leave by foot or carriage?”

Lestrange wet his lips, panting hard, sweat dripping from his face.

“I don’t-” Tom raised a brow, glancing at his swollen leg. “I had a carriage parked out front! If it’s gone then she took it!”

Tom dismissed him at once, making his way to the foot of the bed and catching Potter’s gaze. The man’s expression wasn’t easily discernible, and Tom wasted no time with the attempt.

“Go, take your horses and see if you can catch her.”

Potter’s jaw ticked as he made no move towards the door.

“What about you?”

Tom raised his chin, tone indifferent. “I’m going to clean up here.”

“Are you sure you don’t need my help? What if his guards show up?”

“I’ll be fine. Go.”

Potter’s shoulders drew back, gaze narrowing.

“Don’t forget, you have another loose end waiting for you in the drive.”

Tom's eyes flashed. "Thank you for the reminder."

Potter held his gaze for another loaded beat before glancing to his side, meeting his companion’s eye and nodding. At last he stepped forward and led the way out of the bedroom.

Tom waited until the pair rounded the corner into the hall, disappearing from sight, footsteps fading as they approached the stairs.

And then he turned to face his prisoner, leaning forward and bracing his hands against the footboard, leveling his gaze.

Lestrange snarled, tugging at his binds and rocking the bed frame.

“I knew you were a bottom feeder the moment I laid eyes on you.”

Tom smirked, eyes gleaming with sinister mirth.

“You were out-wit and out-matched by an adversary less than half your age.” He arched a dark brow. “You also crumbled like a house of cards after one broken bone.”

He relished the enraged snarl that followed.

“What a shame you have such a weak constitution. I would have enjoyed seeing her break every bone in your body.”

His smirk unfurled into a full-fledged grin, teeth sharp and hungry.

“And if I weren’t so pressed for time, I would have some fun of my own.”

“Now _that_ I would love to see.”

Tom spun on his heel as the feminine voice filled the room.

Madam Lestrange stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with casual disinterest.

But her eyes glittered in the fading light, dark, keen and predatory.

“I’m not sure what game this is, darling.” She licked her lips. “But you must let me play.”

* * *

Hermione sank slowly into the sea of darkness. Weightless, suspended.

“Mione.”

The voice echoed all around her, sending powerful ripples through the water.

“We’re here, luv.”

Something pressed into her hip.

She jolted awake all at once, gasping for air, pushing away from the warm, solid barrier at her back.

“Calm down! It’s just me!”

She turned her head, eyes wide. Draco’s calm visage took form in the shadows. She pressed a hand to her chest, shoulders lowering.

“What time is it?”

He shook his head. “I’m not certain.”

She leaned forward, gazing out of the window to the star-filled sky above, when Padma stirred in her bench, drawing both their gazes.

Hermione sighed, running a hand through her hair, fingers catching in the snarls.

“Stay with Padma for a few minutes, let me explain everything to the others. I don’t want to overwhelm her and cause another seizure.”

He nodded.

“Alright.”

He shifted back in the seat, allowing her room to pass, though their knees brushed and his hands raised to gently grasp her waist, helping steady her. She bit her lip, unable to meet his eye as she reached for the handle and opened the door, stumbling outside awkwardly, gravel biting into her bare feet.

She fists clenched tightly as she turned to face the house.

And then felt the overwhelming urge to gaze back.

She slowly turned, heart leaping at the intensity burning in his eyes. She wasn’t used to seeing such raw emotion in his gaze, and wished she was in the right state of mind to process it.

“Draco…”

He leaned forward. “Yes?”

She opened her mouth…

… and then closed it, taking a step back.

“I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

His jaw tensed. She turned away, chest aching fiercely as she started up the drive.

She made it halfway to the door before it was wrenched open, a familiar face emerging.

“Kitten!”

Laughter bubbled up from her throat, the tension in her shoulders and back melting away as she sprinted across the drive, the gown's mud-caked train trailing after her.

Sirius met her at the base of the stairs, picking up her and spinning her around like she was nine years old again. She clung to his neck, burying her face in his neck as she fought back tears.

“Hermione!”

Parvati appeared in the doorway.

Hermione released another shriek of joy, releasing Sirius as he set her down and charging up the steps, half colliding and half embracing the girl, nearly sending them both sprawling to the floor.

Hannah appeared just over her shoulder. Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but then her eyes drifted to the face staring back at her from just behind Hannah.

“Luna!”

They raced for each other, the impact just as jarring as just as satisfying as her hug with Parvati.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Luna clung to her tightly, and then there was movement on either side of they swaying forms. Parvati and Hannah swept in and wrapped their arms around the duo as they all burst into laughter and tears.

“Group hug!”

Blaise launched himself forward, head rising high above the cluster of women as he reached out and encased them all with his long arms.

“Get off, pervert!” Parvati sent a glare over her shoulder, though her tone sounded mostly amused.

“That’s what I’m trying to-”

“Zabini?”

Blaise blinked, meeting Hermione’s eye. “At your service, luv.” He smirked, releasing the group and bowing like a Queen’s guard. “Good to see you.”

Hermione pried free of the group and leaped forward, throwing her arms around his neck and causing him to rear back, eyes wide as he gaped like a fish, hands raised awkwardly.

“Thank you for helping rescue Luna. Draco told me what you did.”

He relaxed a small fraction, gently patting her back.

“Well, saving damsels is what I do, princess.”

Parvati rolled her eyes, crossing her arms with a smirk. Hermione released him a moment later, spotting the final member of the group hovering awkwardly near the archway.

“Neville.”

He smiled in all his nervous, charming glory.

“Hey, Mione, I’m so relieved you’re alri-”

His jaw snapped shut as she pounced, standing on her bare toes and embracing him tightly. He burned red with a fever, embracing her more awkwardly than Blaise.

“I’m so happy you’re here!” Tears tracked down her face. “I thought I’d never see any of you ever again.”

Everyone's expression tensed, though she missed their reactions behind her closed lids.

“Not to cut you short, kitten, but where is Harry?”

She released Neville, stepping back and facing the group.

“I’m not sure.” She shook her head. “Draco missed the train, he intercepted us in the woods after we escaped the mansion. He’s probably on his way back to London now.”

Sirius raked his hands through his hair, tipping his head back as he stared at the vaulted ceiling.

“That kid is going to give me a massive coronary.”

“Wait.” Hannah stepped forward. “Why did you say ‘we’?”

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. She turned to face Parvati, face paling.

“Christ, I meant to tell you right away.”

Parvati blinked, arms dropping at her sides.

“Tell me what?”

There was a knock at the front door. Everyone spun around, Sirius bursting to life and charging towards it. Hermione gasped, stepping forward and reaching out a hand, grasping open air.

“Wait, Sirius-”

“Just a moment, kitten.”

He pressed a palm to the wood, reaching for the handle.

Hermione turned on her heel, eyes wide.

“Parvati-”

He opened the door.

“Drake, there you… holy shite.”

Parvati was still staring at Hermione, brow raised, but her eyes averted to the door at Sirius’s bewildered statement.

And then she went stock still, blood draining from her complexion in a rapid flood as she gaped at the entrance, dark eyes reflecting the sconces like pools of ink.

Hermione blinked rapidly, heart thrumming as she peered over her shoulder. Everyone stood equally transfixed, gazing upon the woman standing beside Draco in the doorway.

Padma looked around the room cautiously, shoulders tight and hands clenched.

And then her gaze fell upon her sister.

She jolted, stumbling in place, arm clipping the frame.

Parvati pressed a hand to her chest, feet frozen, eyes unblinking. Hermione reached out and placed a hand upon her shoulder, the gentle touch awaking her at last.

She shrugged free of her grasp, bolting forward, crossing the tile with wide bounds.

“Parvati, wait!”

“Padma!”

Tears erupted from Padma’s eyes, her mouth opening but no sound emitting.

And then she started to seize.

Draco surged forward, catching her before she hit the ground, struggling to maintain his hold as she jerked violently in his grasp. He sank with her, laying her on the tiles with eyes wide.

Hermione chased at Parvati’s heels, watching as her friend collapsed before her sister’s trembling form, grabbing her arm and pulling her from Draco’s grip into her own lap.

“Padma!”

Hermione dropped beside her.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong?”

“It’s her mind.” She reached beneath her jittering chin, tipping her head back and trying to pry her jaw loose to open her airway. “It’s affecting her physical systems. I don’t know how-”

And suddenly, Padma’s struggles ceased at once. Her entire body went lax as her arms fell lifeless to the marble.

Her eyes closed.

“Padma!” Parvati clung to her tighter, dragging her higher into her lap, tears dripping from her face onto her sister’s pale complexion. “What happened? Is she dead?” She gazed up, eyes wide and frantic. “Hermione! Is she dead?”

Hermione swallowed thickly, pressing trembling fingers to the pulse in the comatose girl’s neck, holding her breath as she felt the faint flutter beneath the cool skin.

“No, she’s just fainted.”

Parvati choked back a sob, vibrating so hard it appeared Padma was seizing in her sleep.

“Is this real?” More tears fell, hot and heavy. “Is this really happening?”

Hermione nodded, her own eyes misting over.

“She was at the house. Rabastan has had her for years.”

Parvati’s gaze snapped up, narrowed and incensed, even in misery. “What did he do to her?”

Hermione took a deep breath, hands settling in her lap.

“It wasn’t him. It was the Dollmaker. He’s suppressed her memories, but they’re still there, buried deep, that’s why she’s having these fits.”

Sirius drew a hand over his mouth, gazing upon them with weary eyes as he took a slow step back from the settling wreckage.

“Alright, let’s get her off the floor and into a bedroom.”

The air shifted at her back as someone else moved forward.

And then Blaise was lowering to his haunches between them.

“I’ll take her-”

“No!” Parvati leaned over Padma, crossing her arms over her middle as though trying to pin her in place. “Don’t touch her!”

Hermione blinked. “Parvati-”

“Nobody touch her!” Parvati’s voice broke, face twisted in acute pain, grabbing handfuls of her sister’s silk gown, fists shaking. “No one touches her ever again!”

Blaise swallowed heavily, reaching out slowly, letting his hand hover mid-air for several moments before finally clasping Parvati’s shoulder.

“Parvati.” His tone was deep and calm, no trace of the lilting amusement Hermione was so used to hearing.

Parvati’s refused to meet his gaze, face buried beside Padma’s as she continued to shake with silent tears. He continued, undeterred, words slow and measured.

“I’m only going to carry her upstairs. You’ll be right beside us the entire time. She won’t leave your sight.” His hand lingered. “No one is going to hurt her.”

She drew in a sharp, gasping breath, at last drawing back, blinking rapidly to clear her vision as she met his gaze.

Hermione’s heart broke a thousand times over, stealing any comforting words she may have added. But it seemed Blaise’s quiet promise was enough. Parati nodded slowly, fists unfurling as she slowly released Padma from her death grip.

Blaise shifted forward, hands slipping beneath Padma’s shoulders as he gently lifted her off Parvati's lap. Hermione pushed to her feet, extending her hand to her friend and helping pull her up, both women watching as Draco and Blaise gently maneuvered the unconscious girl into the latter’s arms.

He rose to his full height, tipping back and allowing her dead weight to lean against him as her bare feet dangled high over the marble.

Luna shifted forward, placing a hand on Parvati’s arm, squeezing. They all moved back, allowing Blaise a clear path to the staircase.

He met Parvati’s eye, face somber.

“I’ll put her next to Dawn.”

She wiped her cheeks dry with the backs of her hands.

“No. I want her in my room.”

He nodded, waiting for her cross in front and lead the way to the second level. He adjusted Padma in his grasp and then followed, the entryway falling tense and silent as everyone watched them ascend.

They turned on the landing, disappearing into the hallway a moment later.

Hannah shifted forward, rubbing her palms anxiously.

“I’m going to sit with Parvati, if she’ll let me.”

Luna nodded. “I’ll come with you.”

As she crossed to her side she passed by Hermione, pausing her steps to gently touch her hand.

Hermione swallowed, glancing up, mesmerized by the clear blue of her friend’s eyes.

“You did such a wonderful thing, Hermione, bringing her home.”

Her heart lurched painfully. She nodded slowly, still at a loss for words, too overcome for coherent thought.

Hannah and Luna took the steps quickly, footsteps padding softly. As they too turned the corner on the landing Hermione blinked, the explosive chaos of the last few minutes settling over her mind in a thick, oppressive haze.

She slowly turned, eyes drifting between the room’s three remaining occupants.

Until finally settling on Draco.

He held her gaze with steady poise, spine straight and shoulders squared.

At long last Hermione broke the silence, her voice hoarse echoing off the columns and archways.

“Who’s Dawn?”

* * *

Bellatrix watched him from the doorway, expression caught between amusement and intrigue. She tilted her head, eyes unnaturally bright.

“Please, don’t stop on my account.”

“Bella! Run! He’s-”

“Do shut up, Rabby.”

Rabastan sank back into the pillows, blinking quickly.

“You don’t understand, he-”

“I understand _perfectly_ , darling.” She continued to hold Tom’s gaze with ease. “Do you have a gag handy?”

He arched a dark brow, unable to contain his smirk as he reached down and grabbed the discarded shirt from the mattress, leaning forward and gagging the screaming man anew as he thrashed and rioted in his binds.

“I thought I told you to stay outside.”

“You should know by now I never do as told.”

She watched him tie the shirt behind his captive’s head, slowly stepping away from the bed.

“No valuables are missing, nor can I find the bodies of my staff.” She folded her arms calmly. “Perhaps you can enlighten me as to what this is all about?”

Lestrange screamed into the gag, face red and glistening. She addressed his concerns without an imparting glance.

“No one is talking to you, Rabby.” She proceeded forward, steps slow and calculated. “What is going on, Doctor?”

Tom folded his hands before his body in casual repose, but his gaze turned acute, assessing every nuance of her expression.

“I came here in search of someone your brother-in-law was holding captive.”

She arched a brow, her only outward reaction to the revelation.

“Selene?”

Lestrange went wild at their back, headboard pounding the wall.

Tom tilted his head, curiosity peaking at the foreign name.

“No.”

Her brow fell. “Then I’ve no idea who you could be referring to.”

“Perhaps not.” He wet his lips, eyes gleaming with predatory intent. “But you know _what_ I’m referring to, don’t you, Madam?”

She raised her chin, something flashing in the depths of her dark gaze as her body turned to unforgiving marble before his eyes.

“You never had any intention of joining the organization, did you?”

He held her accusing stare.

“No.”

The gun rested heavier at his waistband. “I always intended to bring it to its knees.” Heat unfurled inside his chest. “And then I plan to cut the head off the snake.”

Her eyes flashed. “You used me.”

“No more than you used me.”

Her jaw clenched, arms dropping to her sides. “I never once lied to you.”

“Neither did I.”

She inhaled deep and slow, eyes flickering between his shoulders, lost to thought.

“So what happens now?”

Tom leaned back, resting his spine against the canopy post. “Now, I kill your brother-in-law.”

Lestrange exploded to life once more. They both ignored his muffled screams.

“Do you have any objections?”

She met his gaze, the corner of her lips turning up, visage positively cat-like.

“Only if you don’t let me watch.”

Tom raised a dark brow, intrigued by her effortless switch, the bed trembling at his back as his prey tried to break free of the rope.

She took a step towards him, leaning forward and lowering her voice as though imparting a secret.

“I’ve been planning his murder for quite some time and will be absolutely _incensed_ if you deny me the satisfaction of watching the life drain from his eyes.”

Her lilting laughter intertwined with Lestrange’s frantic screams, the dissonance ringing in Tom’s ears. She settled down a moment later, rolling her eyes at her brother-in-law’s frantic commotion.

“Perhaps we should move this conversation to the adjoining parlor.”

Tom inclined his head. “Certainly.”

He stepped back, holding out his arm, gesturing her to pass. She did so with swift and languid movements, hips gently swaying, steps unhurried. Tom followed at a leisurely stroll.

He crossed the threshold into the hallway, closing the door on Rabatsan’s broken screams, and then entered the narrow parlor behind her, barely having cleared the doorway before she rounded on him, eyes glinting like faceted onyx.

“And just what do you plan on doing with me, Doctor?”

He remained rooted as she grew closer. “I haven’t quite decided yet.”

She licked her berry-stained lips, stopping just before him, head tipped back to maintain eye contact.

“You could have extracted the location of this estate back in London.”

“I didn’t have time to torture the information from you then.”

“Liar.” She leaned forward, chest pressing in. “You brought me along because deep down you wanted to reveal your hand.” Her hands braced his ribs as she rose on her toes, mouths aligning. “Wanted to see if I’d crumble and fold, or hold my ground and push my chips in beside yours.”

Tom captured her wrists. She inhaled sharply, zeroing in on his mouth.

He turned his face away, leaving her gasping against his jaw.

“I brought you because I wasn’t certain what security the estate had. I needed a golden ticket inside.”

He pried her hands away from his torso, her extended claws seeking purchase in the frigid air.

“And I would only keep you alive now to provide evidence later, when the organization is exposed and taken before the magistrate.”

She scowled, wrenching free of his hold as she lowered to her heels.

“You’ll never be able to stop this. It’s too big for one man to conquer, even one as capable as yourself.”

“So I keep hearing.”

She blinked, opening and closing her mouth as realization took root in her eyes, expression darkening in the room’s swaying shadows.

“You murdered Dolohov.”

“And the Home’s previous physician.”

She tilted her head. “You’ve been a busy boy.” Her eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I stand less chance of leaving here alive than I thought.”

“I suppose it depends on your definition of alive.” He folded his arms, tone perfunctory. “You’ll be tried for the crimes you committed in association with the trafficking ring. Your money and title will be useless when your husband is also behind bars. The rest of the gentry will do everything in their power to distance themselves from you both. You'll spend your life incarcerated in a female penitentiary or a mental asylum, depending on how you plea.”

She arched a brow, shoulders drawing back as though to distract from the slight tremor in her limbs.

“Then I beg you to shoot me where I stand.”

He made no move towards his weapon, gaze unwavering. She inhaled deeply, swaying back as her feet remained rooted.

“Do you think me an awful person, Doctor?”

He blinked, taken aback not by the inquiry but the notion he of all people was equipped to answer.

“I’m hardly in a position to judge.”

Her feline gaze glowed. “But surely you justify your crimes as serving the greater good?”

“I don’t waste time with such sentiments. My soul is condemned no matter how I pretend to justify my actions in this life.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in god.”

“I don’t. But the devil is real enough.”

She wet her lips, voice lowering, introspective. “Living within all our hearts.”

The air thickened upon his tongue, eyes darting between hers, gaze searching.

“Yes.”

His eyes settled at last, shining brightly in the lantern glow.

“Why did you involve yourself in this? I understand the other’s motivation, but not your own.”

Her jaw ticked.

“I owe Him.”

He took a step forward, propelled by the revelation, pursuit instincts firing to life.

“The Dollmaker.”

“Yes.” Her voice was heavy, course, eyes glittering with sudden emotion as she glanced away. “He saved my life.”

Tom was rendered frozen. She inhaled deeply, fists clenching as she continued, eyes fixed to the wall.

"I suffered a late-term miscarriage many years back. I…"

She shook her head, gaze unfocused for the space of a heartbeat. Tom held his breath, watching her closely, transfixed.

“I nearly lost my life in the delivery. By the time they staunched the bleeding, I’d lost my son and the ability to ever bear children again.”

Her eyes clouded, fingers pressing in at her temples as she stared blankly at the floor.

“I became rather unbalanced after that.” Shrill laughter erupted from her lips, causing his skin to prickle. “If you can imagine such a thing.” Her arms settled at her sides, countenance draining of any visible emotion. “I tried taking my own life several times. The shrinks piled in through a revolving door, prescribing every mood suppressor they could spell on a prescription pad.”

She met his eye at last, voice foreign, hollow. “I was a living ghost. Floating through this life without thought or desire.” A heavy beat. “And then I met Him.”

Tom released his pent breath, lungs burning with the strain.

“He saved me. Provided me with treatment to suppress the trauma of the miscarriage. To allow me the chance at a normal life once again.”

Her brows furrowed, limbs reanimating.

“I owe him _everything_.”

Tom struggled to remain in place, fingers curling restlessly.

“You’ve undergone treatment?”

She blinked, settling back on her heels, seemingly thrown by his response.

“Yes. Many times.”

The wheels in his mind turned rapidly, connections sparking, information rushing from one point to the next, the commotion all contained behind his gleaming gaze.

“I’ve lost you, haven’t I?” She asked suddenly.

His racing thoughts hit a brick wall. Her eyes roamed him slowly, expression carefully void.

“Or perhaps I never had you at all.”

The sadness in her voice was far-reaching, encompassing much more than this current moment.

She looked away abruptly, clearing her throat.

“So, have you decided my fate?” She gazed upon him once more, armor fastened in place. “Shall I die this night?”

Tom raised his chin.

“I cannot kill what is already dead, Madam.”

She blinked. His gaze darkened.

“He took a ghost… and turned it into a doll.”

She reared back.

“ _What_?” And then she laughed, amused and manic. “Hardly! I assure you, darling, I’m in full control of my faculties.”

“Do you recall anything that happens during treatment?”

Her expression fell. He nodded, slowly advancing.

“You’ve no idea what seeds he’s planted in your mind.”

She shook her head, retreating back with his every step.

“He wouldn’t-” She opened and closed her mouth. “He _saved_ me. He saves all of them-”

She gasped as her heel caught the edge of the rug, causing her to stumble, catching herself against the back of an upholstered chair. She clutched the backing, nails piercing the fabric.

“You couldn’t possibly understand!” Her finely milled complexion turned red, expression twisting with rage. “Every decision I make I make of my own free will!”

Tom’s eyes glinted with unnatural brightness, continuing his advance. “We’ll see.”

She collided with the wall a moment later, hands pressed flat on either side. She inhaled sharply, struggling to hold his gaze.

“What do you intend?”

Tom came to a stop just before her, the darkness of his aura swallowing them both.

“Exactly what you wanted, Madam.” He smiled, teeth sharp and gleaming. “We’re going to play a game.”

* * *

Hermione came to a stop in front of the four poster bed, spinning on her heel and folding her arms as she faced the room’s second occupant.

“What’s going on, Draco? _Who_ is Dawn?”

He shut the door, gaze lingering upon the wood for several moments before he turned.

“Another doll. Gifted to me by my doting aunt and uncle.”

She paled. “ _What_?”

“I was trying to find you. We had no idea where you were and I was terrified the trafficking ring had picked you up. I thought if I…” He swallowed heavily. “I thought if I made a _request_ , maybe they’d return you to me. I pretended to be a client.”

Her heart skipped with dread. “What does this have to do with Dawn?”

He visibly tensed, causing her nerves to wind tighter.

“She looks like you.”

Hermione drew back. “That poor girl.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Where is she? I have to see her.”

Draco blinked, shifting as if to block the door. “Why?”

“To assess her mental and physical state. Lord only knows the trauma she underwent before she came under your protection.”

“Riddle already examined her.”

Her thoughts stuttered at the name. “How?”

“I panicked. I had no idea what to do.” He wet his lips. “So I took her to the Home. I thought maybe he…” He shook his head, face stricken. “I hoped he could fix her.”

“And?”

“He discovered her memories are repressed, though perhaps not destroyed. But he didn’t know how to access them.”

“Did she have a seizure?”

“No. She just falls… dormant, for lack of a better term. Nothing like the girl downstairs.”

She nodded. “I’d still like to see her.”

"It won't make any difference."

“Maybe not, but-”

“I’d rather you didn’t, Hermione.”

His decisive tone stole her next words. She searched his gaze instead, a new fear taking root within her chest.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

He glanced quickly to the windows, staring intently at the room’s reflection in the dark glass.

“I…” He carded a hand through his hair, pulling roughly at the pale stands. “Shite.”

“Draco.” She shifted forward. “What is it?”

“I know her.” He spoke so quickly the words were barely discernible. “Knew her. From before.”

Hermione’s steps faltered. She blinked twice, brow furrowed.

“Before she became a doll?”

He nodded, hand dropping to his side, curling into a fist.

“That’s wonderful!”

He jolted, gazing at her sharply, silver eyes round and glinting like coins.

“It is?”

“Yes!” She practically bounced in place. "You can help us trigger her memories. I imagine that’s the key to unlocking their minds, if we can find a way to do so in a controlled setting.”

She rubbed her palms together in eager anticipation. “Parvati will be able to assist with Padma, and you can help us cure Dawn.”

Draco gaped like a fish out of water, struggling to take a full breath.

“I don’t… I don’t know anything about her. I mean, not personal information. I just know her name.”

She shook her head. “I thought you said you knew her from before.”

“I…” He glanced to the floor, studying the stitching in his boot leather.

Hermione watched him intently, frustrated by this uncharacteristic coyness. She opened her mouth, the next question sitting on the tip of her tongue-

And then it hit her, square in the chest, rocking her back on her heels.

She swallowed heavily, fingers clenching.

“Oh.”

Her cheeks heated at the simple, unintended utterance. Draco met her gaze swiftly, eyes intense.

“It wasn’t serious.”

She forced her hands to relax at her sides. “Obviously. You only know her name.”

He stepped closer. “I’m sorry, Hermione.”

She took a reflexive step back. He halted immediately, expression tightening. Hermione looked away, struggling to make sense of her reaction, the hollowness permeating her chest.

“Why are you apologizing? You don’t owe me anything.”

His spine straightened.

“Don’t I?”

“We never agreed to be exclusive.”

His knuckles cracked as his hands curled, irises darkening. “So you really don’t give a shite?”

She barely bit back a scoff, arms crossing tightly as she met his incensed glare. “What do you want, Draco? You want me to be angry?”

He surged forward. “Yes, dammit!”

She held her ground, set firm in her outrage. “Is that why you did it? To get a reaction from me?”

She watched as his mood once more flipped on a pence, smoldering flames turned to cooling embers by her words. “No. I never intended for you to know.”

“So why are you telling me now?”

“Because I don’t want to keep secrets from you.”

She blinked, heart skipping.

Only to resume beating at a dizzying speed.

“I don’t think so.” She shook her head, gaze diamond hard. “You just want to unburden yourself. Alleviate yourself of any guilt.”

“I’ll never alleviate myself of this guilt.”

She sighed and tore her eyes away, pacing towards the window, trying to escape the oppressive weight of his stare.

“It’s just sex, Draco. It’s not like you ran off and married the girl.”

She couldn’t see him, but the shock in his voice was palpable enough to visualize his expression with clarity.

“I thought…” A torturous beat. “Sex used to signify more to you.”

“It still does.” She stopped just before the glass “To _me_.” She avoided her reflection. “But you obviously don’t hold it in the same regard, and I can hardly punish you for harboring different ideals.”

“You really don’t care?”

“I never said I didn’t care. I said I wasn’t angry.”

Another beat. This one far more ominous, turning the air frigid.

“It was the night of our fight.”

She blinked, processing his words.

And then a powerful current raced along her spine.

“The night…” She struggled to breathe, to think. “Of the fire?”

He swayed in place, as though fighting the urge to close in on her.

“Yes.”

She spun slowly.

“You slept with her the night of the fire.”

He wet his lips. “I didn’t know…” He took a step closer before catching himself. “I was so upset with you. You stormed out on me, said you were done with me for good.”

“I’ve said that many times.”

“I know. But I believed you that night.” His jaw worked silently. “Because deep down I’ve always known I don’t deserve you. And I thought you’d finally realized it, too.”

Her brows drew in. “So you slept with another person?”

“I went to a club on the East End. I tried to drink and gamble my way to oblivion. But the pain wouldn't fade. I…" He drew in a slow breath, as thought fortifying himself. "I saw Dawn standing by a roulette table, and in the low light and the heavy smoke I thought for an instant it was you I was staring at.” He swallowed, though the motion seemed to get caught in his throat. “I thought, for just one night, I could pretend you were truly mine. I could have you as I’ve always wanted-”

"Stop." She closed her eyes, averting her face. "I don't want to hear any more."

“Hermione, I’m so sorry. It was a mistake-”

“From everything I’ve just heard, it was quite deliberate.” She shook her head, loose hair dancing across her shoulders. “It’s… upsetting. But I’m not angry.”

She opened her eyes at his prolonged silence. He watched her carefully, body strung taut as though poised to charge or flee depending on her next words.

“You aren’t?”

Her arms hung limply at her sides. "If you had told me this earlier, perhaps just a few days ago, I imagine my reaction would be quite different.”

His temper switched once again, visage contorting into its signature scowl complete with a hellfire gaze. “But now you couldn’t care less.”

She matched his disposition quite effortlessly. “ _Now_ I'm a little preoccupied. There are quite a few concerns a _bit_ more pressing than our relationship if you haven’t noticed.”

He continued to seethe. She wondered if he’d burn a hold in the rug just by standing in one place for too long.

“I’m well aware. I’m just as entangled in this mess as you are, if _you_ haven’t noticed. I brought Dawn to Grimmauld, fought to have your guardianship transferred, and engaged in a fucking chariot race through the woods to intercept you in Bath.” A vein throbbed at his temple, reminding her unnervingly of his father. “Don’t pretend I’m merely some sideline character in your epic tale!”

Her throat tightened, heart thundering.

"I know you aren't." She spoke calmly, forcing her vocal cords to relax. "You’ve done a great deal, Draco. And I appreciate it. I truly do. But you can’t be angry at me for not providing the reaction you want.”

He flipped once more, seemingly drained by his own rapid mood swings. He spun on his heel, gazing at the wall as he drew a hand over his face, wiping away the perspiration as his breathing leveled.

“You’re right. You’ve been through hell and back. I shouldn’t have put this on you.” He rested his hands on his hips, gazing over his shoulder. “I’m not thinking clearly. I’ve been sick with worry these last two days, I can’t remember the last time I slept or ate.”

She tried to smile. It felt grotesquely misplaced so she abandoned the effort, trying to convey warmth with her words instead.

“You need to do both.”

“I could say the same to you.”

“I’m too wound up to rest.”

He nodded slowly, facing her fully. “You should still try.”

She swallowed again. “I’m afraid I’ll fall asleep and wake up somewhere else again.”

His eyes flickered.

“What if I stayed with you?”

She blinked, heart stuttering.

“You don’t have to-”

“I’d like to.” He took a step closer. “I’d like to hold you.” A weighted pause. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

“I...” She swayed in place, overcome by a strange panic. “I don’t know if we should.”

He closed the distance, gently grasping her arms.

His grip warm, strong, certain.

Pain lanced through her chest.

He drew her forward, until only a narrow chasm existed between them, their chests pressing with every breath. One hand slid across her shoulder and along her neck, grasping her nape and tipping her head back, forcing their gazes to meet.

He held her so softly… and yet she felt trapped.

Captive.

Her stomach twisted violently. She drew back. His hands fell away immediately.

“Is this too much?”

“I-” She rubbed her palms along the stained silk of her dress, trying to collect herself, wishing desperately for a wall to hide behind. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I shouldn’t have-” He shook his head. “I’m just content to hold you. To know you’re safe in my arms. I don’t expect anything from you, Hermione. I won’t pressure you to give me anything more.”

She blinked, a familiar and unwelcome burning sensation beginning behind her eyes. She sucked in a breath, desperate to keep the onslaught at bay.

“Draco…” She carded her fingers through her hair, gathering it back into a messy pile, alleviating her neck of the burning heat.

“What?”

“I…”

She licked her lips, studying patterns in the wood grain and letting the pile of curls tumble loose across her shoulders.

“I think I’d like to be alone.”

She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, to witness his reaction. But she felt it in the air, the way it sparked and sizzled against her skin. She cleared her throat, unconsciously bringing a hand to her neck, fingers curling around her throat.

His eyes tracked the movement, posture falling unnaturally still.

“How did you get the marks on your wrists?”

She blinked, lowering her hand to gaze upon the bruises.

“Lestrange’s guard grabbed me.”

His eyes flashed, the shadows beneath his cheekbones and brow darkening, turning his face into a sinister mask.

“And what about the ones on your neck?”

She felt the blood drain from her face, yet a cursed blush still managed to stain her cheeks.

“Those aren’t fingerprints,” he continued before she could formulate a response. “I know what those are.”

Her lungs constricted in an invisible vice. The same binds squeezed her heart.

“Did he-” His voice was low, weighted, inescapable. “Did he rape you?”

She quickly shook her head, the tears springing free at last, always making their appearance when least wanted. She wiped them away with the backs of her trembling hands.

“No. I promise. He didn’t get that far.”

“But he put those welts on you.”

Her face crumpled, more tears rushing to the surface, the dam breaking within her at long last.

“No.”

His hands clenched. He stepped forward.

She sucked in another shaky breath, voice barely above a whisper.

“The marks were already there.”

He halted halfway to her, expression rapidly cycling through an amalgamation of emotions.

Until finally stalling on one.

Realization.

He drew back swiftly.

“Of course.” And then realization gave way to rage. “How could I be so _fucking_ blind?”

“Draco-”

“Those are from Riddle.”

She wiped her eyes dry once more, to no avail.

“Yes.”

He shook his head, tipping his face back and releasing a toxic cloud of bitter laughter.

The grating sound filled her throat with acid. And then it cut off abruptly as he spun on his heel and drove a fist into the bedpost, violently shaking the frame and causing her to jump.

“Fuck!”

“Draco, please calm down-”

"Don't you dare tell me to calm down!"

He turned towards her, advancing quickly. She staggered back, colliding with the wall and edge of the window frame.

“Do you have any idea the hell I’ve been through, Hermione? What it took to find you? How out of my mind with worry-” he changed course a moment before reaching her, pacing along the rug instead, hands pulling restlessly at his hair. “And the entire time, the entire _bloody_ time you were shacked up with the fucking Doctor!”

“ _Shacked up_?” She pushed away from the wall, tears evaporating with the smoldering heat of her outrage. “I was in a bloody mental asylum! I was a prisoner in Lestrange’s mansion! I haven’t seen Tom in days!”

He stopped in his tracks, shoulders squared and voice lethal. “Tom?”

The name was a dark spell, summoning a winter chill and stealing away her righteous fury.

“I…”

He spun to face her, pinning her in place with the quiet malevolence of his gaze.

“Are you in love with him?”

Her hands clenched.

“Were you in love with Dawn?”

“Don't change the subject-”

“I find this topic highly relevant! You’re mad at me when you just admitted to sleeping with another person!”

“I was drunk out of my mind with longing and misery! I pretended it was you the entire time!” He arched a brow. “Can you say the same? Were you thinking of me when you were with him?”

She felt sick.

“I don't want to talk about this anymore.”

“Tough shite!” She jolted. The vein in his temple throbbed anew. “Now answer the fucking question! Do you love him?”

“No!”

She summoned every ounce of strength left within to hold his gaze, vision hazed with fury, tears and shame.

“It was a mistake, alright? Just like yours!”

He raised his chin. “And what about me?”

She blinked.

“What about you?”

“Do you love me?”

She released a sharp, humorless laugh. “You really want to have this conversation _now_?”

“I find this topic highly relevant.”

She sighed deeply, lungs burning. “I don’t know, Draco. I don’t know what I feel. About you. About myself. About anything.” She swallowed thickly. “I don’t know who I am anymore. I change moment to moment. Crisis to crisis. And as soon as I think I have a handle on my identity, it changes again.”

She took a steadying breath, eyes unwavering.

“You don’t recognize the girl standing before you. I don’t recognize her either. But she’s who I have to be in this time and place. She’s a survivor. Capable of walking through flame and emerging on the other side unscathed.” Her chin raised. “She’s not who I want to be. She’s who I _have_ to be. And when this madness comes to an end, if I even survive it, I’ll likely change into someone else.”

Her eyes glinted, lit from within. “You asked me if I’m in love with you, but have you stopped to ask yourself the same question?” She tilted her head. “The girl you loved is long gone. And I don’t know if she’s ever coming back.”

She wet her lips, heartbeat strong and steady.

“I don’t know if I want her to come back.”

Silence encompassed them, the gravity of her words so intense neither could move for several moments.

Until at last, Draco swallowed heavily and took a step back.

“Alright then.”

His voice was gravel thick, distant. He turned on his heal and started for the door.

“Draco.”

He paused, but didn’t face her.

“I never meant to hurt you.”

A beat.

Then two.

He nodded.

“I know.”

He continued forward.

“You never thought of me at all.”

Her eyes burned anew, but no tears fell. She watched him grab the knob, his shoulders tense.

“If you ever figure out who you are, what you want.” He opened the door. “Let me know.”

And then he crossed the threshold, swiftly turning the corner and disappearing from sight.

Leaving her with the dark mess of her thoughts.

She crossed to the bed, sinking against the edge of the mattress in a boneless heap, drained down to her marrow.

She crawled to the center of the bed, curling into a heap and pressing her face into the plush pillowtop, willing the blissful reprieve of unconsciousness to take her under, to silence the sharp whispers in her mind, erase the dancing shadows along the walls.

But sleep refused to answer her beckoning call.

Yet another pardon eluding her.

She released a sharp sigh of frustration, driving her fists into either side of the comforter, causing the mattress to gently rock against the wall. Her gaze drifted to the tall posts.

She remembered tying Rabastan’s arms and legs to the canopy-

She sat up abruptly, closing her eyes, rubbing them with the heels of her palms.

She couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t let her mind wander.

Her lids snapped open, jaw tensing as she slid her legs over the side of the bed, toes skimming the rug before she dropped off the edge, swaying on her feet. She steadied herself against the side table, setting her shoulders in a hard line as she pushed away, cutting a quick and precise path to the door. It still sat ajar from Draco’s departure.

She pushed those thoughts aside as well, emerging into the hall with a searching gaze, desperate for any means of distraction.

Only to find it standing a few yards away, casually tipped against the wall and watching her with dark, amused eyes.

She crossed her arms, coming to a stop.

Blaise smiled.

“Granger.”

“How much did you hear?”

He arched a dark brow. “I covered my ears like a proper gentleman.”

She rolled her eyes, arms dropping as she started towards him.

“I’m sure you did.”

“Why the cold shoulder, luv? Downstairs I couldn’t pry you off of me.” His teeth gleamed. “Is that what has Drake in such a fit?”

He ran a casual hand through his hair, nodding as though her silence provided the answer he sought. “Can’t blame him, really. Wouldn’t be the first time a pretty dame passed him up for my company.” He wet his lips suggestively. “What do you say we make the most of the empty bedroom down the hall?”

She shook her head, standing beside him.

“Eventually, we all become what we pretend to be.” She rested a hand against the wall, leaning into it. “It may be an act now, but someday, the face staring back at you in the mirror will no longer be a mask.”

“That sounds profoundly philosophical and far beyond my comprehension.” His eyes skimmed her disheveled form. “We really must work on your flirtation skills, dove.”

“I don’t think it would make any difference. We both know nothing will pry you away from that door.”

He blinked. And then opened his mouth, broken sounds emitting.

Hermione pushed away from the wall, patting him on the shoulder as she passed.

“It’ll be our little secret.”

A flush stole across his tanned complexion. She put him out of his misery, elbowing him aside in order to knock on the closed door at his back.

“Parvati? It's me. May I come in?”

There was a faint shuffling, followed by the creak of the knob as it turned beneath her hand.

Luna’s face appeared in the gap. She smiled and then opened the door the rest of way, backing up to allow Hermione entrance.

Her eyes immediately fell upon Hannah seated in the corner, expression tense as she met Hermione’s gaze.

And then her attention cast to the bed.

Padma was laid across its center, fully clothed atop of the covers, hands folded across her stomach. Her black dress and pale complexion made her seem like a corpse at a wake.

And then Hermione’s gaze fell upon Parvati, seated so close to the mattress she was half on top of it, her own hands entangled with Padma’s across her middle.

Her dark eyes were transfixed upon her twin’s lax face. She gave no indication she even heard anyone enter the room.

Hermione took a deep breath, turning to Luna. The blonde hovered beside the door, expression serene, but Hermione knew better. Luna was standing guard and would unleash her own brand of hell upon anyone seeking to harm the room’s inhabitants.

Hermione smiled gently.

“May I have a few minutes with Parvati alone?”

Luna tilted her head, ocean-gaze roaming Hermione’s face with unnerving precision.

And then she nodded, smiling in turn.

“Of course.”

Hannah stood, hearing their hushed exchange from across the small room. She imparted a sad smile of her own as she followed Luna out of the room. The door clicked at their backs. The room fell silent. Eerily so.

Hermione turned to face the pair at the bed. Her fists tightened as she mustered her resolve, taking a tentative step closer.

“Parv-”

“Did Lestrange hurt you?”

She stopped in her tracks, thoughts scattering at the hollow voice echoing all around her.

She blinked, throat working to deliver the response.

“No.”

Parvati nodded, still focused upon her sister.

“Did he hurt her?”

“I…” Hermione swallowed again. “He said he never hit her.”

Parvati tilted her head, thumb idly stroking the back of Padma’s hand.

“Just rape.”

Hermione inhaled deeply. “Parvati-”

Her friend glanced over her shoulder, eyes black and filled with red fire.

“For three years.” Her voice was unrecognizable. “He raped her for three years.”

Hermione tried desperately to think of a comforting response.

But there was no comfort to be found in this morbid reality they all resided in.

Parvati lifted her chin, eyes unblinking, relentless in their intensity.

“Did you kill him?”

Hermione struggled once more to communicate.

“I…” Her hands clenched helplessly at her sides. “No.”

“Good.” Hermione jolted. Parvati turned back to Padma, settling into her chair. “Because he’s mine.” She traced the inside of her sister’s palm “I’m going to carve the meat from his bones and cut off every last appendage, starting with his rotten fucking pecker.”

Hermione blinked and felt tears cut a searing path down her face. She quickly wiped them away, mortified by her reaction, desperate to remain strong and stoic for her friend.

“He’ll go down, Parvati. They all will. That I promise.”

"Prison isn't enough." She shook her head, loose strands brushing her shoulders where her braid had come undone. "I know what prison means for a man like Lestrange. A private cell with all the amenities. Conjugal visits every day. He'll be out within a year, onto the next country with a new name and a free ticket to destroy more innocent lives.”

Hermione shifted closer. “I’m sorry I left him alive.”

“I would never put that burden on you. You aren’t a killer.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Phantom smoke filled the air, her nose, her lungs. Dolohov's screams echoed loudly, deafening in their shrill terror and agony.

“Besides.” Parvati’s voice awoke her from the dark reverie. “I’m glad you got her out. That’s all that matters.”

Hermione wet her lips, hovering at the foot of the bed, hands twisting anxiously before her. “Parvati, you shouldn’t…”

She bit her lip, nerves failing her. Parvati glanced up, brow raised.

“I shouldn’t what?”

Hermione started around the footboard, towards the chair. “What happened earlier, downstairs… she had a similar episode in Bath when I said your name.” She lowered to her knees beside the bed and placed a hand on Parvati’s arm. “I think seeing you is triggering her memories.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“Not if it’s causing her seizures.” She swallowed heavily. “She could go into cardiac arrest the next time.”

Parvati paled, twisting in her seat to face her. “So we take her to Mungo’s.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea either. I doubt they’ll know the first thing about treating her, and we’d be leaving her exposed. The Dollmaker has snatchers all over the city. They may already be on the lookout for all of us.”

“What are you saying?”

She gently squeezed her arm.

“I think you should let Luna and Hannah look after her. Until we know-”

“ _What_?” Parvati reared back, yanking her limb free. “You’re telling me I can’t sit with her?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for her to see you when she wakes up. Not until we can-”

“I’m not letting her out of my sight, Hermione.”

“I know you want to protect her, but-”

“ _Protect her_? Protect her!” She pushed the chair back with her feet. “Look at her!” She gestured to the bed wildly. “I think it’s a bit late to protect her, don’t you? Her mind’s been destroyed, her body violated, and now the very sight of me sends her into an epileptic fit!”

Her gaze sparkled in the light as she rose to her feet. She blinked and tears brimmed past her dark lashes, framing her heart-shaped face in abject misery. "I couldn't protect her then, what chance do I stand now?"

Hermione pushed to her feet beside her.

“Parvati, this has nothing to do with anything you did or didn’t do-”

“Of course it does! She’s like this because of me!”

“How can you possibly think that?”

“Because I abandoned her! When she needed me the most, I abandoned her!”

Hermione shook her head. “What are you talking about? You didn’t _abandon_ her, they took her from you! They told you she was dead! What could you have possibly done?”

“I should never have let her out of my sight.” Her hands trembled violently as she brought them to her face, cupping her mouth to capture her broken gasps. “I should have stayed at her bedside night and day.”

Hermione felt tears wetting her own face as she moved forward, reaching out. “You had to earn money for her care.”

Parvati reared back, evading her grasp. “They got to her because I wasn’t there.”

Hermione rounded the chair, undeterred. “Lestrange wanted her, Parvati. He would have done whatever it took to obtain her. And if you _had_ been there, he would have taken you, too.”

“It should have been me.” She drove a fist into her own chest, directly over her heart. “I wish to god he had taken me instead.”

“I doubt Padma would agree.”

“You don’t understand. She isn’t like me. She isn’t like you. She was…” She gasped as Hermione reached her at last, gripping both her arms. “She was like Luna. So full of love and hope and innocence.”

Her face crumpled in acute pain as she swayed heavily, knees buckling. Hermione gripped her tighter, steadying their descent as she followed her down, legs tangled as they landed in a heap.

“The bastard should have taken me.” She listed into Hermione, heaving for breath. “I could have survived it.”

“Parvati, look at me.” Hermione released her arms to grasp her face, tipping her chin up and holding her gaze. “She _did_ survive it. She _is_ strong, and she still possesses all of the qualities you just described. He didn't take that from her. She protected her heart. It's still intact."

Parvati gasped for every stuttering breath, face flushed and glistening beneath the relentless flow of tears. “How can you possibly know that?”

Hermione’s fingers clenched against her cheeks as she held her gaze steady. “Because she barely reacted when I said her name.” She wet her lips. “She only had her fit when I mentioned you. _You_ are her heart. You are the treasure she fought to protect, the love and the hope she clung to for three years.”

Parvati began to quake in her grip. "She refused to let you go." She released her face, resting her hands on her shoulders. “She’s home now. She’s safe. But we have to give her time to heal. We can’t force the memories to the surface.”

She brushed the tear dampened hair away from her friend’s face. “And until I can figure out how to help her, I think we should let Luna and Hannah sit with her.”

Parvati went boneless in her grip, tipping forward to rest her forehead against Hermione’s chest.

“If that’s what you think is best.” She sniffled loudly, and then nodded. “I’ll do anything to get her back.”

Hermione stroked her back, then carded her fingers across her scalp and through her dark hair, mimicking the soothing motions her mother used to perform to calm her in her youth.

“I promise, we’ll get her back, Parvati. Whatever it takes, we’ll get her back.”

Parvati sighed heavily, her hot breath racing along Hermione’s neck. “Thank you, Mione.”

There was a soft knock at the door. Parvati leaned up, wiping away her eyes and snot with the back of her hands without shame. The door opened without prompt, earning both girl’s alert gazes.

They both calmed as Luna appeared on the other side.

“I’m sorry to interrupt.” She met Hermione’s eye.”But I thought you’d want to know, Harry just arrived, and Draco just left.”

Hermione sighed deeply, rubbing her throbbing temples and nodding. “Thank you, Luna. I’ll be out in a moment.”

The blonde nodded and began to turn.

Parvati extracted her legs from Hermione’s. “Wait.”

Luna stopped at the threshold, glancing over her shoulder. Parvati set her jaw, expression hardening to the visage Hermione most recognized.

“We’re afraid Padma will have another seizure if she sees me.” She took a deep breath, bracing her hands upon her thighs as she pushed up. “Do you mind sitting with her?”

Luna smiled brightly. “I would be honored.” She turned to face them, pressing her palms and interlacing her fingers. “I’ll plait her hair and read her stories. We’ll have such fun.”

Parvati laughed lightly. The sound was genuine and went a ways towards loosening the knot in Hermione’s stomach.

“Thanks, Luna. That sounds lovely.”

Their ethereal friend nodded once more before quietly slipping from the room, footsteps silent.

Hermione gazed up at Parvati. “Are you going to-”

“I’ll be fine.” She met her eye and extended a hand. Hermione accepted it with a grateful smile, lurching gracelessly to her feet. Parvati released her, tipping her head towards the door. “Go on ahead, Mione. You have work to do.”

Hermione stood fast, fists clenching anew.

“I won’t stop until we find justice for her. For all of them.”

Parvati arched a dark brow, the corner of her mouth rising.

“I know.”

Her dark eyes gleamed. But not with unshed tears.

With righteous fire.

Hermione’s heart swelled as she realized Lestrange had been right about one thing after all.

Isis was a fitting name for Parvati Patil.

For surely the Egyptian goddess stood before her now, burning brighter than a thousand suns, ready to strike down anyone who dare bring harm upon the innocent.

Parvati raised her chin, poised and powerful in her conviction.

“And I’m going to help you.”

* * *

Tom strode into the room at a leisurely pace, straightening his cuffs where he’d rolled his sleeves. The man on the bed screamed bloody murder into his gag.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

He met Rabastan’s bloodshot eyes at last, stopping at the edge of the mattress. The man attempted to speak, nearly choking in the process.

“Hm. I didn’t quite catch that.”

He reached forward a steady hand, tugging the sweat and saliva drenched garment free of his gnashing teeth.

“What have you done to Bella, you fucking bastard?”

Tom tilted his head. “Bella?” The corner of his mouth curved up. “Oh, the woman who’s been enthusiastically plotting your murder these last few years?”

“Fuck you! What have you done to her?”

“That's none of your concern.”

Rabastan thrashed in his binds, headboard rattling. “I knew you couldn’t be trus-”

“We’ve already had this discussion.” Tom stepped back. “We’re onto the next phase.” He tugged on the binds, testing their strength. The knots held strong.

“I’m only going to ask you this once, and I’ll know if you’re lying to me. If you lie, I’ll gouge your eyes from their sockets with my bare thumbs. Do you understand?”

Rabastan turned deathly white, throat bobbing convulsively as he nodded, lost for words.

“Good.” Tom held his gaze steady, the air crackling in his quiet fury. “Did you harm Hermione?”

Rabastan swallowed again, shaking his head so quickly droplets of sweat flew free.

“No, I swear I-”

“Did either of your men harm her?”

He reared back.

Tom’s gaze flashed.

“Tell me.”

“Elliot roughed her up a bit, at the asylum. But just her wrists, m-maybe her arms. He dragged her. That’s all I swear it.”

Tom tilted his head, eyes gleaming.

“Who is Selene?”

Rabastan fell motionless, lips pressing thin, eyes blazing. Tom arched a dark brow.

“I see.” His chin lowered, shadows cloaking his gaze. “I surmise she’s another one of his monstrosities.”

“She’s perfect! You have no idea what-”

His outburst clipped abruptly as Tom extracted the gun from his waistband, studying it idly in the dim light.

“Is she on the grounds?”

Rabastan swallowed thickly, transfixed by the gleaming metal.

“Granger took her. I heard them walk past my room.”

Tom traced the sleek barrel with the pad of his thumb, chest tightening.

“Of course she did.”

Rabastan examined him in the silence, jaw flexing as he no doubt tried to formulate another means of escape.

“Who-”

“Am I?” Tom dropped the gun to his side, tone edged in boredom. “Seems to be the question of the hour.” He met Rabastan’s eye. “I’m the man who’s going to kill you. Just as I killed Dolohov. Just as I’m going to kill your brother. Though I suspect that’s one funeral you’d have loved to attend.”

Rabastan wet his lips, hands curling around the rope. “Listen, Riddle, I can pay you-”

“I’m not interested in money. Nor do I have time for your desperate attempts at bartering.” He turned away. “I have a few loose ends to tie up.”

He started towards the door. “I’ll leave you to hasten through the remaining stages of grief.” He glanced over his shoulder as he entered the hall. “Don’t worry, it’ll all be over soon.”

He closed the door on his homicidal ragings.

As he made his way down the narrow corridor he examined the pistol once more, realizing Hermione managed to overcome her assailants without the use of firepower.

He shook his head, gazing forward as he turned the corner and started down the grand staircase.

_Brilliant girl._

The chaos of the main level made his pulse race. He ignored the main rooms and cut a path for the back of the house, navigating the tight, darkened hallways until he at last came across something of note.

A shattered vase in the middle of the corridor. He tilted his head, stopping just before it.

There was no pedestal or table in sight.

Which meant the vase was taken from its display.

He lowered to his haunches, carefully grazing the fragments with his fingertips.

No blood.

He sighed, starting to rise.

And then he caught sight of something else.

Glinting on the wall.

He stood, squinting, unable to make out the item.

He sidestepped the mess and began a slow, silent trek to the obstruction.

His heart jolted when it at last came into view.

He wet his lips, head tilting in either direction as he walked a methodical path around the knife, eyes narrowed as he traced the wooden handle with his finger.

It was an identical copy of the one she wielded outside his bedroom.

He smiled.

And then his gaze flickered to the seam in the wall, stepping back as the hidden door came into clear view.

He held his breath as he pulled the knife free with a hard tug, raising the gun with his other hand as he gave the paneling a hard kick.

There was a muffled thump.

His jaw clenched, hand steady as he pointed the barrel.

And then the panel was swinging open.

A pale face appeared.

The man gasped as he caught sight of the weapon and then Tom, arms raising as he staggered back, tripping on the step and listing to the side, catching himself against the railing.

“Whoa!” His hands trembled as he held them aloft. “Take it easy, mate!”

Tom raised a brow. “Who are you?”

“My name’s Elliot! I work for Lestrange!”

Tom’s pulse thrummed, vision sharpening as he studied his prey in the shadows.

“I see.” He lowered the gun. “I’m one of Rabastan’s associates. I came to check on the girl’s transfer.”

The man dropped his arms, walking to the top of the steps once more, fear giving way to lethal anger.

“The little bitch got away.”

“Obviously.” Tom tucked the gun back into his waistband. “How did that happen?”

“Luck.” He braced his hands against the frame. “But don’t worry, I’m going to find the stupid cunt.”

Tom wet his lips, hunger awakening his most primal urges.

“And what do you plan on doing to her?”

The guard smiled, face lit with malevolent longing. “I’m going to beat the chit bloody. Then I’m going to fuck her in every hole until she screams for mercy.”

Tom tilted his head, eyes gleaming in the darkness.

“Creative. I can tell you’re a deep thinker.”

The man blinked, confidence faltering. He settled back on his heels, shoulders tensing.

“Where is Lestrange?”

“Upstairs. Tied to a bed.”

He opened and closed his mouth.

“I… should go free him.”

Tom smiled. “That won’t be necessary.”

The guard swallowed heavily.

“Who did you say you were?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

The guard inhaled sharply, pushing off the frame and surging forward.

Tom remained in place, drawing an arm back with lightning reflexes and driving it forward, clocking him dead center of the face, breaking his nose with an impressive crunch.

The man screamed, blood exploding past Tom’s fingers. He reared back, stumbling back into the cellar doorway as he clutched his mangled face, red dripping past his chin and onto his shirt.

Tom sighed, stepping forward grasping the door.

“Back in you go.”

He leaned back and kicked him in the stomach, the heel of his boot cracking against his hip. The air expelled from the guard's lungs in a powerful rush as he catapulted back into the darkness, body colliding with every step as he rolled to the bottom of the stairwell.

Tom stood at the top of the steps, dark silhouette outlined by faded candlelight.

He addressed the shadows calmly, voice edged in steel.

“You shouldn’t have touched her, Elliot.”

The guard scrambled on his battered hands and knees, trying to stand.

“No!”

Tom stood back, grasping the panel and slamming it shut. He turned the knife over in his hand before slamming it home in the seam, pushing it in with all his strength until the blade could journey no further.

He stepped back, straightening his collar.

And then smirked, shaking his head.

_She's wrapped them all in pretty ribbons for me._

He started down the hall once again, the thought prompting him to place his hand in his pocket, wrapping the faded ribbon around his finger.

And then he turned the corner, heading towards the kitchen.

Hoping it would have the supplies he needed.

* * *

Harry raked a hand through his hair for the fifth time in thirty seconds, the strands standing completely on end as they drove through the center of the square.

“If she isn’t there-”

“Then we’ll tear the city apart.”

“I’m being serious, Theo. I don’t know what to do next.”

Theo sighed from his side of the bench, gazing around at the night-drenched scenery.

“Where else do you think she would go?”

Harry shook his head, pulse spiking as he pictured London from a bird’s eye view. His grip tightened on the reins.

“She may not have made it back to the city at all.”

Theo tapped his fingers against the frame. "Granger out-maneuvered Lestrange and his goons single-handedly. She made it back to London."

Harry carded his fingers through his hair again. “What if something happened on the road-”

"Harry." Theo leaned forward and grabbed his wrist, gently extracting it from the rat's nest atop his head. "I'll visit the Home, will that settle your nerves?"

Harry swallowed thickly, nodding.

“Partially.”

Theo smirked, releasing him. Harry absently rubbed the inside of his wrist, pulse throbbing where Theo’s touch had lingered.

His companion gazed ahead once more. “Okay, drop me off here, I’ll catch another carriage across town.”

Harry inhaled deeply, pulling on the reins.

“Thank you, Theo.”

Theo slid to the edge of the seat as the horses slowed to a stop along the curb. The road was dimly lit by street lamps, empty but for their carriage.

“You can thank me more creatively than that later.”

Harry blinked, mouth opening and closing as he watched the man descend, gripping the edge of the frame and landing gracefully upon the cobblestone.

“Theo.”

He steadied himself against the side of the carriage, peering up a moment later.

“I…” Harry wet his lips, heart skipping as Theo’s violet gaze lowered to his mouth. “Something’s changed.”

Theo arched a dark brow.

“Changed?”

“With you. With-” He choked on the rest, hyper-aware of their public venue despite the resounding silence of the night.

“With…?”

He shook his head, gazing forward and adjusting his grip on the reins. “Nevermind.”

Theo tapped the side of the paneling before stepping back onto the pedestrian walk. “Don’t get squirrely on me now, Potter. You can’t afford to be incoherent with that hair. You’ll be carted off to an asylum faster than Granger was.”

Harry rolled his eyes. Theo laughed to himself, tucking his hands into his coat.

“Too soon?”

“Just a bit.”

“I’ll wait until we find the warrior princess to make clever jokes at both your expense.”

“I look forward to it.”

Theo saluted him, his resounding laughter following him down the street as he urged the horses forward, sending a pleasant chill along his spine.

But then he steered the carriage around a shop corner and the sound faded, leaving him along with his raging thoughts once more.

His knuckles turned white, circulation waning as he wound the reins tighter and tighter, distracted by his fear. He regretted leaving Bath. They should have scoured the woods deeper, looked for some sign of her. Anything.

Alas, Theo had somehow convinced him Hermione was clever enough to find her way back to London, and that she’d be in greater need of Harry’s protection once she set foot within the city limits. He shook his head, thoughts scattering on the wind, drifting rapidly to Riddle, wondering what the hell the mysterious doctor was up to at this very moment.

He was so lost to his internal musings he was hardly aware of journeying across the city. He only became alert to his surrounding when the horses brayed softly outside the familiar rod iron fence.

He jumped down to open the barrier and then steered the creatures through. He was shocked he made it to the front of the stone drive without being accosted. His bewilderment increased ten-fold as he tied the horses to the post and started up the steps. He hovered outside the door, sending a silent prayer to the dark, smog-filled sky before knocking heavily against the wood.

Quick footsteps clicked across the marble on the other side. His heart swelled as he recognized the gait.

The lock slid free. The door flew open.

“Fucking hell.”

He was wrenched off his feet by a strong arm around his neck, dragging him over the threshold.

“Do you have _any_ idea the torture you’ve put me through, kid?”

“I sent you a letter-”

“Fuck the letter! For all I knew you were forced to write it at gunpoint while bandits did god knows what to you!”

Harry blinked, finally regaining his footing as his godfather released his unintentional chokehold.

“ _Bandits_? I think they’re all busy robbing trains in the Wild West.”

Sirius scowled, throwing his arm across his shoulders instead. “I’m relieved to see your smart mouth hasn’t dulled any.”

“I’m sorry I worried you. But I still haven’t found Mione-”

“She’s upstairs.”

Harry reared back, heart leaping into his throat as his blood surged.

“She’s here?”

“That’s what upstairs implies.”

He released a sharp breath. “Is she alright?”

“You can ask her yourself.”

He dragged him in close, ruffling his already thoroughly-ruffled hair. “And then you’re going straight to bed. No more galavanting around the city with a glaring target on your back.”

Harry rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to speak but falling silent at the resounding footsteps at their backs.

“Potter.”

Harry tugged free once more, raking both hands through his hair to smooth it back. “Malfoy? Where the hell have you been?”

Draco came to a stop under the archway. “I missed the train.”

“So you came back here?”

“Not quite.” The blonde looked supremely tensed, every line rigid. “I’m sure Granger will provide the details.” He nodded in farewell, starting for the door. “Gentlemen.”

Harry spun on his heel, following his departure with a slack jaw. “Where the hell are you going?”

“Out.”

“What about Mione?”

“As long as she remains inside until sunrise she’s safe.” He gazed over his shoulder, holding Harry’s accusing stare with a carefully void expression. “I trust you’ll ensure that happens.”

“You’re just leaving? After everything that’s happened?”

And then his silver gaze sparked to life. Molten at the core, boiling with incinerating heat.

“Yes, Potter. After everything that’s happened.” He reached for the knob. “I’m leaving.”

And then he did just that, striding outside with the elegant swiftness of a man with a pole shoved up his arse. Harry blinked as the door slammed shut, turning to face his godfather.

“I’m obviously missing something.”

“Those will the words engraved on my tombstone someday.”

“Fitting.” He started towards the grand staircase. “I’m going to talk to Mione.”

“I know you are.” Sirius slid his hands into his trouser pockets, tipping his head as he watched him ascend. “Oh, avoid the first two doors on the left.”

Harry paused on the step, glancing back wearily.

“Do I want to know?”

His godfather sported his signature, rakish grin. The sight provided the complete opposite of comfort. “There’s been a lot of excitement here tonight.”

Harry nodded, the words imparting a great weight upon his shoulders despite the fact they were delivered in jest.

“Let’s hope it’s run its course.”

As if waiting for its baleful cue, a cold breeze rushed through the entryway, scattering dried leaves across the marble and whistling past the columns.

They looked at each other.

Sirius arched a brow.

“Well, that just happened.”

Harry mirrored his expression, gripping the banister.

“Let’s pretend it didn’t.”

“I’m excellent at ignoring obvious signs of peril.”

Harry shook his head, fighting back a smile as he resumed his upward trek. His godfather leaned against the base of the railing, voice filling the room.

“Good to have you home, kid!”

Harry rounded the landing, tossing back a shout of his own. “Good to be home, old man!”

And then he started down the east wing, spotting a familiar face as soon as he entered the hall.

“The knight in shining armor returns.” Zabini stood away from the closed door. “Surprised to see me?”

“Not really. I knew you’d stick around.”

Zabini crossed his arm, lips curving wryly. “I can’t abide all these insinuations that I’m a decent human being.”

Harry clapped him on the shoulder as he passed.

“Where is she?”

The man tipped his head toward the end of the corridor.

“Two doors down.”

Harry nodded his thanks, starting towards the designated room. Zabini’s arms fell to his sides as he sank back against the same door as before. Harry paid the motion no mind as he stopped before the bedroom and knocked, heart steadily climbing into his throat with each successive beat.

“Mione?”

There was a muffled thump, followed by the most precious sound in the universe.

“Come in!”

He wrenched open the door, eyes immediately latching onto the movement at the foot of the bed.

She sat on the edge of the mattress, pulling her stocking into place. She met his eye and smiled, standing swiftly, pale skirts falling into place.

“Harry!”

He inhaled sharply, closing the door before crossing the room in a single bound. She laughed as she seized her, pulling her off her feet in a tight embrace. She clung to his neck, face buried against his shoulder as they clung to each other in silence.

At last he spoke, unable to keep the questions at bay a moment longer.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

His hold loosened, allowing her to slip down his body as she regained her footing. “I found Lestrange.”

She nodded, hands still clutching his arms. “Draco told me-”

“What happened, Mione? What did he do to you?”

“He served me tea.”

Harry blinked, hands clenching upon her waist.

“Tea?”

“And then he propositioned me.”

Harry’s jaw ticked, red filling his vision. “Did he touch you?”

She shook her head, hands dropping to her sides. “Not like that.”

“How the hell did you overpower him?”

She shook her head again, stepping back, out of his reach, hands playing idly with the ends of her hair as she gazed at the window.

“I’ll tell you everything, I swear, but not right now. It’s in the past and I want to focus on the future, on what we do next.”

He swallowed heavily, fists heavy at his sides.

“I’m sorry, Mione, I can’t just skip over it all. You were in a mental asylum for christ’s sake!” He stepped towards her. “Did they hurt you?”

She turned to face him, expression guarded.

“It was a blessing in disguise.”

His mouth opened but only choked breath escaped.

“I know who the Dollmaker is, Harry. Had I not been shipped away, we may have never found out the truth.”

Harry’s jaw snapped shut as the words settled in his brain like a heavy fog.

And then he nodded, shoulders drawing back.

“We need to tell Riddle. He stayed in Bath to clean up the mess but he should be back anytime.”

And then to his great intrigue and discomfiture, Hermione turned an alarming shade of white, swaying back as though faint.

She pressed a hand to her stomach and cleared her throat, glancing away to compose herself, the entire ordeal lasting merely a few seconds.

Harry shook his head, hackles rising.

“Okay, this we’re _definitely_ not skipping.” He braced his feet apart, prepared for battle. “What’s going on between the two of you?”

She met his gaze, the picture of innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Hermione.” He held her steady in his sights, allowing no reprieve. “I’ve spent time with him. I’ve seen the way his eyes spark at the mere mention of you.”

She turned her back on him, pacing towards the window. “I don’t want to hear that.”

“Why not? Did he-”

“No, he didn’t hurt me, Harry!” She threw her arms up, spinning on her heel, eyes gleaming. “I’m not made of china! I’m not going to shatter!”

He swallowed heavily, barely resisting the urge to grab hold and shake her like a rag doll until she saw reason. "I don't think you're fragile, Hermione. I never have. But I don't know what the hell to do with all these secrets."

Her face twisted. “Secrets?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about Dolohov?”

She reared back as though struck.

“How…”

“I broke into his office with Riddle. We had to crack his safe to find your guardianship papers.” He wet his lips, fists trembling. “The combination was your birthday.”

She pressed her palms flat against her chest, eyes darting across the floor, lost to the endless depths of her mind. Harry took another step closer.

“Now _don’t_ tell me you don’t want to talk about it.” Another step. “He’s the reason for the dark cloud that’s been hanging over you these last few months, isn’t he?”

She held his gaze for a deafening beat, tears brimming along her bottom lashes. Pressure swelled inside his chest, threatening to rupture his ribcage down the center.

“Please. Talk to me, Mione.”

She blinked and a single drop fell. She wiped it away before it reached her cheek, chin lifting, expression guarded, composed.

“He attacked me in his office.”

His heart skipped a succession of beats, the edges of his vision hazing. Her voice kept him grounded, the even, impassive tone pulling him down like quicksand.

“He didn’t rape me. Not for lack of trying. But I was able to fight my way free.”

He drew a hand over his face, palm lingering over his bared teeth.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

She calmly held his eye, rolling her shoulders back. “He swore me to secrecy.”

Harry shook his head. “ _How_?”

“He told me if I said anything to anyone…” She broke off, gaze dropping at last. Harry took an unconscious step forward, closing the distance between them at last. He grasped her arms. She felt cold and rigid to the touch.

She took a deep breath, eyes lifting. “If I reported him, Rabastan would have fired Arthur, and then blacklisted him throughout all of Europe.”

His hands clenched. “Mione…”

“He used the same threat to ensure I stayed at the Home, easily accessible when he conducted his quarterly visits.”

He blinked, something cold and wet cascading down his nape and spine, an icy wave chilling him to the bone. “That’s why you refused to come to Grimmauld?”

She wet her lips tentatively. “And the Burrow, yes.”

He ground his teeth, forcing his fingers to relax their steel grip. “You should have told me, I would have killed him.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That’s precisely why I _didn't_ tell you, Harry.” She tugged free of his grasp for the second time that evening, crossing her arms tightly. “I knew you’d throw away your entire future in a fit of blind rage.”

His blood percolated in his veins, snapping and sizzling in his ears.

“That bastard got away with attacking you! Lord knows how many other girls he raped while he continued roaming the streets!”

She rocked back with the intensity of his words, cheeks flaming bright. "How dare you try and put that on my conscience! I was trying to protect Arthur and his family! Molly and Ginny rely entirely upon his income, they'd be destitute if he was blacklisted!"

“Sirius could have offered him work-”

“And what would that have done to Arthur’s pride? Relying solely upon the generosity of another? It would have destroyed him all the same!”

“And what about you?” He threw his hands up, mouth foaming, eyes gleaming with feral light. “Dolohov just gets to walk away without punishment? Without recourse?”

“He got his recourse when I burned the bastard alive!”

Harry opened and closed his mouth, choking on the rest of his tirade, the blood that throbbed painfully at his temples draining to his feet in a powerful rush, leaving him staggering.

Hermione gaped as well, eyes wide as saucers as she pressed her hands to her mouth, brows creasing.

Harry swallowed thickly, his tongue a barren wasteland. After several seconds he recovered his voice, though it sounded distant and foreign to his ears.

“You set the fire?”

“I…” She closed her eyes, hands sliding away from her face. “I didn’t mean to tell you that.”

“Fucking hell.”

Her eyes opened, burning bright, even as her face was cloaked in shadow.

“He set the fire at my house, Harry.”

He staggered anew.

“He killed my parents.” Her jaw tensed. “I could have gone on living with the buried shame of his attack. But when I found out he was responsible for all the tragedy and pain in my life...”

She released a long, weary breath. “It was too much.”

They stared at each other in the resounding silence. Harry shifted forward, shoulders lax.

“He deserved to die, Mione.” He nodded, as much in assurance to himself as to her. “And I’m glad you were the one to do it.”

She blinked.

“You’re not…” She shifted anxiously. “Do you think differently of me?”

He tilted his head. “I could never think differently of you.”

Her eyes flickered between his.

“I took a life.”

“So have I.”

“That’s different. You were protecting our nation.”

“And you were protecting his future victims.”

She swallowed, opening her mouth as though to respond, only to close it without uttering another word.

Harry pressed on.

“Riddle was there?”

She nodded.

“How did you get taken to the asylum?”

He watched her draw a hand over her face, an obvious bid to buy herself more time to think. His stomach twisted as she moved away from the window and started towards the bed.

“Because I acted very foolishly.” She sat on the edge of the mattress, feet barely skimming the carpet. “He was right. I wasn't in my right mind.”

“What-”

“Harry.” She gazed up, eyes wide and heart-rendering in their innocence. “I…”

He drew towards her. “What is it, Mione?”

She swallowed heavily, hands curling over her knees. She gazed at her lap.

“I feel so much. And yet I feel nothing at all.” And then she looked up, face stricken. “Does that make any sense?”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “More than you know.”

He crossed the rug, sitting beside her, his weight causing her to sink into his side. He raised an arm and laid it across her back. She immediately burrowed into him, wrapping her arms around his middle.

He took a deep breath, resting his chin atop her head.

“Are you in love with him?”

She pressed her face into his chest, as though attempting to block out the light.

“I felt…” Her sharp exhale burned a path across his placket. “I can’t quite describe it. It was unlike anything I’ve experienced before.” She twisted the fabric of his shirt beneath her fingertips. “It burned so brightly, so intensely. It consumed me entirely, leaving behind no trace of the person I was before.”

Her curls brushed his jaw as she shook her head. “But it couldn't have been love.” Her voice was hoarse, strangled. “Love is a force of creation. Of beauty. Whatever possessed me was born of darkness and destruction.”

A beat.

“It was exhilarating. And terrifying.”

Harry rubbed a gentle circle against her spine. “You’re speaking in past tense.”

She shuddered faintly in his arms.

“I know.”

He exhaled deeply, breath blowing loose strands of her hair across her forehead. “When you see him again, it’ll change things.” He tucked the curls behind her ear. “Trust me. Seeing them always changes things.”

She shifted beside him, starting to pull back, no doubt detecting the sudden melancholy in his voice. He held her tighter, heart beating through his chest.

“What happened with Draco?”

She stiffened, halting her retreat, instead sinking into his hold once more.

“Why is love so complicated? Why can’t it just be simple?”

He meant to laugh, but the sound escaping his lips sounded more whimper. He cleared his throat, cheeks flushing. “Because then it wouldn’t be worth fighting for.” He wet his lips. “It wouldn't be worth bleeding for.”

She loosened her hold enough to tip her head back, searching out his gaze.

“Harry… what is it?”

He ground his teeth, shoulders tensing. “Nothing.”

“I’m not the only one who has secrets.” She drew back further, placing a hand on his knee. “I know there’s something you’ve been keeping from me.”

“Hermione…” His hands started to sweat. He clenched them in the fabric of her dress to hide their tremor. “I-”

His gaze cut to the floor, tracing the grooves in the wood, the fibers of the rug. “I’ve been…”

“You can tell me, Harry.” Her hand gently squeezed. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

He inhaled sharply, releasing the words in his next breath. “I’ve been seeing someone for the last six months.”

She jolted, hand slipping away.

“Six months?”

He nodded, muscles tensed to the point of hypertension.

He finally met her gaze.

She was smiling.

“That’s fantastic!” He blinked rapidly, dumbfounded as she reached up and cupped his cheek. “It’s something serious, then?”

He turned his face away on instinct, missing the look of hurt that flashed across her features.

“It’s not-” He choked back a groan, rubbing his eyes. “Fuck, I don’t know why it’s so hard to say.” He tipped his head back, glaring at the crown molding. “I’ve never said it out loud before. I don’t think I can.”

She leaned away and began to mimic his previous motions, rubbing soft patterns into his shoulder blades.

Her voice was patient, soothing.

“It’s a man.”

And yet the words sliced through his chest all the same, spilling his heart and lifeblood across his lap and onto the floor. He reared back, eyes wide.

“I-” He swallowed convulsively, cold sweat drenching him. “How-”

But her expression remained unchanged, placid like a gentle lake. He took a long breath, holding it in his lungs.

“Yes.”

She smiled again, tilting her head, long curls falling over her shoulder in a thick curtain.

“Is it someone I know?”

He blinked again, senses slowly returning, though surely this was all a dream.

“Yes.”

She arched a brow. “Are you going to make me guess?”

His jaw clenched and released several times before he could work the name loose from the recesses of his heart.

“It’s Nott.”

The hand on his back paused, her expression falling carefully blank for a gut-wrenching beat. And then she brightened once more, the name registering at last.

“Theodore?”

He released the searing breath, lungs aching. “Theo.”

Her hand fell to the mattress as her eyes narrowed. “Hm…” She stared ahead, chewing on her bottom lip. “Handsome, smart, terribly witty and sarcastic.” She met his gaze, her own gleaming like campfire embers. “You must drive each other around the bend.”

His lips formed a smirk of their own accord.

“Around the bend and back.”

Soft, feminine laughter filled the room, a cooling balm to his spent nerves. She settled a moment later, eyes soft as smoke.

“It’s more than a casual fling?”

“I think I’m in love with him.”

Both their expressions sobered, equally taken aback by the admission. She leaned forward, tone hushed, as though Theo may be hiding in the wardrobe, listening in.

“Does he feel the same?”

Harry’s scalp began to itch. His fists clenched at his sides, the urge to tug anxiously at the stands nearly blinding in its intensity. “I don’t know.”

She leaned back once more, chin lifting. “He would be a fool not to.”

His battered heart lurched but somehow continued to beat.

“Do you think differently of me?”

She lifted her arm and placed her hand against his chest, palm centered over the thrumming beat within.

“I could never think differently of you.”

She smiled again, but it was different than any of the others he’d ever seen her wear. More radiant, more breathtaking. “I love you just as you are, Harry Potter. And you are the greatest person I’ve ever known.”

He blinked, eyes and chest burning with a familiar fire.

“You deserve all the love and happiness life has to offer.” Her fingers curled in, as though attempting to grasp his heartbeat. “I’m so happy you’ve found someone to share it with.”

He placed his hand over hers, holding it firmly in place.

“Thank you, Mione.”

She nodded, swallowing heavily, as though unable to speak any more. He understood, his throat was so tight it was a miracle he could breathe.

“Does anyone else know?”

The question jolted him. His hand fell away.

“You’re the only person I’ve told. But Daphne knows. And unfortunately, I think Zabini does as well.”

Her hand lowered to her lap. “He won’t report you.”

He nodded. “I know.”

She studied his expression closely. “I’m glad you told me, Harry.”

“So am I.” He sighed deeply. “It feels… freeing.”

“I feel it, too.” Her shoulders drooped. “Like a weight has been lifted.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, throwing an arm around her and pulling her into his side once more.

“Look at us, barely adults and already guilty of executable offenses.”

Her hands folded primly atop his thigh. “I never knew adulthood could be so exciting.”

He laid his cheek against her head. "Ron's going to feel left out-" He jumped, accidentally squeezing her waist until she yelped. "Shite."

She pulled back swiftly, brows creased. “What is it?”

“I need to tell Ron you’re okay. He’s still out there trying to track down Lestrange.”

She paled, pushing back further.

“Find him. He could draw the attention of the wrong people.”

Harry nodded, already rising, only to halt mid-step, hand wrapping the bedpost as he hesitated. Hermione braced her hands to either side of the mattress, eyes wide.

“What?”

“Sirius doesn’t inherit guardianship until daybreak.”

She blinked.

“I know.”

Harry sighed, meeting her distraught gaze over his shoulder. “If you leave before then-”

“I won't.”

He remained frozen. She clenched her jaw.

“I _promise_ , Harry.”

“Just like you promised to return _straight_ to Grimmauld from the slums?”

She bristled. “That was different.”

“Mione-”

“Harry, Ron could be in danger. You have to find him.” She pushed to her feet beside him. “I won't leave Grimmauld before daybreak.”

His hand dropped to his side. “I don’t want you to leave period.”

“I won't, now go!”

He drew a hand over his face in exhaustion, too spent to continue rowing.

“Alright.” He started towards the door, step weighed with fear and reluctance. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Be careful.”

He stopped at the threshold, grasping the knob and meeting her eye one final time.

“I always am.”

* * *

Draco kicked a stray rock aside as he marched down the pavement, eyes narrowed and burning a scorching trail along the sidewalk.

There were very few pedestrians wandering about at the ungodly hour, even fewer carriages. Yet one slowed to stop beside him on the curb. His shoulders tightened, teeth grinding as he kept his quick pace, daring the idiot inside to try and obstruct his path-

“Thought that was you.”

He jolted at the familiar voice, stumbling along the path as he spun to face the street.

“Christ, Theo! You scared the shite out of me!”

The man smirked, leaning casually against the window frame. “Then it’s a good thing you’re in dark trousers.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“What the hell are you doing in this part of town?”

“Just dropped Potter off at Grimmauld.”

He blinked.

“What?”

Theo drummed his fingers along the glossy paneling. "You missed the train I take it?"

Draco reared back.

“How-” He shook his head, stepping forward. “Why were you with Potter?”

Theo glanced towards the driver. “I’m being charged for the displeasure of your company. Hop in if you want to talk.”

Draco opened and closed his mouth, setting back on his heels at last.

“I’m not in the mood to talk.”

"Well, perhaps you're in the mood to help me find Granger."

His pale brows drew together, hands clenching at his sides.

“She’s at Grimmauld.”

He watched with uneasy fascination as his friend sighed with obvious relief, leaning back in his seat.

“You found her then.” He carded a hand through his dark hair. “Thank god.”

Draco scowled. “I had no idea you were so concerned for her welfare.”

Theo sighed, shaking his head with an air of amusement.

“Fucking hell. You’d get jealous at a pigeon for staring at her wouldn’t you?”

“Comparing yourself to the flying rodent?”

“I assure you, I have no interest in your star-crossed love.” He leaned forward again, pushing open the door. “Now get in. I’ll take you to the West End. Unless you planned on walking the entire way?”

Draco stifled a groan, glancing ahead at the barren street, debating continuing ahead by foot in blissful solitude.

His jaw clenched, realizing he'd merely be plagued by torturous thoughts the entire way home.

At least Theo provided a potential distraction.

He turned to the carriage, sighing heavily as he stepped forward and grasped the handrail, lifting himself into the compartment.

Theo smirked but said nothing as Draco took the opposite seat, leaning out of the window to shout to the driver.

“Belgrave.”

The man nodded, urging the horses ahead. The carriage lurched softly, rolling back onto the road, rocking them from side to side before steadying.

Draco glared across the shadowed interior.

“Alright. I’m in. So talk.”

Theo rested his elbow in the frame, listing casually to the side and propping a booted foot on the edge of the seat.

“I ran into Potter at the train station.”

“What were you doing at the train station?”

“Looking for Potter.”

Draco shook his head in annoyance.

“And _why_ were you looking for him?”

“Black seemed concerned for his welfare. As did the others.”

Draco scanned his face carefully. “Your answers only create more questions.”

“Perhaps you’re just asking the wrong ones.”

His face twisted effortlessly into another scowl.

“Alright then. What happened to your eye?”

Theo glanced away, though his tone remained flippant. “My father.”

Draco felt his stomach tighten.

“You fought?”

“I suppose you can call it that.”

“Do you want to stay at the Manor tonight?”

Theo blinked, meeting his eye in disbelief. Draco bristled.

“ _What_?”

Theo shook his head slowly, eyes fixed. “I’m just surprised by the offer.”

Now Draco looked away.

“I thought that’s what friends do.”

“Are we friends then?”

His teeth clenched painfully, pulse thrumming.

“When I came to your house…” He squirmed in his seat, clutching the edge of the bench. “I said some things that…” His eyes flickered along the passing scenery, seeing nothing. “Things that I’ve come to regret.”

Theo arched a dark brow, examining his moon-lit profile closely. Draco wet his lips, forcing the rest free.

“I was upset over Granger and I took that anger out on you.”

He sucked in a deep breath, willing it to choke him.

“I’m…”

Theo leaned forward as the silence lingered.

“Yes?”

Draco’s face pinched in acute discomfort.

“Sorry.”

Theo blinked, falling back in dumbfounded silence.

And then burst into riotous laughter, clutching his middle and seizing in his seat.

Draco growled, pinning him with a lethal glare.

“Fuck you, too.”

Theo wiped the corner of his eyes, still caught mid-fit.

"Well, that grand reformation didn't last long."

“I’m trying to be serious.”

“And succeeding brilliantly.” His amusement quelled, thought the smile remained. “The atmosphere of this carriage is positively grim.”

Draco shook his head and folded his arms. “Nevermind then.”

Theo took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders back. “Relax. I’m only jesting.”

“I can see that.”

He tilted his head, studying the blonde anew.

“What brought on this sudden change of heart?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He raised a dark brow. “I think you do, otherwise you wouldn’t have gotten into my carriage.” His smile widened. “You’d have told me to go bugger myself and flagged down one of your own.”

“I still might.”

“Draco.”

Draco released the breath he’d been holding, reluctantly facing forward.

“She’s alive.” Theo’s expression was back to its normal somberness. “Everything else can be fixed.”

Draco swallowed heavily, the words erasing his previous ire, rekindling the crippling emotions that plagued him on the sidewalk.

“Not this.”

He gazed out the window. “I’ve wanted very few things in this life. Because I’ve never had the burden of being without. Everything’s been gifted to me on a golden platter before I could even think to desire it.”

His jaw tensed, the words heavy on his tongue. “Everything else I’ve been able to purchase. Everything has a price tag.” He wet his lips. “Even people.” His eyes fixed upon a dark row of trees in the distance. “Especially people.”

The carriage hit a rough patch. Draco grasped the frame.

“But not her.” He shook his head. “Never her.”

He swallowed thickly, still clutching the ledge until his knuckles threatened to burst from the skin.

“I could never buy her. My name and rank mean absolutely nothing.” He sighed deeply, chest aching. “If anything they’ve been a hindrance.”

His head snapped forward once more.

“I can’t make her love me, Theo.”

The final admission rendered him breathless and numb. Theo watched him in the swelling darkness, the silence suffocating.

Until at last, his friend leaned forward, a beam of moonlight hitting across his face in a diagonal strip.

“Are you certain you love _her_?”

Draco pressed back in his seat, already baring his teeth.

“We’ve already discussed this-”

“No, we’ve yelled about it.” Theo’s foot fell off the seat as he turned to face him fully. “And the last argument was as much my doing as it was yours.” He nodded shortly. “I’m sorry as well. But I don’t take back any of the things I said that day.”

He took a deep breath, as though bracing himself. Draco braced himself as well, sensing something profoundly unsettling on the horizon.

"Are you in love with Hermione Granger or merely the idea of her?"

His lips pressed thin, turning bloodless.

Theo continued on, unrelenting.

"The girl who defies all logic yet is filled to the brim with it. The only one who sees beyond wealth and beauty and nepotism to the very core of a man."

He wet his lips, voice taking on a hypnotic cadence. “Loving her is an act of defiance. A way to break the chains of your birthright. A chance to stand outside of your father’s all-encompassing shadow at long last.”

Draco attempted to swallow, it got caught halfway.

“But you truly love _her_?” Theo tilted his head. “When you picture your future together, is she standing beside you in your world, or are you standing in hers?”

He sighed again, leaning back and releasing Draco from his thrall.

“Love is messy and complicated. But it shouldn’t be this painful.”

Draco watched him for a long beat.

And saw him at last.

He tilted his own head, trying to make sense of the revelation.

“You speak from experience.”

Theo held his gaze.

“Yes.”

Draco continued to study him in the moonlight.

And then his heart skipped a beat.

His chin raised, hand sliding free of the sill.

“Potter.”

Theo said nothing, merely stared back in the ensuing silence.

Draco blinked, overcome by the revelation for a weighted second.

And then the chaos passed. His shoulders relaxed, chest loosened.

“Suppose it could be worse.”

Theo lifted a brow.

“Who’s worse than Potter?”

Draco smirked. “Blaise.”

Theo mimicked his expression.

“Point taken.”

There was a tense beat. Both their countenances sobered.

“You love the gaping idiot then?”

Theo sighed, gazing out of the window as they turned a corner. “Unfortunately.”

Draco joined him, the news already falling by the wayside as his mind was once more consumed by thoughts of Her.

Always Her.

Ever since she collided with him at the bloody birthday party.

If only she’d have been watching where she was going. If only she’d tied back those riotous bloody curls and seen what was right in front of her-

Their paths may have never crossed.

The mere notion made his chest wrench down the center. He bit back a gasp of pain, facing his companion once more.

“How do you know when it’s real? When it’s more than just a figment of the imagination?”

His hands clenched upon the seat, fighting the urge to press them to his heart, terrified the vital organ would fall out of his chest cavity and into his lap at any moment.

“How do you know when it’s worth fighting for? Worth dying for?”

Theo met his gaze and smiled, expression tinged with such sadness Draco was certain the answers he sought were contained somewhere within it.

And then his friend nodded, kicking his leg back onto the seat.

“You’re finally asking the right questions.”

* * *

Hermione paced a rapid trail along the perimeter of the rug, hands clenched at her front, fingers twined tightly. Any chance of sleep was long gone, fleeing the room at Harry’s heels.

_Please let him find Ron._

_Please let them be okay._

She wondered if the Dollmaker’s minions were already scouring the city for her. Surely they didn’t know of her escape. How could they? Rabastan was still bound when the boys arrived and the Dollmaker wasn’t scheduled to arrive until morning.

_The second guard…_

What did Rabatsan call him?

_Stephen._

_Could he have alerted someone?_

She shook her head.

_No, he’d have freed his Master first. There’s no way he came back to the house before they arrived-_

She was jarred from her thoughts by a soft wrap on the door. She spun so quickly her foot caught the carpeting, causing her to stumble, heart in her throat.

“Come in!”

The door opened gently, she held her breath, surging forward-

Neville’s head appeared, eyes wide and nervous.

“Er… hi, Mione.”

She stopped in her tracks, deflating.

“It’s you.”

His brow furrowed. She shook her head, stepping closer.

“I’m sorry, Neville, I didn’t mean it like that. I was just hoping-” She swallowed lightly, glancing away. “Nevermind.”

His smile was warm. “No offense taken.” He shuffled inside, leaving the door ajar. “I just wanted to check in, make sure you’re alright.” His eyes roamed the room, and then her figure, blush blooming to life.

“You changed your dress.” His smile widened. “I like this one better.”

She ran a hand over her skirts and laughed.

“Me too.” She gazed back up, tilting her head. “How are you doing, Nev?”

He shuffled awkwardly.

“I’m good.”

She nodded. “Thank you for looking after my friends.”

"Of course." His expression grew tense. "I wouldn't have left them alone. Not that I can do much in the way of protection. Not like Harry."

She reached up and placed a hand on his shoulder. He jolted, rocking back on his heels before settling once more.

“Neville, you’re just as capable as Harry.” She squeezed. “And much more capable than me.”

Her arm dropped as he erupted into laughter, eyes bright.

"You're kidding, right? Rumor is you single-handedly beat up three thugs."

She opened her mouth, brow raised, only to clamp it shut soundly, shaking her head.

“Blaise.”

He nodded.

“He exaggerated I take it?”

“Just a bit.” She rolled her eyes. “You shouldn’t talk to him for too long. He’s liable to corrupt you.”

“I don’t doubt it.” His laughter faded as he scratched the back of his head and glanced down. “It’s alright. I’ve spent more time talking to Hannah.”

She tilted her head, chest warming at the excited lilt in his voice as he spoke her friend’s name.

“Let me guess, you’ve bonded over engineering and architecture?”

He met her eye, expression heavy with pleasure and embarrassment. "Among other things."

She grinned brightly. “That’s wonderful, Nev. I-”

She blinked, distracted by a new face in the doorway.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

Parvati pushed the door open, expression tense, eyes glinting like gunmetal. Hermione swallowed, stomach twisting.

“What’s wrong?”

Parvati glanced quickly between them, her gaze finally settling on Hermione. The air became heavy, corrosive, difficult to breathe.

“We have a visitor.”

Hermione’s fists tightened, bracing herself for the worst.

“Who?”

Parvati wet her lips, eyes narrowing.

“Doctor Riddle.”

.   .   .

Hermione turned the corner onto the landing, clutching the railing until her knuckles turned white, insides turning to lead with every step towards the staircase.

She peered over the banister into the entryway.

And faltered.

Her heart skipped a beat, and then thudded hard, painfully, creating a steady throb in her wrists and behind her knees.

Tom stood in the center of the room, dressed entirely in pitch, eyes unnaturally bright.

And fixed upon her with predatory stillness.

She drew in an unsteady breath, holding it, swaying in place, suddenly light-headed.

_“When you see him again, it’ll change things.”_

She tried to tear her eyes away but couldn’t, as trapped by his storm cloud gaze as she was the night of their first encounter.

She was trapped inside the wardrobe once more. Frozen in fear and shock, breathless in her hopelessness.

Hypnotized by the dark avenging angel standing above her.

Their perspectives were flipped this time, but the feeling his presence inspired was no different. She cursed herself for allowing him to have such a profound effect upon her. Especially after all that transpired.

All she’d been through.

She was stronger than this. More resilient.

She swallowed thickly, nails digging crescent grooves into the banister before she forced her fingers to loosen and her locked knees to bend, urging her feet forward.

She paused at the top of the steps, unnerved by how eerily still he held himself, how tightly wound, every muscle rigid, as though poised to spring.

She clutched the railing, trying to hide the tremor in her limbs. As she began her slow descent she felt the air change, an invisible force pulling her forward as though she’d breached his gravitational force, drawn in beyond her control.

His eyes gleamed beneath the chandelier, as otherworldly as they appeared in the moonlight.

In the cemetery.

_“We aren’t going to talk about this anymore.”_

She shuddered, tearing her gaze away at long last, focusing upon a random portrait in the distance as humiliation took root within her once more.

In all the chaos that ensued over the last two days, she had yet to fully process what transpired between them.

And she certainly didn’t have time to do so now.

_There’s nothing to process._

_He regrets what happened._

She raised her chin.

_As do you._

His jaw tensed as she reached the bottom step.

They both stood motionless.

Frozen.

And then the energy sparked and crackled all around them.

He sprung forward.

Long legs carried him swiftly, movement fluid and catlike, the air charged, alive-

He stopped with only a few feet to spare, body colliding with an invisible barrier.

His proximity ate up all the remaining oxygen in the room, leaving her gasping and flush as his eyes began a slow methodical perusal of her body. His gaze was clinical, detached, the same eyes that examined her in the clinic.

Until he spotted the bruises on her wrists.

And then his gaze darkened and morphed until it became the same one she gazed into as they stood before Dolohov's bound, bloodied form. Her fingers twitched at her side, weighted by a phantom scalpel.

His eyes moved higher.

And reached her neck.

She burned with torturous fire as he studied every welt, every slight discoloration.

And his visage transformed yet again…

Into yet another mask she recognized.

Standing outside his bedroom, wielding a knife, adorned in finery.

Sequestered in the dark, doll and terror-drenched attic.

Hidden beside a stone mausoleum with only tombstones and the dead as their witnesses...

His gaze made a slow ascent of her face, lingering at her lips before at last reaching her eyes.

Her stomach clenched as something flashed in the depths of his swirling irises, clouds split by lightning.

_“This was a mistake.”_

She glanced down, grabbing handfuls of hair and dragging it over her shoulders, concealing the evidence of their folly.

She steeled her strength and met his gaze, taking a measured step back.

And watched something akin to worry mar his features, there one moment and gone the next.

Or perhaps it was hurt…

No.

_He isn’t capable of either emotion._

She bristled, grinding her teeth before lifting her chin.

“Doctor.”

He blinked.

And then his eyes shuttered, spine straightening as the temperature around them dropped, the heat that stole through her limbs washing away with cold dread.

“Ms. Granger.”

Her chest ached at the lifeless tone.

Heavy silence echoed off the marble.

She refused to squirm.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how I am?”

He tilted his head. “I found the aftermath of your handiwork in Bath.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “I’m quite aware of how you are.”

Her stomach tightened, bile rising in her throat.

“Is he…”

“Yes.”

Her heart stuttered. “How?”

“I set the building aflame.” His tone held no inflection but his eyes gleamed brightly. “I was feeling nostalgic.”

She absently pressed a hand to her chest, gaze drifting. “I couldn’t bring myself to do it.” Her jaw set. “I wish I had. But when the moment came… I couldn’t.”

He watched her closely, nodding shortly.

“I know.”

Her eyes lifted, hand dropping to her side, clenching into a fist.

“I knew the risk of leaving him alive. I put us all in danger.”

“We were in danger long before now.” He leaned in, barely a fraction, yet close enough to set her nerve endings aflame. “And you saved a girl’s life.”

Her heart stuttered at the reminder, Padma’s face flashing before her eyes, the excitement and dread of discovering the long-lost sister seizing her anew.

“He told you about Padma?”

His jaw tensed, eyes flickering as though debating his response.

“She came up.”

Hermione suspected there was more to the story but didn’t have the time or energy to pry for it.

He wet his lips. “Who is she?”

“Parvati’s sister.”

He blinked, and then raised his chin, shadows dancing along the hallows of his cheekbones, transforming his face into a sinister mask.

“She suffers the same affliction as Dawn?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, you’ll need to examine her. She passed out earlier but seems stable-”

“There isn’t time.”

Her heart jolted, the dread spreading through every limb.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s unwise to keep all three witnesses under the same roof.”

She paled, gooseflesh racing along her skin.

“What do you suggest?”

"We need to separate them. In case Grimmauld falls."

She swallowed heavily, worst fears confirmed. “Then we need to move everyone out-”

“That will only draw unnecessary attention.” His voice brokered no room for dissent. “Enough carriages have come in and out of here already. The last thing we need is a procession down the street.”

“Where will you take them?”

“I know a place they will be safe.” His words were clipped, precise. “I’ll take Padma, I can examine her after we arrive at our destination.”

“Like hell.”

The new voice echoed all around them.

Hermione spun on her heel, facing the landing. Parvati stood at the railing, both hands bracing the banister, eyes narrowed and lethal. Blaise hovered at her back, leaning casually against the wall with a look of careful indifference painting his handsome features.

Hermione stepped forward. “Parvati-”

“He isn’t taking my sister _anywhere_.” She shook her head, disheveled braid swinging like a rope. “Not without me.”

Tom tilted his head, countenance calm, unaffected by her vehemence. “It is unwise for you to come, Ms. Patil.”

“Then she stays.” She raised her chin, dark eyes flickering with flame. “End of discussion.”

Hermione heard Tom inhale slowly, no doubt preparing to further his argument.

So she turned and grasped his arm.

He immediately fell silent, eyes casting down, fixing upon her pale fingers.

He stared at their joined limbs for several beats before she felt the muscle relax beneath her touch, the rigid lines of his posture easing.

And then he glanced up, meeting her eye.

She shook her head. His jaw tensed. A heavy look passed between them.

Until at last he nodded shortly.

She released him, arm dropping and palm burning at her side.

“It’s alright. Padma can stay here. Luna is sitting with her until she wakes.” She wet her lips. “So we’ll take Dawn.”

His eyes turned molten, dangerous.

“There is no ‘we’. _You_ are staying here.”

Hermione swallowed, spine lengthening and she drew her shoulders back.

“You were wrong earlier.”

He blinked. And then his face went blank.

She realized a moment too late the potential double meaning of her words.

Her pulse spiked, humiliation stirring in her gut.

She pushed the useless emotion back down, forging ahead.

“You said _three_ witnesses.” She arched a brow. “But there are four.” She held his gaze, eyes hard, unyielding. “Including me.”

She allowed her words to permeate the air with their weight before continuing, undeterred by the blooming violence taking shape in his gaze.

“So it makes sense to split us in half. If you really trust the safety of where you’re taking us, that is.”

Her body pulsated with the force of her heartbeat, expending every last ounce of energy and resolve in maintaining his tempestuous gaze.

Until finally his eyes settled, though the darkness remained.

“I do.”

She nodded. “Good. Then there’s nothing to worry about.”

She turned her back to him, gazing up at Parvati.

“Will you and Hannah prepare Dawn for travel?”

Her friend released a troubled sigh. “Mione, are you sure you should-”

“Parvati.” A meaningful beat. “You said you would help me.”

She stiffened. And then nodded slowly, releasing the railing.

“I’ll have her downstairs in a few minutes.”

She awarded Tom with a calculated look before disappearing down the hall.

Blaise stood from the wall.

And lingered on the landing, gazing down at the pair.

The silence pressed heavy and oppressive, the air buzzing with it.

He tucked his hands in his pockets and smirked, paying them a cheeky wink.

“I see.” He started after Parvati, voice laced with amusement. “I’ll leave you crazy kids to it, then.”

She fought back a cringe, happy to see him go and yet desperately wishing he had stayed.

She continued to face the stairs, pulse radiating through every limb, unable to turn around.

_Stop acting foolish! There are bloody lives at stake._

She inhaled deeply, holding it in her lungs as she slowly spun in place.

He watched her closely.

“Hermione.”

She released the breath, the sound of her name on his lips puncturing her lungs.

‘What happened before…”

Spots appeared before her eyes, blood pressure spiking until she was certain she’d faint at his feet.

“I-”

“There’s no need.” She swallowed heavily, blinking to clear her vision. “It was as you said.”

Her hands curled, nails piercing her palms until they punctured the skin. “A mistake.”

Her heartbeat was painful. A painful reminder of what being alive meant.

“And it’s in the past. Now we move forward.”

She straightened, hands unfurling, blood beneath her nail beds.

“I know who the Dollmaker is.”

She awaited his reaction with bated breath, anticipating a grand explosion to accompany such a grand revelation.

Instead, he merely raised his chin, eyes falling hooded and malevolent.

“Angus Bumby.”

She jolted.

“How-”

“I was told in Bath.”

She blinked. And then swallowed heavily, darkness taking root in her mind, legs heavy and sore as though forced to tread water all over again.

“He’s a monster.”

Her voice came out more brittle than intended, thin with emotion. With anger and sadness and hatred.

She blinked, overcome, and suddenly Tom stood directly before her, moving so quickly she never even saw him take a step.

“Did he hurt you?”

Her eyes brimmed with tears. She blinked them away, feeling angry and foolish to shed them here, now.

“No.” Her eyes were unwavering. “I wouldn’t let him break me.”

His hands clenched, arms tightening, as though he was keeping them pinned at his sides. Despite his tense demeanor, his voice was smoky and dark.

“I doubt he’s ever encountered an opponent as formidable as you.”

The corner of her mouth twitched with pleasure.

“He hasn't met you.”

Darkness flashed across his features, heavy and frightening.

“He has.”

She gazed up in bemusement.

"I visited the Asylum. You were already gone." He released a deep breath. It blew the stray curls from her temple. "I should have known who he was. The pieces were lying right in front of me." His jaw ticked. "But I was distracted."

She released a heavy sigh of her own, sensing the true intent of his words.

Or perhaps she was merely projecting.

But all the same, the gut-wrenching feeling prompted her to take a step back.

“Then let’s hope neither of us encounters any more distractions.”

A heavy beat passed.

Neither dared to look away.

And then Tom inclined his head, eyes bright and unblinking.

“Let’s hope.”

She glanced away first, thoughts and emotions caught in a violent storm centered at the very core of her being.

“I want to finish this, Tom. The Dollmaker may not have broken my mind, but he poisoned it just the same.” She gazed up once more, eyes brimming with conviction. “I’m as possessed as the rest of his victims. Consumed as you are.”

He remained silent. Transfixed. The air burst to vibrant life around her, sparking through her voluminous hair.

“Nothing will stop me from seeing this through.”

His eyes gleamed just as brilliantly.

“We’ll stop them.” His voice shook the marble, trembled the portraits. “We’ll kill him.”

She lifted her chin, steel lacing her spine. “I won’t hesitate again.”

Her chest cracked down the center, resolidifying as a metal cage. Protecting her heart from all future onslaught.

"I will not compromise. Not until I've taken it all."

His gaze seemed to soften and harden at the same time. And then the floor fell away, leaving them suspended above the dark abyss that hungered for them both since their first fateful encounter.

“You’ve finally learned.”

Sunlight slowly streamed in through the tall windows, illuminating half his sharp features, casting the other side into darkness.

She turned her head, tracking the growing spread of orange across the violet sky.

“The sun is up.” Her shoulders lowered. “The Lestrange’s no longer have legal claim over me.”

She breathed in deep, savoring the taste on the back of her tongue, as though enjoying the sensation for the very first time.

Sunlight struck her own face, the room rapidly brightening. She squinted and turned her head away.

And became mesmerized by the look on his face.

She couldn’t begin to process what she was seeing, little less what she was feeling, but all rational thought scattered as he slowly brought a hand towards her face-

There was movement on the landing, followed by the sound of twin footsteps.

They broke apart like a shotgun pellet, an endless chasm of space between them as Parvati appeared at the stairs with a strange girl in tow.

Hermione swallowed, smoothing a hand over her skirt as she addressed him over her shoulder.

“Get the carriage ready. We’ll meet you outside.”

She couldn’t bring herself to look upon him but could sense the deep unrest radiating from his form.

He continued to stand motionless for a short eternity before finally turning for the exit. She released a sharp sigh of relief once the door closed at his back.

The light obstructed her vision. She struggled to calm her pulse as she held a hand before her eyes, eager to glimpse her supposed doppelganger.

The pair were halfway down the steps before her face finally came into view.

Her gut clenched painfully.

They certainly did share many common features. Not nearly enough to pass as twins, but certainly as sisters.

She imagined Draco spotting the girl from across a smoke-filled gambling den.

She turned away, closing her eyes and shaking her head as if to forcibly expel the vision from her mind.

At last the duo reached the main level. Hermione pried her lids open and journeyed the short distance to meet them.

“Mione, are you sure about this?”

She met her friend's gaze, accepting the traveling cloak she held aloft.

“No. But I haven’t been sure of anything in a long, long time.”

“How do you know you’ll be safe with him? He couldn’t stop you from being dragged off to the asylum.”

“That wasn’t his fault.” She slid her arms through the garment, fastening the front. “Not entirely anyway.”

Parvati sighed, face stricken. “We just got you back.”

“He’s right, Parv. It’s not strategic keeping all four of us under one roof. If the worst should occur, someone needs to survive the fallout. Someone needs to put these animals in cages.”

“Fuck cages. I want them six feet under.”

Hermione fell still, holding her friend's dark gaze. “He killed Rabastan.”

Parvati reared back. A bevy of emotions raced across her features, everything from relief to disappointment. Hermione understood them all.

At last she settled forward, eyes glittering with pent energy.

“Did the bastard suffer?”

Hermione arched a brow.

“Immensely.”

Parvati inhaled deeply, tipping her head back, relishing the news.

And then she gazed forward once more, a reluctant grin curving her lips.

“Alright. Riddle isn’t all bad I suppose.”

Hermione let out a short laugh, smiling to herself.

“I don’t know about _that_.”

She turned to face their third, silent companion, sidling in close, voice soft and measured.

“Hello, Dawn, my name is Hermione. We’re going on a little trip-”

“Don’t bother, luv. She doesn’t speak to anyone but Malfoy.”

She sighed with resignation, rubbing her eyes.

“Of course not.”

She reached down and grasped the girl’s hand, stomach twisting when she didn’t react in the slightest, merely staring ahead blankly, eyes lifeless beneath the surface.

They reminded her of Padma.

She turned to face Parvati and saw a similarly troubled look marring her features, no doubt thinking of her sister as well. Hermione reached out and squeezed her arm.

“We’re going to fix her, Parv.”

Parvati nodded. “One step at a time.” She gestured to the door with her chin. “Go ahead. I’ll explain to the others where you are.”

“It’s safer if they don’t know the location.” She blinked, considering. “Then again, I don’t know the location.”

“Just be…”

She trailed off, shaking her head as though overwhelmed by the possible descriptors.

Hermione fought back a grin. “Safe? Careful?”

Parvati smirked. “Yourself. Seems to be working out pretty well these days.”

Hermione smiled, nodding and releasing her arm. She then started for the door, gently pulling Dawn along in her wake.

By the time they stepped outside the sun was fully above the horizon, the sky a clear blue.

Yet storm clouds raged above the carriage at the end of the drive, drawn by solid black steads.

Tom stood by the car, the door open at his side as he watched their slow approach.

She studiously avoided his gaze as they reached him, stepping back to avoid his offered hand. He didn’t react to her snub, simply taking Dawn’s hand instead.

She started toward the driver’s bench as he helped get the girl settled. He stepped aside, blinking in confusion when he didn’t see her standing beside the car.

And then his gaze found her at last, the surprise on his face deeply satisfying to her pride as she situated herself on the raised seat, reaching forward to unwind the reins.

She glanced over her shoulder, raising a brow.

“Coming?”

He smirked, closing the door and moving to the front of the carriage, grasping the handrail and hoisting himself up.

He settled into the other end of the bench, their thighs pressing, a scorching heat eating through the heavy layers of fabric and flesh, charring the bone.

He held her gaze, holding up his palm. She placed the reins upon it.

And then he faced forward, urging the horses into motion, the corners of his mouth lifting into a breathtaking grin as he spoke just loud enough for her to hear.

“Right beside you.”


	26. Ghost Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter of 2019 woot woot! 
> 
> I hope your year is off to a great start! If not, I hope watching me torture these poor bastards brings you half the joy it does me ❤︎

_Every picture tells a story._  
_Sometimes we don't like the ending._  
_Sometimes we don't understand it._  
.   .   .

The carriage rolled a steady path along the embankment, the sound of lapping waves and crying gulls filling the salt dampened air, broken intermittently by ship horns.

Hermione rubbed her palms together, interlacing her fingers and holding them atop her lap for warmth, gazing idly around the morning bustle on the docks in the distance.

“We’re heading South of the Thames?”

Tom held the reins steady.

“Just North.”

She raised her chin, sitting straighter as she studied the mismatched rooftops along the opposite side of the river, heart rate increasing as realization took root.

“You’re taking us to your benefactor, aren’t you?”

Tom continued to gaze ahead, though the corner of his lips turned up just slightly, eyes gleaming with pleasure.

“And how did you deduce that, Ms. Granger?”

His use of her surname was often his means of erecting a wall. But this time he delivered it with a layer of amusement, a private joke between them that caused warmth to race along her limbs, condensing at her center. She fought the urge to squirm, though she couldn’t prevent her thighs from pressing.

“We aren’t far from the warehouse.” Her gaze was caught by the sight of the morning sun glinting off his dark hair. “You mentioned it was on a private dock. And you had the keys.”

She faced forward, running her hands along her skirts, curving around her knees. “I imagine they were given to you by someone of power and means.”

Tom lifted his chin, tugging one side of the reins, seamlessly steering the horses around a shipping supply cart.

“I know many people of power and means.”

“I’m sure.” She smirked in turn. “But you’d rather saw off your arm than ask a favor of anyone.”

He bristled, as expected, unnerved by anyone’s accurate assessment of his character. She continued undaunted.

“You’d try to keep the list of those you’re indebted to as short as possible.” She watched as his jaw set, grey eyes narrowed and fixed ahead. “Besides. You wouldn’t trust just anyone with such valuable assets.”

He met her eye at last. His own glittered darkly, a swirling cosmos of burning stars.

“It is fortunate we are on the same side. I pity any man who attempts to keep a secret from you.”

She held his gaze, expression sobering.

“You still have your secrets.” Her fingers pressed into the soft fabric of her skirt. “The ones you keep closest to your heart. They’ve been buried there so long you could hardly pry them free if you tried.”

His eyes flashed, a supernova explosion, blinding in intensity.

"Secrets have kept me alive." His voice radiated with the same sinister energy. "For a very long time, they were my sole companion, my only means of survival."

Her chest ached. She gripped her knees harder to keep her hands from pressing the wound.

“Then I am grateful for every one of them.” She kept her tone free of toxic sympathy. “But you aren’t alone anymore.”

He held her gaze with suffocating intensity, her heartbeat deafening to her ears until at last his eyes flickered to her mouth. She wet her lips on instinct, breathing a sigh of relief as he turned his head forward in the next instant, the circles beneath his eyes appearing heavier and darker than moments before.

“When is the last time you slept?”

“Sleep is the least of my priorities.”

The tone of his response provided all the answer she needed.

She gazed forward as well, having finally learned the concept of choosing her battles wisely.

Minutes later they were turning another corner, the docks long behind them. He directed the horses past a private property line marked by flowering bushes. A handsome cottage-style home sat in the distance, centered atop a green rolling field.

Anyone who could afford such a sprawl of land in the heart of London could easily afford to build a mansion atop it. But the two-story structure was modest and quaint. The closer they proceeded up the gravel drive the more architectural details came into focus.

Whoever dwelled within was someone of means indeed, though they obviously valued privacy above reputation.

She studied the tall row of privacy bushes, squirming at last.

“Are you certain they won’t mind the disturbance?”

His visage instantly sharpened. “He is a disturbance." His eyes narrowed, voice laced with derision. "Trust me, he'll be ecstatic to have a house guest. Be prepared for nonstop affirmations and convoluted analogies."

She couldn’t help but smirk at his visceral reaction.

“You’re fond of him.”

He raised a dark brow.

“I detest him.”

“A bit of both I think.” She settled back in her seat, earlier unease melting away. “You wouldn’t have taken me here unless you trusted him a great deal.”

His jaw ticked several times, as though chewing on words before swallowing them down, offering no response.

She grinned, watching him direct the horses further along the drive before they finally rounded the privacy bushes, giving view of the front door.

His shoulders squared off, spine rigid as a pole as he glared at the entryway, the heat in his eyes a tangible smolder she could feel even from her end of the bench.

She swallowed lightly, reaching out on instinct, placing her hand atop his knee.

She felt him tense beneath her touch, but he made no move to dislodge her, eyes transfixed by the entry.

“It’s alright, Tom.” Her voice was soft, coaxing the wolf from its den. “This hardship is nothing compared to what you’ve already endured.”

He tore his eyes away, pinning her in place with a swift look. His jaw set once more before he gave a shallow nod.

“Come on.”

Her heartbeat reverberated through her limbs as he reached down and grabbed her hand, removing it from his knee, fingertips tracing along her palm before releasing her. He leaped from the carriage a moment later, landing in a graceful pounce.

He turned, extending his hand for her to take. She stared at it for a long beat before glancing away, reaching for the handrail instead.

She heard his low sigh and then she was gasping into the crisp morning air, his hands gripping her waist as he lifted her off her feet, pulling her forward.

She braced her hands against his shoulders for purchase, nails digging into fabric and muscle as their eyes locked. Her abdomen pressed his chest, his deep inhale chasing her swift exhale, and then gravity seized her once more, his face drawing close as he lowered her.

Her heels clicked the ground and his hands fell away. She swayed on her feet as he stepped past her towards the car, opening the door with fluidity, earlier rigidity long faded.

She straightened her cloak as he gently extracted Dawn from her hiding spot. By the time Hermione gazed up he was already crossing towards her, the girl’s small hand encased in his own.

Her heart leaped.

Not in jealousy, but in pain.

She met Dawn’s blank gaze, wondering once more if she was conscious beneath the surface, trapped in the shell of her own body, screaming desperately with every measured breath.

She wondered how many men had violated her. Whether she’d been cognizant during the attacks, unable to fight back.

She wondered if the girl understood what was happening now, that she was safe, or if she was once more resigned to a man’s manipulation of her body, yet another violation, regardless of intent.

Hermione swallowed the rising bile in her throat.

“I’ll take her.”

Tom’s steps faltered, the intensity of her voice drawing his focus. She stared once more at their joined hands.

He followed her gaze, shoulders tightening imperceptibly.

She knew he understood the path of her thoughts as he immediately released Dawn’s hand, stepping aside and allowing Hermione to take his place.

She gently grasped the girl’s palm, interlacing their fingers. Tom moved ahead of them, leading a path to the porch. They followed slowly, Hermione studying her walking companion’s profile all the while, unnerved at the similarities in their features.

“Dawn.” She kept her voice low, though she didn’t care whether Tom was listening. “In case you can hear me, I want you to know that I’m going to do everything in my power to help you.”

She squeezed her hand. “I won’t stop until I find a cure.” Her eyes gleamed in the morning sun. “None of us will.”

And then she blinked, sensing the stillness ahead.

Tom turned to stone at the door, not even seeming to breathe. Hermione paused at the bottom step, unsure what to say, if she should even speak.

He glanced over his shoulder, meeting her eye and gesturing to his side with his chin, movements sharp and precise like a bird of prey.

She bit her lip, leading Dawn up the four brick steps and across the wood slats before coming to a stop at his right.

She watched silently as he tipped his head back and rolled it along his shoulders, neck cracking loudly, causing her to cringe. Then he took a deep breath and held it, raising his arm and pounding swiftly on the door with the side of his fist.

There was a long beat of silence, the world falling static and still.

And then a muffled shuffling sounded from inside.

Hermione held her breath as well, heartbeat erratic as she absorbed the tension radiating from Tom’s body in visible waves.

There was a metallic click, a lock sliding.

The knob turned.

The door opened.

A face appeared.

She rocked back on her heels with the force of the impact.

“Tom.” The man’s voice was heavy with shock, yet remained soft and warm at the edges. “This is a welcome surprise.”

Tom ground his teeth, fists curling at his sides, knuckles turning white. Hermione blinked, settling back in place though her jaw continued to hang loose. The glacial eyes shifted at her movement, latching onto her wide gaze and fixing her in place, rendering her breathless.

And then he smiled, the creases in his face deepening with the joyous expression.

“Ah, and you’ve brought guests, what a delight!” His eyes gleamed, bright and knowing. “Good morning, Ms. Granger. I am so very relieved to see you have been safely returned to us.”

She blinked again, squeezing Dawn’s limp hand as though grasping at the final threads of her sanity.

“I…” She swallowed, trying to moisten her dry tongue. “Thank you… Sir.”

She gazed at Tom’s rigid form, unsure how to proceed, how to process the information before her. He sighed deeply, breaking from his rigid stance at last.

“I need a favor.”

His acidic tone did nothing to dim the aura of gentle cheer exuding from the doorway.

“I can see that.” Their host stepped back, gesturing their small party inside. “Let’s move this conversation indoors, shall we? I’ve just put the kettle on and I’m sure I can wrestle up a tin of biscuits.”

Tom made no motion to cross.

Hermione bit back a sigh of frustration, elbowing him aside as she entered instead, pulling Dawn along like a wagon at her back.

“Thank you very much…” Her brows furrowed as she cast a nervous glance upward. “Admiral Dumbledore.”

His eyes glittered like the Caribbean waters Harry so passionately described.

“Please, my dear girl, call me Albus.”

* * *

Draco ran a hand through his hair, pushing the disheveled strands from his eyes as he reached for the doorknob-

Only for the barrier to give way before his hand could make contact.

He blinked, vision blurred by exhaustion as a hazy figure took form in the entryway.

“Parker? Why are you up so early?”

The butler opened his mouth, but another voice responded.

“He never went to bed.” A deafening beat. “Nor did I.”

Draco blinked again, paling as the eerie silence was cut by the sound of soft footsteps padding atop the marble.

And then a new figure appeared.

“Mum-”

“Come inside.”

He swallowed heavily, rendered ten years old every time she crossed her arms and pinned him with the full intensity of her motherly glare.

He stepped over the threshold, hands clenching and unclenching as he fought to maintain her steely gaze without cowering. She was adorned in an ivory sleeping gown and silk robe, pale hair flowing in twin rivers across her shoulders. Her head barely reached his collar, yet her petite form exuded enough power to shake the floor and bring a giant to his knees.

Her eyes flashed, slippered feet crossing the Italian marble and stopping just before him, neck craned as she studied his face with astute precision.

She grasped his chin, gripping it harder as he tried to avert his face.

“What happened? Who hit you?”

“It’s nothing-”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“Mum, please-”

“You will answer my question, Draco!” She released him, eyes burning bright. “I’ve been pacing the Manor all night waiting for you to turn up. You’re going to tell me what all this commotion is about.”

His jaw set. “What commotion?”

“Don’t treat me like a fool. I heard you shouting in our father’s study from across the Manor.”

“I wasn’t the only one shouting!”

She shook her head. “Such a childish response.”

He scowled. “Mum, I’m not in the mood for this. Please, I just want to go to bed.”

She caught his arm as he attempted to stalk past. He fell still beneath the gentle hand, unable to shrug her off.

“Draco, my heart, please tell me you aren’t in this state over Hermione.”

He swallowed heavily, a strange vertigo overtaking him. He scrubbed a hand over his face, glancing over his shoulder.

“I’ve never heard you say her name before.”

Her hand dropped away. “Nonsense.”

He slowly turned, watching her carefully. “You call her Granger. Or Richard’s daughter.”

She blinked, lips parting but only breath emitting. A moment later they pressed thin, as did her eyes.

He nodded, a familiar fire kindling in his chest. “Makes it easier, doesn’t it?”

Her pale brows drew. “Makes what easier?”

He lifted his chin, eyes hooded and focused as he peered down his nose at her. “To pretend she isn’t a person.” He crossed his arms. “To pretend none of them are people.”

She tilted her head, searching his gaze. “Who are you talking about?”

He stepped forward, propelled by the intensity of his fear, black rot spreading with each heartbeat.

“Did you know?”

She huffed, blowing a strand of hair from her face. “Know _what_ , Draco? Speak plainly, I can’t abide doubletalk.”

His bitter laughter bubbled forth, unbidden, but not unwelcome. He basked in the absurdity.

“And yet you married the biggest bullshiter in all of England.”

“You will not speak ill of your father in my presence-”

“I don’t care about him.” He reached out and grabbed her arms, his hold gentle yet firm, the motion itself enough to render her mute. “I want to know if you knew.”

She blinked, searching his gaze once more, all traces of ire erased from the smooth palette of her complexion.

“Sweetheart, you’re frightening me. You’ve been gone for nearly two days. I’ve been worried out of my mind. Now please tell me what’s going on.”

His fingers tightened, tall frame rocking precariously, a reed set to snap in the oncoming storm.

“I don’t think I could take it. If you knew. If you’re a part of this.” He shook his head. “I don’t have the strength to come out the other side of this madness if my entire goddamn life has been a lie.”

She went pliant in his hold, lifting her arm between them and cupping his cheek.

“Draco, _what_ happened? Who hurt you?”

He blinked rapidly, vision hazed by tears and exhaustion.

“Just tell me you didn’t know. Tell me you could never be a part of something so vile. So evil.”

Her face crumpled. “I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about, my love.” She swept her thumb beneath his eye, catching a tear he didn’t feel fall. “I want you to lie down. I’m sending for the Doctor-”

“No.”

He jerked free of her hand, releasing her arms and turning away.

“Draco-”

“I’m fine.”

He wiped his eyes, frustrated by this useless outpouring of emotion. To finally fall apart here and now was beyond pathetic.

“I’m…” He shook his head, trying to dispel the overwhelming shame, the bitterness. “Just tired.”

“You sound intoxicated. But I don’t smell any alcohol.” She took a step closer. “Have you taken something?”

He tipped his head back and laughed anew, this round rich and dark, shaking the walls like rolling thunder.

“I fucking wish.”

“Language, Draco!”

He closed his eyes, pushing the heels of his palms against his closed lids, sliding them out to his temples, a dull throb drowning out the chaos of his mind.

“Language.” The word felt heavy on his tongue. “We must keep up appearances.”

She padded forward, approaching him swiftly from behind, placing a hand between his shoulder blades.

“Please talk to me. Please tell me what’s troubling you so.”

He raked both hands through his hair, bloodshot eyes peeling open as he turned to face her.

“I’m fine, mum. Just exhausted.” His voice sounded distant, foreign to his ears. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

She inhaled deeply, rubbing a hand along his arm, squeezing his shoulder before repeating the motion.

“If you won't let me call the physician, at least let me give you a calming tonic.”

He set his jaw, biting back the argument, nodding with resignation instead.

“Alright.”

She released her breath sharply, deflating with relief. “Go on up. I’ll bring it to your room.”

He followed the command in silence, steps sluggish and slow as he made his way to the grand staircase. He listed into the railing as he ascended, joints sore, the turmoil of his night setting into his bones at long last.

He stopped halfway up, feeling her hawk gaze upon him.

Always watching. Always knowing.

He glanced over his shoulder.

“Mum.”

She tilted her head, hair and skin gleaming in the morning light streaming through the windows.

He took a shallow breath, grasping the banister until his knuckles cracked.

“I love you.”

She blinked.

And then smiled, the sunlight reflecting even brighter, as though magnified by her joy. A halo burned above her head, beautiful and unnerving.

“I love you more than anything in this life, Draco.” Her voice was strong, eyes bright, face radiant. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.”

He nodded, lingering on the steps as she turned on her heel and headed for the hallway beyond.

He released the railing, spine straightening as soon as she disappeared from sight.

_That’s what I’m counting on._

* * *

Astoria tilted her head, sliding hanger after hanger aside as she swept her eyes over each dress in turn.

Finally, her hand hovered over something of interest.

She gazed up, lifting the hanger from the rod and tugging the gown free.

“What about this one?”

Daphne turned, arms still buried in the clothing rack before her. Her eyes did a rapid sweep of the garment before flickering forward once more.

“I can’t bide the color.”

Astoria raised a brow. “It’s white.”

Her sister pushed dress after dress aside so rapidly it shook the display. “Yes. Shockingly so. I’ll go blind staring directly upon it.”

Her movements paused for half a beat, fingers skimming a lacy collar-

Only to shake her head, sighing in frustration as she slung the hanger aside and continued her aggressive hunt.

“Besides, it clashes terribly with my skin. I need something ivory.”

Astoria chewed on the inside of her cheek, carefully replacing the garment before grabbing up another.

“Like this?”

Daphne cast another sharp glance over her shoulder, dismissing the second option with a look of disgust. “I need a _cool_ toned ivory. You know I can’t wear peach, Tori.”

Astoria slammed the hanger back down with force.

“Daph, you _do_ realize you’ll only be wearing the dress for an hour or so, and only Greg and I will see you in it?”

“And the minister.”

She rolled her eyes. "Well, in that case, we should spare no expense."

“Don’t get snippy with me, you’re the one who insisted on coming here.”

Astoria sighed, shoulders lowering as she pushed away from the rack. “We can’t get anything custom made. It’ll take too long and father will see the charge.”

Daphne nodded shortly, scowling at the final gown on the rack.

“I know. I just can’t believe the state of these dresses. How do women shop ready made? They’re absolutely ghastly.”

A throat cleared behind them. Astoria glanced over her shoulder, meeting the shopkeeper's eye. The woman watched them from behind the counter as she threaded a needle, peering over her half-rimmed spectacles.

Astoria smiled, having the courtesy to flush in embarrassment. And then she spun on her heel, glaring at her shopping companion.

“Keep your voice down! The dresses are perfectly fine, you’re just atrociously picky.”

The door opened at the other end of the shop, the bell chiming softly. The owner glanced up, setting her needlework aside.

“Welcome, my dear, can I help you find anything?”

“I already found what I’m looking for.”

Both sisters went stock still.

Daphne whipped around first, eyes wide.

“Pans?”

Pansy smirked, closing the door at her back. “As I live and breathe, it really _is_ you.”

Astoria paled. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to take shelter from the impending apocalypse. Certainly hell has frozen over if the Greengrass sisters are shopping at Lady LeBou’s.”

Daphne rolled her eyes. “How did you find us?”

“I saw you sneaking in like a couple of criminals on the lamb. I simply _had_ to see what all the excitement was about.”

She stepped further inside, casually lifting the gauzy sleeve of a bright blue gown, smirk lifting higher as she released the monstrosity and wiped her hand clean on her skirts.

“Is there a costume party I’m unaware of? May I guess the theme?”

Daphne closed her eyes. “Pansy-”

“Hobo chic? Dapper and destitute? Ritzy in rags?”

The shopkeeper huffed in outrage, shoving her work beneath the counter and marching behind a hanging curtain.

Daphne shook her head, turning towards the dress rack once more. “Are you done?”

“Hm…” Pansy tapped thoughtfully at her chin. “I suppose I am, at least until I can think up more clever rhetoric.”

She approached a nearby accessory display, crossing her arms and leaning against it. “It’s a bit early in the day for me yet. Rest assured, I’ll be firing on all cylinders after a few more mimosas.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you up and mobile before noon.” Daphne shoved a dress aside with enough force to knock it free of its hanger. “What’s the special occasion?”

"Lunch with my betrothed. He sent a messenger to my house bright and early to hand deliver the request. And by request, I, of course, mean demand."

“How romantic.”

Pansy laughed, watching idly as Astoria replaced the discarded hanger, following at her sister’s heels, tidying up the destruction as she went.

“I could say the same for you. Eloping is so very Shakespearean it brings tears to my eyes. Or perhaps that’s the hayfever.”

The sisters turned to statues once more, mimicking the mannequins lining the shop window. They shared a loaded glance in their frozen state before exploding to life.

“What are you-”

“How did you know?”

“Tori!”

Pansy laughed anew, face lit with pure amusement. "Relax, doves. It doesn't take Lovelace to compute the data before me."

She lifted a pale green bonnet, twisting one of the laces around her finger.

“Both Greengrass sisters sneaking into a common boutique first thing in the morning, long before the gentry’s had time to paint their extravagant faces and strut about town like tressed up peacocks.”

She met Daphne’s narrowed gaze.

“Furthermore, you’re looking at gowns in varying shades of piss and jaundice.” She tilted her head, brow arching. “I daresay someone is looking for a wedding dress on the hush.”

She glanced to Astoria, eyes glittering like gems.

“Now, I suppose the dress _could_ be for either of you, seeing as you’re both all but sold to your grooms-to-be.” She smiled, teeth gleaming just as brightly. “But the most glaring difference between your shared plight is that dear Daphne actually _wants_ to marry her beau, while Tori would sooner run to the gallows than down the aisle.”

Astoria blinked, opening and closing her mouth before finally finding her voice.

“That… was impressive.”

Pansy’s dark eyes flashed. “How delightful. You’re the second woman to say that to me to-”

“Pans.” Daphne spared her a final glare before turning to the battered rack.

Pansy winked, tossing the bonnet aside and rising from the table. “Just having a bit of fun, Daph. You might try it some time.”

“Keep in mind who your audience is, please.”

Astoria bristled, eyes narrowing on the perfectly styled pile of blond tresses. “I’m more offended by your insinuation I can’t handle it.”

Pansy let out a delighted chime. “Hear that, luv? She can handle me just fine.”

“No one can handle you. Now please leave us in peace or get over here and help me find something that wasn’t excavated from a circus performer’s grave.”

Pansy sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes as she approached. “I suppose I can be of assistance, I’m not meeting Theo for another few hours yet.”

She tilted her head, slipping her hands between two dresses and parting the row, gazing idly at either side.

“You’re wasting your time with this rack.”

“It’s the only white they have.”

Pansy smirked, meeting her friend’s eye over the display. “You’re having an unconventional union, my dear. I think the occasion calls for an unconventional dress.”

Daphne released a dramatic sigh of her own, tipping her head back and tossing her hands up.

"At this point, I'm willing to wear a sheet over my head. I’m certain it will look more fashionable than this.”

She lowered her gaze.

“What did you have in mind?”

Pansy let loose another round of laughter, deeper than before, her smile absolutely sinister in its appeal.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

Hermione spun in a slow circle, examining the Naval memorabilia on the shelves, the plaques and framed certificates covering every inch of exposed wall space, her heart firmly lodged in her throat all the while.

_I’m standing in Albus Dumbledore’s living room…_

She blinked, eyes fixing on the vibrant purple ribbon and gleaming metal of the Victoria Cross caged in glass atop the mantle, portraits of dogs displayed on either side.

_I’m standing in Albus Dumbledore’s living room._

She made a final scan of the space, eyes finally reaching Tom’s rigid form, hovering near the windows with his arms crossed, face frozen in a mask of barely tamped hostility.

“I’m standing in Albus Dumbledore’s living room.”

He lifted a brow, holding her dumbfounded gaze another few moments before rolling his eyes and gazing outside.

Footsteps sounded down the hallway.

“I do hope these biscuits aren’t stale.”

Hermione spun on her heel, rushing to the doorway as Dumbledore’s tall and narrow frame emerged, gleaming tray in hand.

“Please, let me help-”

“Nonsense, child. You are my guest. Please, sit. It is a rare pleasure I get to enjoy the company of someone who isn’t carrying a rifle across their back. I’ve dusted off the good china for the occasion.”

She smiled, his jovial nature contagious.

“You mustn’t wait on us, Sir. We are guests in your home, please don’t trouble yourself.”

He crossed the room, setting the tray atop the table.

“It’s no trouble at all.”

He smiled brightly, setting the teacups right side up as his eyes drifted to the sole occupant on the couch.

Dawn stared ahead, eyes fixed to a potted plant beside the window.

“Would you like some tea, dear?”

Hermione wrung her hands, glancing to Tom, jaw tensing when she saw he planned on offering no assistance.

She swallowed, glancing back to Dumbledore and stepping forward.

“She doesn’t speak.”

He nodded, as though anticipating such a response, setting a saucer on the table before Dawn’s knees.

“Do you know who commands her?”

Hermione blinked, glancing to Tom once more, then back to Dumbledore, pulse thrumming as she realized his eyes were fixed upon her with unnerving intensity.

“Yes. We do.” She watched him gaze down at the tray, reaching for the steaming pot. “You’re familiar with….” She wet her lips. “With this affliction?”

He began to fill Dawn’s cup, hand steady, steam rising up and fogging his spectacles.

"Affliction." He set the pot back on the tray, staring at Dawn. "I've never heard it described in such a way." He turned at last, awarding Hermione the full weight of his focus. "But yes. Unfortunately, I am quite familiar with it."

“You’ve seen it before?”

A weighted pause.

The air grew dense.

“Once.”

Tom turned sharply, meeting her eye over Dumbledore’s shoulder. Her heart skipped, an electrical current chasing the sensation.

Of course.

Tom stepped forward, gaze darting to the back of Dumbledore’s head, voice edged in steel.

“I need to leave the girls here.”

The Admiral sighed, slowly rotating, sunlight glinting off his close-cropped beard and half-moon lenses.

“While you do _what_ exactly, Tom?”

Tom lifted his chin, sunlight silhouetting his frame and casting his visage into darkness.

“I know who he is, Albus.”

Dumbledore swayed back, eyes widening. Hermione held her breath, unable to look away. The intensity of the men’s shared gaze was a palpable force, generating so much energy it shook the very ground and knocked the plaques askew.

Tom wet his lips, eyes predatory and bright.

“Angus Bumby.”

Hermione swallowed. Dumbledore blinked.

“The name doesn’t sound familiar.”

“Nor should it. It’s likely an alias.”

“For what?”

“It doesn’t matter. I know who he is. Where he works. What he looks like.” He lowered his chin, blown pupils swirling with a black abyss. “I’m going to kill him.”

Dumbledore sighed, eyes closing as he rubbed his fingertips along the creases in his forehead.

“And how certain are you this is truly the man you seek?”

Tom arched a dark brow. “Ask our witness.”

Dumbledore blinked. Hermione shifted, shoulders drawing back as he turned to face her. She met his gaze, nodding once.

“It’s him.” She held his eye steady, despite the twisting eels in her stomach. “He spoke plainly about his role as the Dollmaker in his office. And then he subjected me to treatment.”

Dumbledore’s eyes shone with blatant horror and concern. “Are you alright, dear?”

She nodded quickly. “Yes, I’m-”

“I need to examine her yet.”

She jolted, Tom’s voice brokering no room for argument. Her mouth ran dry as he met her gaze, words dissolving on her tongue.

And then he looked to Dumbledore.

“I’d like to do so immediately. As well as get Dawn situated in a room of her own.” His eyes narrowed. “That is, of course, if you’ll permit them asylum.”

Dumbledore was still facing her, a smirk lifting his lips. “Always _so_ dramatic.” His eyes danced with amusement. “Even as a boy.”

Hermione bit her lip, the urge to laugh nearly causing her to double over. Dumbledore winked before slowly rotating.

“I am happy to open my home to these lovely young women, and even welcome the company.” He met Tom's lethal gaze with a grin. “Under one condition.”

Tom ground his teeth. “And what is that?”

Dumbledore sighed, calmly folding his hands before him.

“You must rest, Tom. You are in no condition to go rushing off on an execution mission.”

Tom surged forward, the air crackling around him. “Out of the bloody question.”

“That is my condition.”

“Do you have any idea-”

“We’ll stay.”

Tom blinked, drawing up short as his eyes darted to Hermione. Dumbledore turned to the side, glancing at her with obvious intrigue.

She stepped forward, spine lengthening.

“ _All_ of us will stay.”

She watched Tom’s fists curl at his sides. She forged on.

“Long enough for you to get some sleep.” She arched a challenging brow. “You need rest.” She held his gaze, voice softening, lowering. “You’ve waited your entire life for this one moment, Tom. Are you really willing to lose it all due to sheer exhaustion?”

He released a sharp breath, tearing his gaze away as he dragged a hand over his face, shaking his head.

“ _Fine_.”

Dumbledore raised a white brow, glancing between them until his eyes lingered on Hermione, studying her with care. She squirmed, feeling a flush spread like spilled tea across her neck and cheeks.

Tom lowered his hand, voice filled with resignation. “Only a few hours rest. Then I leave.” He captured her gaze. “But I examine you first.”

The blush burned hotter.

“I’m fine-”

“That is _my_ one condition.”

Dumbledore smirked, eyes drifting to the ground as though to afford their silent battle privacy. She sighed deeply, the same resignation setting into her bones.

“Alright then.” She looked to Dawn. “I’d like to get her settled.”

Dumbledore lifted his head. “Certainly. Pick any of the guest bedrooms you’d like.” He flashed his gleaming smile. “Tom will show you the way. He knows the layout of this house quite well.”

She nodded, stepping forward and extending her hand to Dawn. The girl didn’t budge. Hermione leaned over, grasping her wrist and gently tugging. Dawn unfolded at once, meeting Hermione’s eye without expression as she fell in step beside her.

They paused in the doorway, Hermione glancing over her shoulder to Tom. He continued to eye his former benefactor, eyes hard, unyielding. She felt her chest tighten as Dumbledore’s eyes took on the same lethal glint, an unnerving sight. She understood how he came to be the senior officer of the most powerful militia in the world.

She gently cleared her throat, swallowing heavily when both sets of eyes darted to her.

“Thank you for inviting us into your home, Admiral.”

His expression softened at once. “It is a pleasure to have your company, my dear.”

She forced a polite smile, supreme awkwardness grating at her skin. But then Tom stepped forward at last, providing an escape. She led Dawn into the hall and allowed him to pass, making his way to the stairs.

He stopped at the base, clutching the railing and gazing up at the landing with a far off look.

“Tom.”

He jolted, casting a glance over his shoulder, eyes dark. “This way.”

She nodded, tongue pressing the roof of her mouth to contain the questions welling in her throat.

They made their way upstairs, navigating through a nautically themed corridor lined with bedrooms.

He stopped at the first one, pushing the door open fully and standing aside, allowing them room to pass.

Hermione stepped in first, casting a quick glance around before releasing Dawn’s hand and making a beeline for the window, testing the lock and gazing through the pane, inspecting the side of the brick, looking for hand and footholds.

She turned around at last, shoulders dropping, unaware Tom watched her from the shadows with gleaming eyes. She gazed at Dawn instead, gesturing her forward, surprised when she did as bade without physical prompt.

Her heart swelled with hope.

“You’re going to be safe here, Dawn.”

But then the girl perched on the edge of the bed, staring at the wallpaper with the same blankness of before.

Hermione sighed heavily, running a hand through her hair and swiftly exiting the room, gently shutting the door behind her.

She gazed up-

But Tom was nowhere in sight.

She blinked, crossing to the next bedroom and entering. She unfastened her cloak, the home’s warm temperature causing her to perspire, and then gasped as movement appeared at the corner of her eye.

Tom stood by the dresser, coat tossed haphazardly over the desk chair, the top of his shirt unbuttoned.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-” She glanced away, willing her feet to move. “I’ll take the next room.”

“No. This is yours.” He began to roll up his sleeves. “I’ll examine you here. Get on the bed.”

Her heart thundered manically, knees locking.

He observed her reaction and blinked, scrubbing a hand over his face in obvious exhaustion.

“ _Sit_ on the bed.” He sighed, arm falling. “Please.”

Her heart skipped anew but her legs finally answered her command, carrying her across the narrow space to the edge of the mattress.

She sat as gingerly as she could, straightening her skirts to occupy her hands and focus.

Tom stepped forward, stopping just before her, a dark mass filling her vision.

“Lestrange said his guard accosted you. Did he cause serious injury?”

She wet her lips, folding her hands and meeting his gaze.

“He tackled me.” His eyes darkened. She hastened to add. “I hurt my knee but it feels fine now.”

He tilted his head, eyes unblinking.

“Lift your skirt.”

Her hands twitched, unable to break his gaze as she slowly slid her hands down, gathering handfuls of the pale fabric and dragging it up her calves.

His eyes darted down, tracking the motion. And then he lowered to his haunches, so fast and sudden she reared back, dropping her skirt.

His eyes flickered up, their faces level as he grasped the hemline and dragged it over her knees.

She blinked, hands curling over the edge of the mattress.

“Which one?”

She wet her lips. “The left.”

He grasped the thin fabric of her stocking, pulling the black fabric down. She bit the inside of her lip as cold air met her bare skin. His focus lowered to her leg, cold fingers gripping behind her knee and lifting.

The skin was stained a deep and mottled purple, the bruise faded at the edges, giving way to pale gooseflesh.

He gently prodded the joint for several seconds, gripping her ankle and straightening her leg, his body situated between her knees as he tilted his head, absorbed in his work.

“Swelling and bruising seems to be the worst of it.”

He lowered her ankle, leaving her stocking beneath her knee but pulling her skirts back down.

“What else?”

She shook her head, struggling to breathe normally. “Nothing. I told you, I feel fine-”

“Let me see your arm.”

She sighed in frustration but did as bade. He rose to his full height and took her wrist in hand, turning it over and rotating it in either direction.

She took a deep breath, holding it.

“I promised Dawn we’d find a cure.” Her jaw worked silently as she searched for the words. “I’ve broken promises before. Promises I never intended to keep and shouldn’t have made in the first place.”

Her eyes flickered up, watching him work.

“But this is a promise I’ll die to keep.”

His expression betrayed no discernable emotion, but his eyes glittered in the sunlight. She leaned forward.

“We have to find a cure, Tom. For Padma, for Dawn, for all of them.”

He lowered her arm, holding his hand out for the other.

“We will.”

She swallowed, placing her wrist in his palm as she struggled to phrase the question.

“How did…”

She bit her lip as his fingertips pressed her pulse point. He met her gaze, raising a brow.

“How did my mother come out of it?”

She swallowed, nodding.

Tom’s jaw ticked, inspecting the bruises wrapping her wrist.

“I don’t know if she ever really did.”

He released her arm and stepped back.

"As I told you before, her mind was never the same after. I imagine many more young women will be driven to self-harm and suicide if they're left in the same condition."

She sighed deeply, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes in frustration.

“How the hell does he do it, Tom? How does he brainwash them like this?”

He folded his arms, studying her carefully. “What do you remember of your treatment session?”

She shook her head, dropping her arms to her sides.

“Not much. I was forced to take a pill, some sort of hallucinogen that induced amnesia. I recall water. The orderly told me I was in a sensory deprivation tank. But I don’t remember anything that happened inside of it.”

“Are you certain?”

She nodded, brows furrowed. “I’ve tried. I only see bits and pieces, brief glimpses-”

“Such as?”

She blinked. “I…” Her eyes drifted to his chest. “It’s all muddled. I see colors. But I also see darkness.”

She swallowed heavily, gaze lifting as her nails dug into the quilt. “What if the treatment worked? What if the amnesia is a side effect of him altering my mind?”

He tilted his head, eyes piercing. “You told me he was upset.”

She nodded. “He wanted to know how I resisted the procedure. I had no idea what he was talking about. I still don’t.”

Tom stared at her for another tense beat, his eyes cutting a path straight through her.

"He didn't break your mind. You'd show signs, symptoms. I see nothing to indicate he was successful in his endeavors."

He released her from his thrall, glancing to her leg and wrists as he folded his arms across his chest.

“I also see no physical ailments, aside from bruising.” His gaze lifted. “But you need rest as much as I do. Especially after your heroic sweep of Lestrange and his men.”

She tilted her head, hands sliding forward as she leaned in. “What are you going to do, Tom?”

“I’m going to sleep, as conditioned.”

She shook her head.

“I mean after that.” She pushed to her feet. “Please tell me you aren’t just going to storm the gates of the asylum.”

Tom watched her steadily. “He won’t be at the asylum. He’ll have discovered the mountain of ash and debris awaiting him in Bath and gone underground, sending his minions to take care of the dirty work for him.”

“How will you find him?”

His eyes flashed brilliantly, voice deepening. “I’ll find him.”

Her pulse thrummed. “But how-”

“Hermione.”

Her jaw snapped shut. He took a slow step towards her, shadows swelling at his back, bleeding across the walls.

“I’ll find him. And I will kill him.”

He continued to advance, arms dropping to his sides, hands clenching open air, stopping only when her knees hit the bed and she pressed a hand to his chest to balance herself.

She swallowed heavily.

“We should get some rest.”

He blinked twice, taking a step back as his expression seemed to register her presence, their surroundings. He drew a hand over his face once more, lids heavy with exhaustion.

“I’ll be next door.”

She nodded, tangling her fingers in her skirt. “Alright.”

She watched him walk to the door. As he crossed the threshold she drew in a slow breath, lifting her chin.

“Tom.”

He paused with his hand on the knob, glancing over his shoulder.

She wet her lips, eyes gleaming. “Sleep well.”

He stared at her for a long moment.

And then he smirked.

“Sleep well, Ms. Granger.”

They held each other’s gaze as he closed the door, at last disappearing from sight.

* * *

Parvati drew her knees in, wrapping her arms around her legs and tipping her head back, staring forlornly at the ceiling.

Only to gasp as something large and soft hit the side of her head.

She toppled sideways, hands bracing the hall runner, eyes narrowed in outrage.

Blaise stood a few feet away, couch cushion in hand, twin to the one he sent hurtling at her face.

He smiled.

“Pillow fight?”

She sat upright, pushing the hair from her face and pressing back into the wall.

“I’m not in the mood, Zabini.”

He shrugged lightly, proceeding closer.

“Fair enough.”

He dropped his cushion beside her. She blinked, gazing up with a creased brow, then scowling as he slid down the wall into a graceless heap atop the pillow.

She scooted away as their shoulders pressed. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”

“Sitting.” He mimicked her previous pose, bending his knees and tipping his head back. “And you’re staring.” He smirked. “Which is to be expected, I know it’s difficult tearing one’s eyes away from such perfection.”

She shook her head, grabbing the offending cushion and shoving it between her back and the unforgiving wood paneling.

“You’d look a hell of a lot better if you didn’t talk.”

“You may have a point.”

The corner of her lips started to turn up of their own accord. She crossed her arms, schooling her expression.

“I appreciate the sentiment. But I’m not in the mood for your brand of entertainment.” She stared forward. “And I’d like to be alone.”

He folded his hands behind his head, getting comfortable.

She scowled anew.

“ _Why_ must you torture me at every opportunity?”

“Because you look utterly ravishing when you’re plotting my evisceration.” He lifted a brow, glancing sideways. “What are you doing out here anyway?”

She scoffed. “Don’t play dumb. I know you heard our conversation through the door.”

“Parts of it.” He shrugged, gazing forward. “You’re afraid she’ll have another episode if she sees you?”

Parvati's shoulders dropped, jaw set as she dug her nails into the hardwood.

“I finally get her back. After three endless, agonizing years, I finally get her back and I can’t even be in the same fucking room with her.”

She blinked rapidly, eyes gleaming as she leaned forward and turned away to wipe them dry, voice thick and scornful.

“ _Please_ leave.”

He took a slow, deep breath, watching her closely as his arms fell to his sides.

“Tell me about her.”

She blinked, twisting around. “What?”

“Padma. Tell me about her.”

She shook her head. “I don’t-”

“Your hair is different.”

Her face fell blank. He rested his forearms atop his knees, grasping his wrist.

“Your faces, too.” He tilted his head, slowly studying her bemused expression. “Especially your eyes.”

She glanced away, wiping said eyes once more, tears smearing across her temples.

“We were identical as children.” She swallowed past the constriction in her throat. “We used to fool everyone in the neighborhood, switching places, pretending to be the other for a day.”

She wet her lips, gaze gleaming as the memories danced before her mind’s eye.

“I’m certain we could have fooled our father if it wasn’t for our eyes.”

“Not your mum?”

She leaned back, closer than before, only a few inches between them.

“Mum worked from home, was around us night and day. Knew every nuance, every habit. She could tell us apart by the way we blinked.”

He smiled. “You were closest to her then?”

“We were close to them both. They were good parents. Loving. Attentive.”

She leaned her head against the wall, gazing at the white expanse above.

“But nothing compared to the bond we shared with each other.”

She picked idly at the edge of the hall runner. “We had the same breath. The same heartbeat. We slept holding each other. For warmth and practicality. We shared a tiny mattress in the corner. It’s a miracle we both fit.”

She wound a loose thread around her finger.

“We’d be pressed together, I could feel her heartbeat against my chest.” She smiled. “I was always the big spoon.” And then bit her lip. “Our heartbeats would align. So did our breathing. It was a bit eerie. But comforting.”

A beat passed.

“We were two halves of a whole. Our own person, and yet not.” Her jaw silently worked. “We always thought we shared the same soul.”

The tears welled anew. She blinked and they over spilled her bottom lashes. She made no move to dry them.

“Which makes what I did truly unforgivable.”

His brow creased. “What did you do?”

She wiped at her cheeks at last, movements tight and angry.

“I didn’t search for her.”

“You thought she was dead.”

She shook her head, face stricken.

“I should have known better.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “We share the same heart, the same breath, the same soul.” Her face glistened with tears. “I should have known she was still alive. I should have felt her. I should have looked for her. I practically _gave_ her to that fucking animal-”

“Parvati.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder, gripping tighter when she shifted forward.

“There’s no way you could have-”

“Don’t.” She jerked away, turning her back to him. “You can’t possibly understand what I’m talking about.” She took a jagged breath, placing a hand around her neck. “Please just go, Blaise.”

His hand hovered mid-air, slowly curling into a fist before dropping to his side.

He stared at her back for a long moment, eyes fixed upon the dark river of hair flowing down the center, wavy from her braid.

“My brother died.”

Her spine straightened, head whipping around. She searched his gaze, her own bloodshot and tear-stained.

“Your…” She wet her lips, rotating fully. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

He shook his head. “Neither did I. Not until I was fourteen.”

She settled back into the cushion, watching him silently.

“My mother inherited her title after marrying Alessandro Zabini, Count of Padua.”

He rested his arms atop his knees, eyes drifting to the opposite wall.

“But he wasn’t my father. She was nine weeks pregnant when they married. She managed to convince him I was premature, despite the fact I practically weighed a full stone at birth, fat little fuck that I was.”

She smiled. He drummed his fingers along the air, tapping a rhythmic beat.

“When I was twelve she told me who my real father was. She was drunk and feeling nostalgic I suppose, riding out the last of her high after killing lucky husband number three." He carded a hand through his hair. "She said he was a horse breeder. Traveled throughout Europe selling thoroughbreds. Turned a decent profit, but not nearly enough to maintain her long term affections.”

He wet his lips. “I spent two years searching for him. I had nothing to go on but his name and occupation. But I was so bloody desperate to meet him. So eager to get away from her. Away from this life.”

He sighed, head hitting the wall with a dull thunk.

“I finally tracked his location in Scotland. He’d retired, bought a house near Inverness with a massive stable.” He gazed at a crack in the ceiling tile. “I showed up on his door one rainy day in April. Heart in my throat, vision hazy, terrified out of my mind. I knocked and…”

His shoulders tensed. “A boy answered. Nearly my age. Wearing nearly my face.” He swallowed heavily. “His name was Logan.”

He took a deep breath, holding it for several beats before releasing, slumping down further.

“My father showed up a few minutes later. Recognized me on the spot, despite having no clue I even existed up until that point.” He smiled fondly. “He was bloody shocked. And then he was thrilled.”

Parvati scooted closer, shoulder pressing his arm.

“He invited me into his home, asked me hundreds of questions about myself, about my mother. Logan’s mum died in delivery, it had always just been the two of them.” He drummed his fingers along the floor. “He invited me to stay. Permanently.” His jaw tensed. “And I wanted to. So fucking badly.”

He shook his head, chin lowering, gaze dragging down to the wood paneling. "But I knew my mother's wrath knew no bounds. If she discovered I'd tracked my him down, approached him behind her back…"

He blinked.

“I was terrified of what she might do.” His hands flattened on the ground. “So I paid them visit in secret. Pretended I was on holiday with friends throughout the year. Theo covered for me, he was the only one I told.”

His lips curved up. “I was never happier than when I was at that ranch. Logan was two years younger... and was in bloody _awe_ of me.”

His expression sobered. “I’d never experienced anything like that before. People are always rolling their eyes. Dismissing me as the inebriated tosser of the group. A court jester. Easily ignored. Easily forgotten.”

Parvati’s brow creased as she studied his profile.

“But Logan thought I pissed liquid gold. Followed me everywhere I went. Became my shadow. We became close. Closer than I was with my father.”

He tipped his head back once more.

“Closer than I’ve been with anyone.”

He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. The silence stretched on. Parvati shifted, swallowing lightly.

“What happened to him?”

He didn’t open his eyes.

“He was taming a wild Arabian. His father told him to wait for him to come out and help… but Logan was always trying to grow up as fast as he could. He took the horse out on his own.”

His jaw tensed, hands clenching.

“He was thrown. Hit the ground with his neck. Died instantly.”

His lungs burned. He realized he’d stopped breathing.

“He was fifteen.”

She blinked, tears falling. She let them drop to her lap, placing her hand over his own on the ground between them, squeezing.

“Blaise…”

He swallowed heavily, eyes opening, fixed ahead, unseeing.

“My father found him. Carried him back to the ranch in his arms. Buried him by hand in the woods just outside the house.”

His vision was blurred. He wiped his eyes absently with the back of his other hand.

“He went inside. Wrote a letter. Addressed it to me. Pinned it to the front door. Walked into the stable with a revolver and shot himself.”

She gasped, hand clenching atop his. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, leaning in and wrapping her arms around him. “I’m so very sorry.”

He let her pull him down to her, resting his hand atop her knee. “I only knew them for three years. Only saw them ten times or so. But losing them still felt like losing a part of myself.”

He rubbed his eyes once more, head throbbing. He took a steadying breath, reining in his emotions, the memories.

“My point is…” He turned his head, meeting her eye. “I didn’t know they were dead until the letter arrived at my house.”

Her eyes sparked, realization striking, arms tensing around his back and chest.

“And I hated myself for it. I hated that I’d spent the last four days laughing and partying and drinking and living my life as though I hadn’t just lost the most vital part of myself. I hated that I didn’t know. That I didn’t feel the very moment it happened.”

He held her dark gaze steady. “Five years later and I still hate myself for it.” His hand squeezed her knee. “Your sister is alive, Parvati. She’s here. She’s real. Don’t spend the next five years hating yourself. Don’t lose any more time with her.”

She blinked, another tear rolling free.

“I won’t.”

They stared at each other intently. He raised a hand, running the back of his index finger along her cheek, catching the next tear. Her eyes sparkled and danced in the gaslight, a bright beacon drawing him forward like a ship at sea.

They leaned in, mouths aligned-

“Harry Fucking Potter!”

The voice echoed loudly through the hall, causing them to freeze in place, sharing stuttered breath.

“If you aren’t in this house I swear to Jesus Christ and all his disciples I’m going to wring your bloody neck before bricking you into the cellar the next chance I get!”

They held each other’s gaze for another long beat, amusement dancing in their eyes.

And then his hand dropped to his lap. Parvati sighed, leaning back.

“Shite. I told them about Mione but I forgot to mention Harry as well.”

Blaise pulled away. “It’s alright, Black’s warpath will lead him up here soon enough.”

They continued to watch the other. She tilted her head, dark hair cascading over her shoulder and brushing her thighs.

“You don’t have to wait with me, Blaise.”

“I know.”

She smiled, though it was clearly forced, tinged in sadness.

“I’ll be okay.”

He nodded, resting his head against the wall.

“I know.”

She swallowed lightly, expression falling as her eyes drifted to his mouth, only to glance away in the next moment, smoothing a hand over her skirts.

He smirked, reaching out and looping his arm around her waist, pulling her into his side.

She rolled her eyes but gave no resistance, settling into his frame and laying her head against his shoulder, making no move to dislodge his hand from her hip.

They both gazed ahead, eyes heavy and dark, lost to shared heartache.

Lost to the past.

* * *

Daphne pivoted on the dais, gazing over her shoulder into the three-way mirror, eyes skimming the train of the gown.

“Well?” Pansy asked from the chaise, bare feet hanging over the rolled edge. “What do you think?”

The blonde faced forward, smoothing a hand over the front panel.

“It’s beautiful.”

Astoria tilted her head, examining the side cutouts. “And certainly unconventional.”

Pansy tipped her head back, dark hair spilling over the tufted velvet as she laughed at the ceiling.

“I do believe that one word encapsulates my entire existence.”

Astoria smiled. “The dress is stunning, Pansy, but perhaps a bit much for a simple ceremony-”

“It’s perfect.”

They both faced Daphne. She turned to the mirror, silk swishing around her legs.

“My wedding gown would have been chosen for me. A dozen others would have a hand in the design.”

Her eyes gleamed brightly as she gathered handfuls of the voluminous skirts, lifting and fluffing. "But this…" The fluttering silk settled like a cloud. "This one I choose for myself.”

Pansy smirked, swinging her legs over the side of the chaise and pushing to her feet.

“You look radiant. Hardly virginal, but I think Gregory will appreciate this far more.”

She winked at Daphne’s reflection, coming up behind her and tugging at the loose fabric in the back.

“It will need to be taken in around the hips and bust.”

Daphne met her gaze in the mirror, eyes narrowed. “No one likes a bragger, Pans.”

“You’ve been blessed with plenty enough appealing attributes, darling, do allow me this small victory." She let go of the fabric, stepping back. "Besides, the neckline looks better with a smaller chest. It's why I could never wear it out. One false move and I'd spill right out.”

Astoria raised a dark brow. “You’ve never worn it? What a shame, it’s too magnificent to sit in a closet.”

Pansy met her gaze in the mirror. “I’ve never worn it _out_.”

Astoria giggled. “But you’ve worn it about the house? Playing gin rummy?”

Pansy smirked wickedly. “More like tending the garden.”

“Alright!” Daphne raised her hands. “Enough discussion about the dress before I change my mind about wearing it.”

Pansy laughed. “I assure you it’s well laundered.”

“Thank goodness for that.”

Astoria shifted in her chair, gripping the armrests. “So you’ve made up your mind? This is the one?”

Daphne nodded, eyes bright as she gazed down at herself. “Yes, it is.”

Astoria burst out of her seat as though it were spring loaded. The other girls spun in place, startled by the sudden movement.

“That’s great.” She pressed her hands together, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I actually have an errand to run, so if you don’t mind I’ll just meet you back at the house later.”

Daphne blinked. “Errand?”

Astoria nodded cheeks pinkening.

Her sister arched a brow. “What errand?”

“For the book. I have to visit the publishing house.”

Daphne blinked again. “Oh. Well, hold on, let me change and I’ll go with-”

“No, that’s alright!” Astoria skipped forward, quickly crossing the room. “It’ll be faster if I go alone. I’ll see you this evening.”

“Tori-”

“You really do look beautiful.” She paused in the doorway, meeting Pansy’s eye. “It was lovely seeing you, Pans. Thank you so much for your help.”

“Of course, darling. You know you’re welcome here anytime.”

She nodded, clutching the frame. “I’m off then.”

“Wait, Tori-”

“Bye Daph!”

Daphne sighed heavily as her sister rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.

Pansy turned around, brow arched and lips curved. “What a fascinating girl.”

“Don’t get me started.” She shook her head, grabbing handfuls of copious skirt. “Now help me get out of this dress.”

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve hungered to hear you utter those very words.”

She rolled her eyes. “Hilarious.” She turned her back to the brunette. “So, what gardens have you been tending to then?”

Pansy stepped forward, tugging the ribbons free and loosening the stays. “I see, you expect me to give up all _my_ secrets while you keep yours under lock and key.”

Daphne sighed, gazing at her own pale reflection. “I wasn’t keeping it a secret from you, Pans. I only decided on elopement last night. I haven’t even discussed it with Greg. I doubt it would have even occurred to me if not for Tori.”

Pansy hummed low in her throat, pulling the sleeves off Daphne’s shoulders.

“Tori brought it up?”

Daphne nodded. “She’s been… different. Since her book deal.”

“Good different or bad different?”

“I’m not entirely certain. Good, I suppose. It’s just…” She wet her lips, glancing down as she pushed the bodice down her hips. “She’s finally grown. It’s hard accepting that sometimes.”

“You’re her sister, Daph, not her mother.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

She sighed anew, accepting Pansy’s offered hand as she carefully stepped free of the swaddling fabric.

“I just want to shield her from the harsh realities I was exposed to. I know I can’t protect her from everything.”

She hopped off the dais, stumbling slightly as Pansy helped balance her.

“But I would give anything to protect her from a broken heart.”

Pansy released her, reaching for the gown and shaking it loose of wrinkles.

“Broken heart? Is that what she’s in the midst of?”

Daphne walked to the chaise, grabbing her discarded slip. “I don’t know what’s happening with her. She went to dinner at the Tonks and came home asking the strangest questions.”

“Do you think she’s seeing someone?”

“I don’t know when she’d find the time, she only visits the publishing house.”

Pansy smirked, draping the fabric over her arm.

Daphne blinked, stepping into her dress.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Do you know something?”

“I know a great many things, luv.”

“Pans-”

“You worry far too much, Daphne.”

Her jammed her arms through the sleeves, eyes narrowed.

“I just don’t want to see her disappointed.”

“She had a crush on Harry and is engaged to Draco.” Pansy hung the dress from the partition. “Disappointment visited her door a long time ago.” She turned around. “But she’s worked past it and created something of her own. And now she’s forging ahead with it, despite the obstacles.”

She crossed the woven carpet, stepping behind Daphne once more and tightening her laces.

“You’re right, she’s finally grown. And one day very soon, you’re going to have to let her go. For both your sakes.”

Daphne pressed a hand to her stomach, sucking in her breath, eyes burning.

“I don’t know if I can.”

Pansy paused her motions, no doubt hearing the hitch in her friend’s voice. She placed a hand to her shoulder.

“If you truly love something, you must let it go.” She squeezed. “I think you’ll find giving her space will bring you closer than before.”

Daphne laughed lightly, wiping at her eyes. “That is very sound advice. And decidedly disturbing coming from you.”

“It felt disturbing even saying it.”

She smiled, glancing over her shoulder.

“Thank you, Pans.” She placed her hand over her friend’s, pinning it in place. “For the dress, for everything.”

The brunette tilted her head, eyes gleaming. “You deserve to be happy, Daphne. I’m glad you’re finally taking control of your fate.”

Daphne searched her gaze. “I wish…” She swallowed. “I want you to be happy too, Pans. You deserve it just as much as anyone.”

Pansy smirked, dropping her hand and glancing away.

“Not everyone gets a happy ending.” She stepped back several paces. “Which is just as well. They’re easily forgotten anyhow. Tragedies are far more memorable.”

She raised her chin, turning towards the mirror. “I don’t have to be liked. I don’t have to be accepted. But I _will_ be remembered.”

She met her reflection’s gaze, holding it with steely intensity.

“Whether they like it or not.”

* * *

Harry dragged a hand over his face, pulling back from the window with an exasperated sigh.

Only to jolt as a familiar sight came into view ahead.

His heart leaped, fist pounding the roof of the car.

“Here!”

The driver directed the horses to the side of the road, pulling up behind another carriage, the street crowded and bustling with the afternoon rush.

Harry pulled open the door, staggering out.

“Stay here-”

“Sorry, Sir. Peak hours, I can’t reserve the carriage.”

He groaned, raking another hand through his hair, pulling at the roots.

“I’ll pay you double.”

The man lifted his chin, clearly deliberating the offer. His eyes swept the state of Harry’s clothes, disheveled but bespoke, and finally nodded.

“Fine. But I got to circle round the block, I’ll be fined for being stationary without a passenger otherwise.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “Alright, meet me back on this corner when you come round.”

He turned on his heel and charged ahead, dodging pedestrians as he went, eyes affixed to the swinging Apothecary sign in the distance. He bit his tongue preemptively, already dreading the conversation sure to follow.

He’d only encountered Snape in person twice in his life. Both occasions had been supremely unpleasant.

Reflecting more on the matter, which Harry was reluctant to do, it almost seemed as though the chemist harbored a deep seeded hatred for Harry, which made no sense whatsoever as Harry had never been anything but perfectly polite, if not slightly rambunctious, during both of their brief encounters.

How anyone could hate a child for any reason was beyond Harry.

But then again, some people were just arseholes.

Yet he'd face down the snapping bat once again if it meant finding Ron. Harry had been unsuccessful in his hunt so far but felt hopeful his friend may have come to Hermione's place of work in search of her.

He paused outside a food trolley, waiting for it to pass before proceeding for the front door of the shop.

He was about to resume his path when the door opened.

And a familiar face emerged.

He reared back, heart thrumming, scrambling to regain his senses.

“Susan!”

She glanced around, spine straight, her eyes widening when they found him at last.

“Harry!”

He darted around the trolley, meeting her halfway.

“I’m looking for Ron, have you seen him?”

She nodded, placing a hand to her hat to keep it in place as a particularly strong breeze blew past. “We parted ways about half an hour ago. He asked me to visit the Apothecary since Snape would be more likely to speak with me.”

Harry blinked, grabbing her elbow and escorting her closer to the brick, out of the path of busy pedestrians.

“He enlisted you to help him search?”

She must have sensed the unease in his voice.

“Don't worry, he told me everything you said. I didn’t tell my father, even though I really think-”

“Mione is fine. She’s at Grimmauld.”

Her eyes went wide once more, relief flooding her delicate features.

“Oh thank god! Ron was out of his mind with worry.”

He breathed his own sigh of relief. “I’ve been searching everywhere for him. I was terrified he’d end up like-”

He stopped short, heart skipping anew.

“Sorry.”

She shook her head, glancing away. “It’s alright. You can say Cormac’s name. I won’t fall apart.”

His jaw tensed. “I know.”

“Harry!”

He spun around.

“Oh thank Christ.”

Ron appeared at the end of the street, red hair standing out like a fiery beacon as he waved his long arm overhead. His cheeks turned ruddy as he jogged to where they stood.

“Please tell me you found her.”

Harry nodded. “She arrived at Grimmauld this morning.”

Ron dragged both hands through his hair, leaning back against the bookstore wall and catching his breath.

“Shite! I’ve been all over the city, I was running out of places to look.” He gripped his side. “Where’s that bastard? Where’s Rabastan?” His blue eyes raged like a turbulent sea. “Did he hurt her? I swear to fucking God-”

“She’s alright, Ron.” Harry placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, but the muscle remained tense beneath his palm. “She’s safe. You can see for yourself. I have a carriage on the way, I’ll take you to Grimmauld.”

Ron nodded, standing away from the wall. Susan shifted at their sides, earning Harry’s attention once more.

“Do you-”

“I’d like to come as well. Unless you rather go alone-”

"Of course not." Ron sidled closer. "You'll come with us." He reached down and grabbed her hand. "I'm terrified to let anyone out of my sight anymore. I need to check on Gin-”

“Ginny is _fine_ , Ron.” She laid a hand to his chest. Harry watched in fascination as he instantly calmed beneath her touch, shoulders dropping. She smiled, voice soothing. “We saw her only an hour ago at the Burrow.”

Ron inhaled deeply. “Okay.” He dragged his other hand over his face. “Shite, let me pop down the street. Fred’s at the Tonks, I stopped in looking for her and got him all worked up.”

Harry nodded, stepping back. “Meet us on the corner when you’re done, we’ll be in the carriage.”

Ron continued to hold Susan’s gaze, leaning down and dropping a quick kiss to the top of her head while she laughed. Harry glanced away, tucking his hands in his pockets while Ron squeezed her hand and then dropped it, taking off down the street in another jog.

Susan stepped forward. Harry looked up, offering his elbow. She smiled, grabbing it with both hands while he escorted her at a much slower pace.

She wet her lips, voice low.

“I’m glad she’s alright.”

He nodded. “So am I.” He gestured to the corner with his chin. “The carriage is down here.”

She easily kept pace beside him as he navigated them through oncoming foot traffic. He glanced at her as they emerged from the crowd.

“Thank you for helping look.”

Her brow furrowed. “Of course. I’ll help any way I can.” And then her eyes darted forward, teeth worrying her bottom lip. “Speaking of which… I’ve been meaning to tell you something but I haven’t been able to visit Grimmauld.”

He tilted his head. “What?”

“I raided the record’s room at work. It took a few searches to find anything. I could never stay very long, the office is so busy in the day and my father gets suspicious if I linger in the evening.”

His heart thundered. “But you found something.”

She nodded, straightening her hat once more. “Some cold cases that align with Lavender’s murder.” She flexed her jaw, as though struggling to contain the words. “And something else.”

She met his gaze as they stopped on the corner, carriages rushing past in a flash of noise and wind.

“I looked up the Doctor. Tom Riddle.”

Harry sighed, shoulders lowering.

“It’s alright, Susan. I was suspicious of him back then, but I trust him now.”

She leaned in swiftly, speaking above the fray. “I think he’s very dangerous, Harry.”

He bit back a smirk, unnerved by his own morbidly amused reaction. “So do I.”

She opened her mouth, searching his gaze. “You don’t understand, I found-”

“Aye, Sir! You ready?”

They both jumped as a carriage came to a crashing halt along the curb just before them, the driver pulling hard on the reins as the horses brayed and panted heavily. Harry nodded.

“We’re waiting on one other.”

The driver wound the reins around his hand. “Aye, Sir. Hop on in.”

Harry stepped off the curb, reaching for the golden handle and pulling open the door, offering her his other hand. She stepped closer but made no move to enter.

“Harry, please listen, Dr. Riddle isn’t-”

“Oi!”

They both glanced up at the familiar timbre. Ron began his sprint down the street towards them, red hair flying in the wind. He nearly collided with an old woman as his gaze remained fixed ahead, earning the full wrath of her ire. He threw his arms over head, blocking the blows of her parasol as she proceeded to beat him with it.

Harry used the momentary distraction to lean in, gripping Susan’s arm and regaining her attention.

“He isn’t _what_ , Susan?”

She wet her lips, complexion pale. She glanced nervously to the side. Ron was heading straight for them  again. She gazed up at Harry, eyes frantic.

“I think it’s a very bad idea for Hermione to be alone with him.”

She grasped the handrail and hoisted herself into the carriage. Harry blinked several times, Ron's shadow fast approaching from behind.

He gazed into the interior, meeting her eye and nodding with firm resolve.

“Then I’ll make sure she keeps her distance.”

* * *

Hermione rolled to her side, releasing a sharp sigh of frustration, inadvertently blowing a strand of hair across her face.

She huffed in annoyance, forcibly pushing the curl aside as she gazed ahead at the wall separating her bedroom from Tom’s.

She closed her eyes, rolling to her back and then glancing at the opposite wall.

Separating her from Dawn.

_Bloody hell._

She gazed at the ceiling, raking her nails across her scalp and gathering her hair into a messy pile.

She couldn’t lie still. Couldn’t relax. Couldn’t slow her mind.

So she sat up, propped on her elbows and gazing at the sheer curtains ahead.

The light was slowly fading, heavy shadows cast across the walls.

Her eyes flitted to the door, lingering on the knob.

She bit her lip.

_Don’t even think about it._

She sat up the rest of the way, swinging her legs over the side of the mattress.

_You are a guest in this home, Hermione Granger!_

She rose to her feet, bare soles padding softly across the wood.

_Don’t. You. Dare._

She stopped outside the door, shifting anxiously.

_Bloody hell, you’re a fool._

She grasped the knob with both hands, holding her breath.

_Alright, let’s get on with it then._

She opened the door slowly, pressing her tongue to her teeth as she peered into the empty stretch of hallway beyond, straining to listen for noise.

She glanced to her right, staring at Tom’s door.

No sound emitted.

She crept out, shutting her door behind her, leaving it barely ajar before rising to her tiptoes and creeping in the opposite direction.

She paused outside Dawn’s room, pressing her ear to the wood.

Silence greeted her.

She briefly considered peaking in on the girl, but quickly shook her head, dismissing the notion.

Dawn deserved her privacy as much as any of them.

Her hands curled to fists, arms held aloft as she crept along the runner as though navigating a balance beam, eyes narrowed in concentration as though she could see which wood slats would elicit a groan.

She made it to the stairwell without commotion, releasing her breath in a powerful rush as she clutched the banister and made her way down.

She paused at the bottom, glancing either way down the hall, unnerved by the silence at either end.

She wondered if Dumbledore was still home.

She sighed, heading in the direction of the kitchen, deciding a cup of tea would settle her nerves.

When the quiet finally shattered.

Rapid footsteps raced in the distance, light and soft, followed by a child’s sharp peel of laughter.

Hermione spun in place, eyes wide, heart leaping as she caught sight of blonde hair and white skirts.

The little girl disappeared around the corner, pattering footsteps growing distant.

“Hello?”

Melodious laughter met her ears once more.

Hermione awoke from her momentary stupor, leaping forward and darting down the hall, slowing only to round the corner, hand bracing the wall.

She gasped as a door at the end of the adjoining hall slammed shut, only the barest sliver of a pale, smiling face taking root in her mind before the solid wood barrier filled her view.

“Hello?”

She carefully approached, heart racing as she stopped just before the door, pressing her hand to the wood.

The girl’s laughter continued on, muffled and unabated.

Hermione reached for the knob-

“Good evening, my dear.”

She screamed, slapping a hand to her mouth and spinning around, back slamming against the frame.

She blinked rapidly, pressing a hand to her chest and flushing brightly as she met a pair of startling blue eyes.

“Admiral!”

He smiled, concern and amusement etching his face in equal measure. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought I heard you speaking to me.”

She wet her lips, trying to catch her breath. “I was speaking to the girl.”

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming beneath the sconce light.

“Dawn?”

She shook her head, arms dropping, hand resting atop the brass knob.

“No, the-”

She paused, realizing with a cold wash of dread that she may not have truly seen what she thought she saw.

She swallowed tentatively. “I thought I…” She shook her head, curls dancing across her shoulders. “Nevermind.”

He smiled, voice patient. “Perhaps you saw a ghost.”

Despite his soothing tone, she felt her entire body tense, the knob rattling beneath her trembling hand. “Perhaps.”

His eyes darted down, fixing upon her hand curled around the knob.

“That room has been sealed for many years.”

She released the brass handle as though it were red hot.

“My apologies.”

He met her gaze once more. “There is nothing to apologize for.” His smile turned brittle, the creases deepening at the corner of his mouth and eyes. “It was my sister’s bedroom.”

She laced her fingers before her, standing away from the door. “I didn’t know you have a sister.” She smiled amicably. “Does she live in London?”

“She’s dead.”

Her smile dropped like a dead weight. “I’m so sorry.”

He nodded slowing, studying her expression with unnerving precision.

“You are not unaccustomed to loss either.” He tilted his head. “My deepest condolences. Losing a parent is never easy, little less both, and to such tragic circumstances at such a young age.”

Her body throbbed, pulse deafening. “Thank you.”

The silence lingered, coated their skin, corrosive as acid.

She wet her lips once more, gathering her nerve and opening her mouth-

But no sound emitted, questions flying through her mind far too quickly to grasp a single one.

His eyes gleamed, expression unnervingly knowing as he took a step back, allowing her room to move beside him.

“Would you like some tea? I find that tea is always a good answer, no matter the question.”

She breathed a heavy sigh of relief, nodding quickly. “That’s actually what I came downstairs to get.”

“Great minds think alike. Right this way, my dear.”

She sidled beside him, matching his slow and casual gate down the hall and peering sideways at him.

“Thank you again for taking us in. I know you’ve said it isn’t necessary, but I must express my deepest gratitude.”

“You are a very emotive girl.”

She blinked. He smiled, chuckling softly and gazing down upon her.

"I mean that as a compliment, I assure you. I find your disposition a breath of fresh air. Tom has always worked so hard to conceal his emotions, likely in an attempt to convince himself he doesn't have them."

She bit her lip, studying his profile as he led them around the corner and into the heavily shadowed kitchen.

“You’ve known him since he was young then?”

He grinned, flipping a switch on the wall and triggering the gaslight on the ceiling.

“How much has he told you?”

She glanced away, trying not to fidget. “Not much.”

“Did he expressly forbade you from asking such questions?”

Her eyes flashed, shoulders drawing back, earlier trepidation forgotten.

“No. He knows forbidding me from something is the surest way to drive me towards it.”

Dumbledore’s melodious laughter filled the small space, bouncing off the tiled floor and backsplash, a deep, soothing cadence that smoothed her hackles.

“Ah, it’s all starting to come together.”

She watched him open the cupboard. “What is?”

He removed a black kettle, walking towards the sink. “His attachment to you.”

She reared back, burning with fever and grasping the edge of the countertop for balance, fingertips turning white.

“I- we aren’t- he doesn’t-”

He turned on the faucet, smiling all the while. “There is no need to be embarrassed, my dear. Tom has a powerful draw. Very few can resist, regardless of their opinion of him.”

He set the full kettle aside. “However, I’ve never seen him keep what he captures.” He removed two mugs from an overhead rack. “Until now.”

She swallowed heavily, heart beating so rapidly her vision hazed. “We’re working together to bring the organization down. That’s all.”

“Just a simple life or death mission to save the world.”

His casual tone helped her breathe easier, the corner of her lips lifting of their own accord. “Whatever you want to call it. We’re simply working together, as partners.”

He nodded, grasping the kettle handle once more. “If he agreed to a partnership, there is nothing simple about it.” He set it atop the burner, sliding open the drawer and extracting a narrow box of matches. “But I’m leading our conversation astray. You want to know how I came to be Tom’s guardian?”

She blinked, thoughts caught in a chaotic cyclone. “I…” She watched him strike a match. “I thought you were merely his benefactor.”

He lit the burner, shaking out the match. “I was that as well.”

A narrow strip of smoke rose into the air, twisting and bending before her eyes, stretching wide as gaping eyes and mouths appeared, silent screams filling her head until the cloud dissipated into thin air.

“I met Tom the day he was born. Alas, I did not hold him. Merope was far too protective to let anyone come near.”

He set the matches aside, stepping away from the stove. “She was better in those days.” He turned to face her. “Those early days. Her mind began to deteriorate as the years progressed. While her obsession grew.”

He paused, shaking his head ruefully. “I’m getting ahead of myself.” He slowly approached the opposite end of the island she hovered behind. “I should really start the story with Ariana.”

He read the confusion on her face.

“My sister. Nearly a decade my junior. And the absolute light of my life.”

He smiled fondly, leaning a hip against the counter. “Ari was…” His eyes drifted upwards, sparkling otherworldly. “She was many things. I could go on for days singing her praises. But none of that is relevant to the topic at hand.”

He crossed his arms, smile fading. “The relevant piece of information is that she was taken by the Dollmaker. One of his first victims.”

She held her breath, unconsciously shifting forward, drawn by the powerful cadence of his voice.

"After her murder, I pursued him tirelessly. I won't disturb you with the details, but my hunt lasted a great many years and took me a great many places, literal and figurative. I was a lost soul, wandering the bowels of hell in pursuit of the devil himself."

His eyes narrowed behind his spectacles. “I never found him. Close as I got, he was always at least one step ahead.” He met her eye, gaze intense, unyielding. “And then my search ended permanently. The day I found Merope.”

She wet her lips, leaning into the opposite side of the counter. “Tom’s mother.”

“Indeed. She was pregnant at the time and somehow escaped her former Master. The Dollmaker was hunting for her. A price was on her head.” He sighed deeply, glancing to the counter and then back up, gaze dark. “It is to my endless shame I must admit to you, my very first thought was not to protect her.” A heavy beat. “Rather, it was to use her as bait.”

Her heart jolted. He seemed to read the disquiet in her eyes.

"It was at that moment I realized the full extent of my transformation. I saw the creature I had become. An animal driven by base instinct, rage, and hatred. A shell of my former self."

His jaw tensed, words course, grating. “I knew Ariana would be ashamed of the man I had become. The legacy of death and destruction I left in her name.”

He raised his chin, light chasing away the shadows marring his sharp features. “So I took Merope and gave up the hunt. I brought her into my care, my home, and helped finance her way after Tom was born.”

His tone changed, seeming to soften and deepen at the same time, conflict evident in his eyes and voice. "She became more able-bodied as time progressed. I purchased a home for her outside of London. My Naval career began to take off and I visited less often. I knew there were difficulties, but I never knew the full extent of them, not until it was much too late."

He scrubbed a hand over his face, scratching absently at his beard, staring thoughtfully at a cabinet on the wall. “She thought she was in love with Thomas Riddle. A piece of conditioning that refused to wear off I’d assumed, despite her ability to somehow break free of the worst of it.”

He sighed deeply, arms crossing tight over his chest.

“She abandoned the home I’d given her and moved to London. Took up residence near the docks, refusing my assistance at every turn. Riddle had left Mungo’s by then and was deep inside the Dollmaker’s pocket. I did my best to keep Merope and Tom hidden. But she became increasingly unstable.”

His jaw tensed. “She finally tracked down Thomas’s whereabouts and sent him a letter, detailing her location.”

Hermione clutched the counter anew, a tremor of dread seizing her.

“By the time I sailed back to London it was too late.”

She shuddered as darkness enveloped the room, taking them both under in a sudden, powerful rush.

“Merope was dead. Tom was gone.”

She closed her eyes, terrified of the tale to follow, but needing to hear it all the same. Every word. Every detail.

“It took three months to find him. Thomas had taken him to the continent. They were nearly to Asia by the time I-”

He broke off abruptly, eyes lost, face stricken. Her chest ached painfully. She pressed a hand to her heart. The movement gained his attention, eyes darting to her, unfocused but intense.

“I brought Tom back to London with me. He was hospitalized for several weeks before being released into my custody. He lived in this very house, though he ran away more times than I can count, bursting with anger and resentment and confusion.”

He swept a hand over the countertop, brushing away invisible crumbs. “Merope and I had decided to keep the story of his conception a secret. He found out the truth in the most horrific way possible. And with his mother gone, he took out all of his frustration on me.”

He nodded, as much to himself as to her.

“Rightly so.”

He glared at the wood grain, but she knew who the true recipient of his derision was.

“I should have known better. I should never have left her alone.” He shook his head, hand curling to a fist. “If only I had been more focused on what was truly important instead of my career, this entire tragedy may have been avoided.”

A brief pause. An endless expanse of despair and heartbreak.

“Ariana may still be alive.”

She swallowed heavily, speaking without pause. “It’s not your fault she was taken.”

He blinked, eyes flickering up, as though once more registering her presence before him.

His expression softened, the flames in his eyes dimming. “It is useless to ponder now. But it still haunts me. More often than I care to admit.”

The kettle began to steam.

“I was away when it happened. I’d just been promoted and was halfway around the world when I found out what they did.”

She blinked.

“They?”

“Our parents.”

She blinked again. The kettle started to whistle.

“Ariana was not like other girls.” He backed away from the island, turning to the stove. “At sixteen her mind was still as innocent as a child’s. She was intelligent, to be certain, but her mental development did not follow along what doctor’s deemed a _normal_ path.”

He grabbed a dishtowel, wrapping the handle and lifting the kettle from the flame. “My parents were staunch traditionalists. Ashamed to have a child who was different. They feared their reputation would be tarnished once she reached majority and could no longer be hidden.”

He turned off the stove, returning to the cabinet. “So they waited until I disembarked for my longest assignment yet. And then sent her to a group home.”

He extracted a teapot, less decorative than the one he previously used to serve them.

“They claimed it was for her own benefit. To afford her round the clock care with professionals who could help fix her. As if she was broken. As if there was something fundamentally wrong with being wholly unique.”

He sighed heavily, pouring the steaming liquid into the pot.

“My apologies, my dear. It’s been some time since I’ve spoken on the topic. I get rather… heated, as you can see.”

She shook her head, bracing the counter. “Don’t apologize on my account. You have every right to be heated. What they did was truly unforgivable. Shipping away their own child.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “I would love to say it was a different time. But I fear times have not changed a great deal since.”

Her jaw set, eyes narrowed as she watched him slide a sealed jar of tea leaves across the counter.

“I was committed based on the hearsay of one person.”

He nodded, as though already knowing as much. “I am very sorry you had to endure such horrors.” He gathered a pile of ground leaves with a wooden scoop, gracefully pouring them into the infuser. “I am also sorry you’re entangled in this mess.”

Her shoulders lowered, hands unclenching. “None of us asked to be entangled. He abused the people we loved and destroyed our lives. We had no choice.”

She wet her lips, eyes transfixed by his seamless ministrations as he sealed the jar and replaced the lid of the pot.

“Did he…” Her brows furrowed, words jumbling in her throat. She forced them free, eager to dispel them. “May I ask what became of Ariana?”

He tilted his head, placing his hands flat to the counter and glancing up, eyes bright and guileless once more.

“I’d like to show you something.”

She tilted her head, sensing the weight of his words.

“Alright.”

He smiled warmly, pushing back from the counter and leading a slow path into the hallway.

She stopped in the doorway, watching as he paused before a small decorative table, running his fingertips beneath the top and releasing a small hidden panel.

A gleaming key fell into his palm.

Her heart climbed steadily up her throat as he made his way to the sealed door at the end of the corridor.

The bedroom.

She held her breath, taking a slow step forward, hands curling as he slid the key into the lock.

And paused.

He stood frozen for several moments, one hand on the key, the other flat against the wood.

He spoke to the barrier, voice low.

“I have not opened this door in a very long time.”

She paused a few feet away. “You don’t have to-”

“It’s alright. I just needed a moment.”

She nodded, though she knew he couldn’t see the movement. His shoulders drew in, back tight.

And then he released a long breath, turning the key.

The lock clicked loudly, jolting her.

He pushed open the door in the next moment, hovering at the threshold, outlined by the utter darkness beyond.

She blinked, blood running cold as he stepped fully inside, the shadows swallowing his form.

She opened her mouth, no words emitting, pulse thrumming as she heard the faint movement within.

And then he pulled a heavy curtain aside at the opposite end, beckoning forth the fading evening sun, the room filling with pale orange light.

She breathed a heavy sigh, forcing her knees to unlock, crossing to the end of the hall.

He tied the curtain aside, a heavy dust cloud disturbed by the motion, thousands of tiny flecks dancing in the light.

She blinked, the room slowly coming into view the closer she approached.

And then she reached the threshold.

And saw it at last.

She barely stifled a gasp, staggering back, clipping her shoulder against the wall as the blood drained rapidly from her face and pooled at her feet, weighing her in place, cold and frozen, mind driven wild by panic.

Yet only one thought emerged, clear and urgent above all others.

“Oh my god.”

* * *

Astoria hovered outside the brick wall, trying to regulate her breathing while compulsively running her hands over the front of her skirts, smoothing invisible wrinkles.

She moved to her hair next, running fingertips through the dark locks, ignoring the tremor in her hands.

She blushed when she caught sight of her reflection in the shop window across the alley.

Two gentlemen walked past, pausing their conversation to gaze upon her. They tipped their hats, eyes roaming her figure and lingering on her curves, causing her heart to beat erratically, squirming in place as she forced a congenial smile, crossing her arms over her chest and glancing away, breathing easier once they rounded the corner.

She knew it was positively immoral for a young woman of title to be seen in public without a chaperone. She could only imagine what her society friends would think of her, stricken with the near crippling fear of a pedestrian recognizing her and reporting her wild antics to her father.

But then the door opened in the shop across the street and all thoughts fled her mind, fear included. She stood straighter, rising to her tiptoes, hand hovering mid-air.

She swallowed, lowering it to her side as she watched him emerge into the bright sunlight, running a hand through his hair and straightening his collar, blue eyes darting in either direction as he spun a slow circle.

It was surreal, watching someone look for her.

It caused warmth to permeate her belly, spreading up into her chest and low into her-

She swallowed again, body throbbing with the force of her heartbeat.

No one had ever sought out her company, searched for her in a crowd. No one but Daphne.

And Fred Weasley was certainly not Daphne.

The light glinted off his auburn hair, freckles standing in stark relief on his smooth skin, shirt stretched taut across his chest and arms as he rested his hands atop his head, continuing to search the busy street from his tall vantage point.

She stepped forward, intent on ending his struggles-

And then his eyes found her.

She froze in place, going both rigid and boneless as his face split into a wide, uninhibited grin, eyes sparkling brilliantly even from a distance.

He lowered his arms, gaze slowly tracking down her figure. It was a quick inspection, his eyes didn’t linger as the other men’s had, but a brief look of unmistakable appreciation stole his features and her remaining breath.

He waved to her and then sprang forward, focusing upon the passing carriages, long legs eating up the cobblestone as he navigated his way across the busy road.

She flushed hotly, silently cursing herself and trying her damnedest not to fidget, to leave her dress and hair alone.

She held her breath as he reached the curb at last, slowing his jog to a slow gait as he crossed the sidewalk towards her.

Her hands clenched. She forced them to relax, craning her neck to hold his gaze as he stopped directly before her, disarming grin still firmly affixed to his handsome face.

“Hey.”

She couldn’t stop her face from mirroring his expression.

“Hey.”

It was the most inelegant greeting she'd ever extended, and yet he appeared overjoyed by it, blue eyes searching her face, lingering at her lips but never dropping below her chin.

“You look beautiful.”

Her flush turned into a fever, burning so hot she was certain she’d faint any moment now.

“Thank you.”

He laughed, shaking his head and holding her gaze, the sound melodious and infectious, causing her smile to widen.

“I probably shouldn’t say those kinds of things. My manners are a bit wanting. Mum could never get me or Georgie to sit still long enough to teach us anything of value.”

She tilted her head, eyes glittering. “You’re much too critical of yourself. There’s nothing wrong with your manners.”

His smile stretched past his face. She laughed shortly.

“Alright, perhaps they’re a _bit_ rusty." She felt her spine loosen, shoulders easing back. "But there are far worse things to be lacking in."

“You’re far too polite, Miss Greengrass.” He bent his arm, holding it aloft. “Fancy a stroll, milady?”

She laughed shortly.

“Only if you promise to be yourself.” She wet her lips, heart skipping when his eyes tracked the movement. “And to call me Astoria.”

He nodded, meeting her gaze as she stepped forward to take his arm.

“Anything you want.” His eyes shone an unfathomable blue, brighter than the sky, freer than the ocean. “Astoria.”

* * *

Pansy nodded to the host, sending him a wink as he pulled out her chair.

Theo rolled his eyes, retaking his seat as she lowered into hers. The young man backed away swiftly, blushing as his eyes lingered on her form.

Theo cleared his throat and she met his gaze at last, the very picture of innocence. “What?”

He shook his head, replacing his napkin in his lap. “How nice of you to finally join me.”

“How nice of _you_ to wake me up at the crack of dawn with a lunch invitation.”

“More like dinner now.”

She shrugged, grabbing up her own napkin and shaking it open. “I sent a letter informing you I’d be late.”

He glanced down, tracing his salad fork with an idle fingertip. “I haven’t been home in a while.”

She hummed, smoothing her napkin. “Is that so? Is there greater entertainment elsewhere?”

“You could say that.”

She blinked, glancing up, dark eyes gleaming. “ _Do_ tell.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows atop the linen and folding her hands beneath her chin. “I’ve been bored to tears, cooped up all alone in my little shack.”

He arched a dark brow. “I highly doubt you’ve been alone.”

She glanced to the table, leaning back in her chair. “I haven’t had company for quite some time.”

He watched her brush imaginary crumbs from the linen. By the time her eyes lifted her expression was schooled, voice carefully void of inflection.

“So, what’s on your mind? I assume you didn’t call this meeting simply to gaze upon your magnificent fiance.”

He smirked. “I’ve always preferred your company to all others, Pans.”

She smirked in turn. “ _All_ others?”

He shook his head, barely suppressing an eye roll. “Most others.”

She folded her hands primly, spearing him through with her glinting gaze.

“Alright, you’ve sufficiently sweet talked me. What do you need?”

He folded his arms atop the table. “Just a small favor. But one of vital importance.”

“I’m intrigued.”

He opened his mouth, only to close it as their waiter arrived.

“Good day, Sir Nott, Lady Parkinson.” He bowed low, nose nearly touching the tabletop. “It is an honor to serve-”

“There’s no need for that, darling.” Pansy waved a hand. “Just bring a bottle of your most expensive red and keep them coming.”

He blinked. “Of course, Madam. May I take your food order as well?”

“I have a feeling I’m going to be drinking my dinner tonight.”

Theo sighed, nodding to the man. “Just the wine for now.”

The waiter bowed once more. “Right away.”

Theo watched her closely as the man departed. “Liquid dinner?”

"Don't pretend you haven't partaken in the same. Let's get back on the relevant topic-"

“That can wait.”

She tilted her head. “You just said it was _vitally_ important.”

“It is. But so are you.” His eyes roamed her face. “You seem distracted. Has something happened?”

Her jaw tightened, fingers drumming along the stem of her empty glass. “Nothing of interest.”

“So you’ve mentioned. Why is that?”

“I lead a very mundane life.”

“Since when?”

“I don’t want to discuss me, Theo. Either ask what you came to ask or-”

“Did your father do something?”

She went rigid in her seat, hand flattening atop the table.

“ _No_.”

“Pans, I told you, if he comes to the house you send a message to me or Draco right away-”

“He didn't come to the bloody house! He doesn’t even know I took up residence there.” She sighed deeply, shoulders drawing back as her eyes narrowed. “Fine, if you insist on sharing, why don’t you tell me why you haven’t been home in so long?”

Theo sat back, holding her lethal gaze steady.

“I came out to my father.”

She jolted, knocking the glass over, pallor fading to deathly white.

The waiter emerged from the ether, bright smile affixed and bottle in hand.

“Here we are, Sir and Madam, our finest bottle of-”

He blinked, mouth opening and closing as he glanced between them.

“Our finest bottle of-”

“I’ll take it.” Theo reached out, grabbing the bottle by the neck and setting it on the table. “Thank you, that will be all.”

The waiter nodded, quickly scurrying away.

Pansy continued to gape, seemingly oblivious to the man’s appearance and departure.

Theo rubbed his eyes. “I shouldn’t have sprung-”

“You _what_?”

He dragged the hand over his face, lingering at his mouth, meeting her wide gaze. “You heard me.”

She leaned in swiftly, hands bracing the edge of the table as though preparing to flip it over.

“Are you insane? What the hell were you thinking? Goddammit, Theo!”

He glanced at the neighboring tables, several pairs of eyes darting in their direction, followed by low whispers.

“Shh! Keep your voice down!”

“You must be the biggest fucking imbecile on the goddamn planet!”

“Pans-”

“He’ll kill you. It’s a miracle you’re still alive right now.” She shook her head, pressing a hand to her temple, eyes darting around the table, glancing off every item in the place settings. “It’s alright, it’ll be alright… we’ll think of something. You can deny the accusation, his testimony won't hold water if we can-”

“Pansy, calm down.”

Her eyes flickered back up.

“ _Calm down_?” Her nails dug grooves into the soft veneer, color infusing her cheeks. “Do you have _any_ idea what you’ve done? You’ve not only endangered your life but Potter’s as well!”

“Pansy!” He slammed his hand on the table, causing her to jump and his own glass to fall, silverware bouncing in place.

He lowered his voice, well aware of the stares they were receiving. “Pansy, please, shut up for two goddamn seconds.”

She blinked, setting back and lips pressing thin.

He wet his own, voice calm and steady. “My father _isn’t_ going to report me.”

She opened her mouth but he held up a staying hand. “ _Pans_ , just listen.”

She sighed, crossing her arms and grinding her jaw, eyes burning in the low light.

“I didn’t plan on telling him. We got into a heated row and it just… slipped out.”

She scoffed. He sighed, shaking his head.

“Okay. It didn’t slip out. I told him quite deliberately. I wanted to piss him off.” His hands curled to fists atop the table. “He was being more vile than usual, more violent.”

Her eyes darted to the faded bruise beneath his eye, brow creasing as though she was just now seeing it, the shadows heavy in this corner of the restaurant.

“I hit my limit and I hit it hard. So I told him.” He swallowed heavily. “Actually, he already knew. Thanks to Lucius Fucking Malfoy.” He released a deep breath. “But I confirmed it.”

Her brow flattened, jaw working silently for several moments before she spoke.

“I know your father is a right bastard. But you shouldn’t have given him the ammunition.”

“He won’t tell anyone.” He shook his head. “I’m his only heir. If I’m arrested it’ll disgrace our family, him included. He’d never put his reputation at risk, no matter his hatred of me.”

Her hands slid into her lap, shoulders dropping. “I need a drink.”

He nodded resolutely. “I second that.”

He set their glasses right and poured hers to the brim. She picked it up before he pulled the bottle away, wine splashing the white linen.

She had it drained by the time he finished filling his own. He raised a brow, impressed, and emptied the bottle into her awaiting glass.

She watched the ruby liquid pour, eyes hooded.

“You can justify it all you want, Theo. It was still a fucking terrible decision.”

He nodded, setting the empty bottle aside. “I know.” He picked up his glass, bringing it to his lips and taking a deep sip.

“But I’m hardly one to judge.” She licked her lips, tracing the rim of her glass with a delicate fingertip. “I accidentally seduced the Weasley girl at my house.”

Theo choked on his gulp, sputtering into his hand as he set the glass down with force, sloshing wine over the edge.

He wheezed a thin breath, eyes tearing.

“How do you _accidentally_ seduce someone?”

She shrugged, taking another drink. “I’m not always in control of my magnetism.”

He rolled his eyes. “Now who’s trying to justify their terrible decision?”

She glared across the table. “It isn’t the same. You're supposed to be the rational one. I’m known for being recklessly irresponsible.”

She pushed the glass aside, rubbing at her temples. “Christ. Your father is the least of our worries. If Lucius knows then we’re completely up shite creek.”

“This isn't your problem, Pans.”

She glanced up sharply. “Your problems are _my_ problems, idiot.”

“We aren’t married yet.”

“It has nothing to do with our engagement.”

He blinked.

She held his gaze, voice steady. “This is a right mess, we have to be clever about navigating our way through it.”

His chest filled with warmth. He swallowed the feeling down, wetting his lips and forging ahead.

“Actually, I might have an idea on how to solve it.” He pushed his glass aside with care. “I didn’t ask you here to discuss this. But the favor I need may serve a dual purpose. Two birds if you will.”

She tilted her head. “Now I’m most definitely intrigued.”

He smirked. “It also involves pissing off your father.”

Her lips curved into a crescent grin, teeth gleaming in the candlelight.

“Well then. Consider me sold.”

* * *

Hermione blinked rapidly, back and hands pressing the wall as she gazed into the open room beyond.

The initial shock had finally worn off, but she still couldn’t bring herself to look away.

Or to step any closer.

It was a child’s bedroom, to be certain. The wallpaper decorated in soft floral print, the textiles draping the furniture and floors in varying shades of pink and lilac, pillows and blankets lined with ruffles and frills.

But what stole the breath from her lungs were the hundreds of eyes staring at her from the dozens of shelves lining the walls.

Dolls.

Of every shape and size, make and mold, cast and color. And all bearing bulbous, glassy eyes that fixed upon her with terrifying uniformity.

Dumbledore moved further into the room, knocking dust from the other set of curtains as he pulled them back, illuminating the rest of the bedroom.

She gasped shortly as another startling sight came into view.

A massive dollhouse, situated in the corner.

Its shuttered windows staring at her like malevolent eyes.

She swallowed thickly, boneless with fear.

“Are you alright, dear?”

She blinked, jolting at the voice. Her eyes flickered up, latching onto Dumbledore in the center of the room.

“I…”

He nodded shortly, visage calm. “I understand. I find the room just as unnerving. I’d forgotten what a sight it made.”

She stepped away from the wall, forcing her feet forward, commanding her knees to bend.

“She…” She paused at the threshold, bracing either side of the frame, eyes wide and fixed upon the shelves. “Liked dolls.”

He smiled wryly. "What gave it away?"

She laughed lightly, letting her hands drop to her sides as she at last breached the invisible barrier, releasing her breath as no major calamity befell her.

She stepped further in, peering around at the furniture, the trinkets and baubles, everything covered by a thick film of dust.

“The room looks undisturbed.”

He glanced around with idle detachment, hands resting in his pockets. “It’s just as she left it.”

Her eyes landed on a gleaming silver hairbrush sitting atop the dresser, strands of long blonde hair still tangled in the bristles.

“Plus a few additions I made after inheriting the residence.”

She glanced up, gaze drawn by the deep seeded pain lacing his every word.

A siren call of misery her heart recognized no matter the forced ease it was delivered with.

“Where was she taken from?”

“The home.” He slowly made his way towards the bed, covered in stuffed animals and lace-covered throw pillows. “They told me she ran away.” He shook his head, extracting a hand from his pocket. “But I knew that wasn’t the case. She’d never leave behind Dree.”

Her brows creased. “Dree?”

He paused beside the mattress. “Despite her extensive collection of dolls, her most prized possession was a rabbit.”

Her heart leaped as he leaned down and extracted a stuffed animal from the pile, holding it with gentle care and adoration.

The creature caught the light, its full shape revealed to her eyes.

A white rabbit, furry face worn thin, floppy ears frayed at the lining and pink nose faded at the center.

“Draíocht, she called him.” He smiled fondly. “Gaelic for magic.”

He turned the rabbit over in his hands, meeting its black eyes as he gently stroked a finger across the muzzle, movements slow and methodical as though it were alive.

“She believed in magic. In a world outside of our own where fantasy bled into reality.” He traced a long, dangling ear. “And she believed Dree and her dolls spoke to her.”

His eyes twinkled, spectacles reflecting the fading evening glow. “She carried on full conversations with them. You could hear her laughter ringing down the hallway all night long. They told her stories, jokes, fairy tales.”

He set the rabbit down with great care.

“She treasured every one of them. But she treasured Dree above all else. When I inspected her room at the home and saw him on the floor beneath the bed, I knew.”

The sparkle transformed into licking flame, bright as hellfire.

“She was taken.”

He stepped away from the bed. “I searched night and day. I was a junior officer then and had far less sway with the Yard. In addition, my parents refused to file a missing person’s report. I was on my own, searching the vast city of London with nothing to go on. No leads to follow.”

His jaw ticked as he ventured to the bookshelf across the room.

“I failed.”

She stepped closer to the bed, grasping the carved wood spiral of the canopy.

“I failed her entirely.” He reached the shelf at last, eyes slowly roaming the titles printed across the mismatched spines. “Her body was found floating in the Thames two weeks from the day she was stolen.”

She pressed a palm to her chest, instantly thinking of Lavender, overwhelmed by images of her friend’s boisterous laughter and welcoming smile.

“I can’t begin to imagine what horrors she suffered during that time.”

She glanced away, overtaken by the same crippling fear, the same unyielding despair.

“And yet I can’t help but imagine. Every day. Every night.”

She wet her lips, venturing forward, voice tentative but strong, the common bond of their grief giving rise to boldness.

“How do you know she was taken by the Dollmaker?”

A brief, contemplative pause.

“I didn’t. Not at first.”

He traced a finger along the edge of a thick book. Her eyes tracked the movement. Grimms’ Fairy Tales.

“I’d never heard of the Dollmaker. Certainly not of this Angus Bumby, or whatever identity he’s fashioned for himself.” He tilted his head, examining another title. “I only knew an animal had taken my sister. Had committed unfathomable evils against her. And then discarded her like an empty tin can.”

His fingers drummed along the shelf. "So I hunted. Pursued every lead. Became utterly consumed by my pursuit. I took an extended leave from the Navy and devoted myself entirely to finding her killer." His hand fell to his side."I never dreamed it would lead to a madman's door. To a crime ring. To something so large, so depraved."

He scanned the items on the shelf below, gaze lingering on a glass jewelry box.

“Other cases started popping up, similar enough to Ariana to garner my attention. And then, one day, I finally heard the name while scouring the underground.”

He gently straightened the heart-shaped lid.

“The Dollmaker. The creator of all evil. The Prince of Hell himself.”

He tucked his hand into his pocket, backing away once more. “I thought he was made up. A dark, twisted fairytale created to scare young women into staying at their abuser’s side.”

He stopped before another shelf, lined with dolls but for a narrow strip containing picture frames. “Alas, I discovered Merope. And I saw first hand exactly what he was capable of.”

He picked up a silver frame, sunlight glinting off the glass and obscuring the image displayed within.

“I couldn’t save Ari. I couldn’t save Merope.”

His thumb traced along the image with methodical care. “And I couldn’t save Tom.”

Her hands clenched at her sides.

“Tom is still alive.” She stepped closer. “Because of you.” She stopped at the foot of the bed, feeling the glass eyes upon her, tracking her every movement. “He’s a brilliant doctor because of _you_.”

“He was brilliant long before my interference, I assure you.”

“Nevertheless, there’s no way he could have escaped the slums without a benefactor. There’s no way he could have escaped his father without you finding him.”

Her chest burned, red hot with conviction. “You saved his life.”

Dumbledore was silent for several heartbeats, gaze fixed upon the photo.

“His life…” He tore his gaze away at last, setting the frame down, pushing it back. “Perhaps.” He turned to face her once more. “His soul is another matter entirely.”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond-

But her eyes caught sight of the photo in the silver frame beyond his shoulder.

And she was rendered mute.

She blinked, paling anew.

“Hermione, what’s the matter?”

Her jaw snapped shut with an audible click, though she could hear nothing over her racing heart and surging blood.

“That…”

She inhaled deeply, feeling so light headed she was certain her feet levitated clear off the ground.

“That’s Ariana?”

He tilted his head, studying her pale complexion before glancing over his shoulder, gazing upon the image once more.

"Yes." He grinned anew. "She inherited our mother's eyes. A much deeper blue than my own." He faced forward. "They were always filled with such warmth. Every time she looked at you it was like a physical touch."

She swallowed heavily, hands opening and closing at her sides, still unable to tear her gaze away from the black and white image, faded as it was, pulsating bright as a beacon before her eyes.

“She’s very beautiful.”

He nodded, still watching her closely.

“She was.” The corner of his mouth lifted, an endearing quality she was beginning to find commonplace on his handsomely worn face. “But she also possessed a sharp and cunning wit few appreciated. The stories she told could keep a person entertained for hours. Her imagination was truly endless.”

He sighed deeply, gazing at the ground for a brief moment before meeting her eye, his own brimming with emotion.

“Thank you for allowing an old man to ramble. I visit this room once a decade at most. Always alone.” His smile was warm and genuine. “But I am grateful for your company. It feels good to share her memory with another. Even someone who never knew her.”

She blinked, tearing her eyes from the photo at last, her feet hitting the ground as gravity took her in its unforgiving hold.

She met his glacial gaze, the hairs along her neck and arms lifting as she felt the familiar swell and bend of air, an invisible force invading the room, surrounding her on all sides.

Cold and comforting.

“The way you describe her… it feels as if I do know her.”

He searched her gaze, eyes gleaming from the shadows as the sun slowly set. “You would have liked her.”

Hermione nodded, lifting her chin as darkness bathed the room.

“I’m certain of it.”

* * *

Draco groaned into his pillow, rolling onto his back with a gasp of pain.

His hand went to his shoulder, rubbing the knotted muscle, the joint bruised and sore following his illustrious journey through Bath.

He pushed into a sitting position, scratching his bare chest and rubbing his sleep-heavy lids. His head felt cloudy, covered in white haze, far more than typical exhaustion permitted.

He glanced to the window, the sky beyond his balcony was a deep violet, the sun’s dying rays fading beyond the horizon.

 _Shite_.

He’d lost the whole day.

He dragged a hand over his face.

_Not that I’d have spent it any other way._

If he hadn’t been unconscious, he’d have been thinking.

Which soundly positively deplorable.

The room fell into darkness as the sun finally set. He leaned to his side table and clicked on the lantern, movements heavy and imprecise. His hand knocked aside a dark blue bottle. He blinked, catching it before it rolled off the edge.

He sat straight, turning the bottle over in his hand, examining the label.

His mother informed him she watered down the tincture.

Obviously a lie.

He tossed the empty bottle to the mattress and reached for the glass of water she set beside the bed, anger instantly abating. His mother had always been immune to his wrath, no matter the circumstances. He wasn’t certain why this was, he simply accepted this universal truth and moved on with his day.

He rubbed his temples, shifting forward and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He gazed at the floor between his feet, absently rubbing his chest once more. It didn’t ache.

It just felt hollow.

_She glanced down, raking her fingers through his hair. “What time is the train?”_

_He closed his eyes, basking in the sunlight and her touch, head pillowed atop her thigh._

_“Not until eight. The last one out tonight.”_

_She smirked, nails scraping along his scalp. “Cutting it close aren’t we?”_

_His eyes slit open, body stretching lithe with cat-like pleasure. "Would you rather I boarded the noon one?"_

_“Might as well of. You were already there, holding the ticket.”_

_“I was on the damn thing.”_

_She laughed, bells chiming all around him, making the hairs along his arms and neck rise._

_“Were you really?”_

_He reached up, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. She’d removed the pins after they settled beneath the white oak, sequestered in this private oasis, free from the prying, judgemental eyes of the outside world._

_“Hm. You should have seen me scale the seats, rushing to the last car as it was pulling out of the station. I had to jump through a window to make it onto the platform.”_

_“Liar.”_

_“It was all very dramatic, I assure you.”_

_Her eyes narrowed, leaning back into the bark, fallen leaves catching in her hair. “Your parents didn’t notice you leaping from a moving train?”_

_"Obviously not. Otherwise, they'd have the entire Yard out looking for me."_

_She shook her head, resuming her idle ministrations, pale hair filling her fingers._

_“Are you excited about Oxford?”_

_He sighed, eyes closing once more. “I’m resigned to it.”_

_“Don’t go in with that outlook. You have an opportunity very few are ever afforded, you must make the most of-”_

_“Can’t you let me sulk for just a few minutes?”_

_“Is that what we’re calling being an obnoxious prick now?”_

_A beat._

_Then two._

_Draco burst to life with cunning speed and dexterity, eliciting a yelp of surprise from her parted lips as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward, grasping beneath her knee and tugging hard, causing her to topple back into the grass, chestnut curls spilling across the field of green, sunlight in her eyes and color infusing her cheeks as she laughed._

_He grabbed her other wrist, pinning it beside her head and bracing himself above her, thighs pressing as he slowly lowered his weight, relishing the sound of her breath hitching, the sight of her pupils expanding._

_“Are you going to miss me?”_

_She swallowed heavily, searching his silver gaze. “Probably not.”_

_He smirked._

_“You’re supposed to lie, Granger.”_

_“Oh, terribly sorry. Yes, Draco. I’m going to be pining for you every waking moment of every single day. I’ll gaze into the night sky, wondering if you’re staring at the very same stars-”_

_“Alright, that’s enough.”_

_“I'll light a candle for you at the window, praying for your safe return -”_

_“You’ve made your point.”_

_“I’ll cry into my pillow-”_

_He released her wrists, allowing his weight to press her fully as he began to tickle her sides, catching her laughter in his mouth as she wriggled and squirmed, hands gripping his shoulders as she seemed caught between pushing him away and pulling him closer._

_He laughed along with her, face flush and eyes bright. “I’ll have you crying alright.”_

_“Stop! Draco!”_

_Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, grin splitting her face in half. He grasped her hips, driven by pure instinct as he captured her mouth in a kiss. It was soft, tentative, but quickly grew in heat and intensity._

_He pulled back for air several moments later, lips grazing her jaw._

_“I’m going to miss you.”_

_She swallowed heavily, catching her breath, body lax beneath him. “You’ll hardly notice my absence. You’ll be so busy with classes and new friends-”_

_“I’m going to miss you, Granger.”_

_She blinked, holding his unwavering gaze._

_And then her lips curved into a radiant, breathtaking grin. She brought a hand to his face, gently tracing his cheekbone._

_“I’ll miss you, too.”_

Draco stood from the bed, cutting a determined path to his closet.

He emerged onto the first level several minutes later, dressed and impeccable, all signs of exhaustion and heartbreak hidden beneath his mask of aristocracy.

He slipped out through the garden entrance, wanting to avoid his mother and father, assuming the latter was even home. He made his way around the outside of the Manor, carefully avoiding the landscaping staff as he emerged onto the front drive.

Their coachman leaned against the side of the carriage, gazing into the star-filled sky as he puffed steadily on a cigarette. He glanced to the side as crunching gravel filled the night air. He blinked, squinting in the darkness.

And then his eyes widened, Draco's pale blonde head emerging from the shadows.

He quickly stood to attention, flicking the cigarette down and stomping it with the heel of his boot.

“Good evening, Master Draco.”

Draco buttoned the front of his coat, nodding once. “Good evening, Elijah.”

The man fumbled to open the door, clearly surprised by these turn of events but clever enough not to question them.

“Where are we headed, Sir?”

Draco grabbed the handrail, voice steady.

“Grimmauld.”

* * *

Hermione burst into the room, skidding so quickly her bare feet nearly lost purchase on the hardwood. She scrambled in place, clutching the dresser for balance before pushing off and launching herself across the room once more.

She stopped just beside the bed, shin knocking the edge of the frame and earning a shocked gasp of pain before she could stifle it.

She clutched the bruised appendage, biting her tongue and hopping on one foot.

_Bloody idiot! Could you be any more clumsy?_

She lowered her foot, shaking her head and reaching for the lump beneath the covers. The outline was hazy in the dark, the only illumination filtering in from the low-lit sconces in the hallway, the room awash in dancing shadow.

Her fingers pressed the bedding, heart in her throat.

“T-”

She gasped as the covers exploded to life, something iron and warm seizing her wrist in a bruising vice, yanking her clear off her feet. She flew forward, collapsing atop the bed, scrambling for purchase, free hand bracing the mattress.

Only it wasn’t the mattress.

It was naked skin covering hard muscle. Her throat went dry, convulsing as she tried to swallow and breathe at the same time, unable to speak.

So she tried to gain his attention instead, assuming he didn't recognize her in the dark. But he didn't allow her to pull back, his arm sliding behind her waist and flipping her onto her back.

Her spine crashed to the mattress, body bouncing, curls flying up and spilling across the pillow.

She opened her mouth to speak but instead croaked as he released her wrist and grabbed her neck, squeezing.

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as his grip turned painful, rapidly constricting her airway.

“Tom!”

His body went rigid, fingers flexing, then loosening at once.

“Hermione?”

His voice was deep, sleep thickened, nearly unrecognizable. She could barely see his face in the blackness of the room, the curtains emitting no moonlight, but the faint glow from the hall revealed dark, clouded eyes boring down upon her.

His hand went lax at her throat, followed by his entire body as he slumped into her, pushing the air from her lungs and prompting her legs to part, trying to accommodate his weight.

“What are you doing here?”

The gravel in his throat made her nerves endings spark to life.

“I…”

Her mind went startling blank.

He scowled, hand clenching. “ _Never_ sneak up on me. Especially when I’m asleep.”

She wet her lips, scorched by the enraged smolder in his gaze. His eyes flickered down, tracking the movement, flames dancing anew.

“I didn't…” Her pulse thrummed against his fingertips. “I’m sorry.”

He searched her doe-eyed gaze, oxygen rapidly depleting from the room. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, making out general shapes around them, though only his half his visage was visible in the flickering light.

He continued to stare at her lips, eyes dazed, expression caught in some internal war for dominance.

She braced a hand against his shoulder, fingers curling over the muscle, pressing heated skin.

“Tom.”

It came out more breath than word. She flushed with humiliation, well past mortified, inhaling sharply and pushing on.

“You’re still on top of me.”

He blinked, eyes flickering back up. She became hyper-aware of his weight against her, pinning her, restricting her movements. For a stuttered beat the ceiling dissolved, giving way to a star-filled sky. The bed fell away next, grass sprouting beneath her.

His gaze rapidly cleared, the pad of his thumb stroking her pulse once more before his hand slid down to the bed.

She gasped as the room came crashing into place around her, the walls trembling, her body vibrating with the jarring impact.

She inhaled deeply as she was relieved of his weight. He rolled to the side, sitting up swiftly and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes.

She scrambled back, leaning against the headboard, transfixed by the sight of his exposed back on full display just beside her.

She stared upon the criss-cross network of scars, lungs constricting painfully, eyes burning at the horrific sight. Even in weak lighting, the image they painted was overwhelming. Far more unsettling up close than the night she first glimpsed them from a distance in his bedchamber.

She reached forward unthinking, recalling the sensation of mottled scar tissue beneath her fingertips, pressing her palm-

He tensed, as though sensing her approach.

Her hand froze mid-air, breath catching, eyes wide, startled by her own attempt.

His muscles relaxed a moment later, his gaze fixed to the dresser as he leaned forward and braced his forearms against his thighs.

“Did I hurt you?”

She blinked, fingers curling in.

“No.”

He raked his fingers through his hair, clearing the remaining gravel from his throat, though his voice remained deep and ominous, creating a physical current that chased along her skin.

“How long have I been out?”

Her hand dropped to her lap, knees drawing in. “Most the day. The sun went down a little while ago.”

He sighed deeply, spine straightening and hands bracing the edge of the mattress. She studied his profile, forcing her eyes to stay clear of his back lest she made another foolish advance.

“Are you-”

“What’s wrong?”

She blinked, the question once more scrambling her thoughts. “Wrong?”

He gazed over his shoulder. “You burst in here like the hounds of hell were chasing at your heels.”

She inhaled sharply.

_How could I forget?_

Her eyes automatically darted to the wide expanse of pale flesh between his shoulder blades.

_Ah. That’s right._

She blushed anew, leaning in and forcing her eyes up.

“I spoke with the Admiral-”

“Albus.”

Her mouth opened and closed. “Yes, Albus…” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, lowering her knees as she perched higher. “He told me about Ariana, he showed me her room-”

“He _what_?”

She jolted as he pivoted quickly, leg bending as he faced her, knee colliding against her own, pressing until she was forced to accommodate, resting her knee atop his.

“He showed me her room and-”

“He let you into her bedroom?”

She sat straighter. “Yes, but that’s not the important part.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, eyes briefly closing.

“Alright, what’s the important part?”

She slid her leg away, bracing both her hands atop his knee. He went instantly rigid, hand freezing upon his face. She pressed on, barely registering his reaction.

“It’s _her_ , Tom.” She wet her lips, leaning forward, eyes bright. “It’s my white rabbit.”

He blinked, hand dropping. “Your _what_?”

She shook her head. “It’s a long story. But Ariana is the ghost I’ve been seeing. The one who led me to the attic of the Home, the apparition I told you about.”

Her fingers curled around his trouser-clad thigh, voice high and animated. "It's all real, Tom. It's not some grand, stress-induced delusion. I've been seeing honest to God ghosts. The Dollmaker's victims are reaching out to me, guiding me."

He released a long breath, starting to turn away.

Her heart skipped. She released his leg and grabbed his shoulder. His Adam’s apple bobbed high, muscles tensing beneath her hand, skin burning beneath her palm like a scorching brand.

"Please, believe me, Tom." Tears filled her eyes, unbidden. "I need you to believe me."

His jaw set.

She blinked, tears spilling free.

“ _Please_.” Her breath stuttered. “I can’t handle it otherwise. All the rest I can bear, the other dangers I can face.” Her chest tore to pieces, blood pouring out like a river, soaking her in a cold wave. “But I can’t go on knowing you don’t believe me.”

He twisted in her grasp, facing her swiftly, causing her hands to lose purchase. She tipped forward, gasping as his reflexes kicked in, large hands capturing her upper arms.

She expected him to set her back, so when he pulled her forward instead she went boneless with surprise.

He pressed her into his chest, holding her face at eye level, their noses brushing as he watched her with burning intensity.

“I believe you.”

Her heart jolted painfully, more tears spilling free. He held her gaze steady and pulled her closer yet, until she felt the rhythmic thumping of his heart battling against her own rapid pulse.

“I believe you,” he repeated, voice low, warm breath glancing her lips.

She went limp in his hold, leaning against him completely. He released her arms, one hand sliding around her back, bracing her waist, the other lifting to her face. He drew his thumb beneath her eye, clearing away the wetness.

She swallowed heavily, throat tight.

“Thank you.”

He inhaled deeply, breathing her in, his chest expanding and causing her to rise atop it, arms trapped between them.

“There’s no need to thank me.” He pushed the hair from her damp cheek. “We’re partners.”

She smiled. His eyes flitted to her mouth, jaw silently working for several beats.

“I shouldn’t have let you go.”

She blinked, tensing in his hold. The arm at her back pressed harder, storm clouds forming in his gaze as he continued to stare at her lips.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone after the cemetery.”

Her skin burned with latent rage and embarrassment, longing and sadness, too many emotions to process at once, sensation spilling over and leaving her an empty husk, weightless in his arms.

“I didn’t want you in the carriage with me. I needed to be alone.”

He tore his gaze from her mouth, fingers spreading along her hip, twisting in her skirt. “I shouldn’t have touched you. I took advantage of the situation-”

“Stop that.”

Her voice came out louder, sterner than anticipated, startling them both. She quickly recovered, spine lengthening, fingers curling in, digging into smooth muscle.

“Stop saying you took advantage of me. It implies you’re a monster and I’m a victim.”

Her eyes sparked. “I assure you, neither is true.” She searched his dark gaze. “You aren’t a monster, Tom. No matter how badly you want to condemn yourself as one.”

Her chest burned with kindling flame. “Writing off your soul as forsaken is much easier than facing the reality of exactly what you are, what you’ve become, what you hold in the palm of your hand.”

The fire snapped and sizzled, bursting from the chambers of her heart. “You’re _not_ a monster. You could never be anything so evil. So simple.”

Her voice was calm and measured, but it held him enraptured all the same. “And I’m not a victim.” She watched his pupils expand, black ink bleeding into grey. “I refuse to give anyone such power over me, so therefore I will _never_ be a victim. I will be a survivor.”

Her lips pressed with steely determination, body strung tight as a drawn bow.

He smirked, words vibrating against her lips. “As I said before. I pity any man who tries to impede your path.”

She searched his gaze, the black never ending, pulling her forward with its gravitational force.

“I wish I could be there for it.”

He tilted his head. “For what?”

“The moment you kill him.”

His eyes flashed bright, lightning striking, his hand rising to encircle her neck once more. His thumb traced along the hollow of her throat before tipping her chin up, their lips brushing for a brief spark.

“Have I destroyed you, Hermione?”

Gravel filled his throat anew, yet it was honey that dripped from his lips. She swallowed heavily, the motion pressing his thumb, and shook her head as much as his hand would allow.

“No.” She breathed deep. “The world destroyed me. You helped put me back together. Into something stronger, better than before. Into more than just a survivor.”

His hand tightened at her throat. She relished the pressure.

“You taught me to hunt. To fight. To live.” Her voice turned low, unrecognizable to her ears. “When I’m with you, I feel alive.”

The fingers at her nape dug in, pulling her forward. Her hands braced his chest, limbs turning plaint in his hold as he crashed their lips together.

The kiss wasn’t tender or exploratory, it was hungry and frantic. Hard, violent and _necessary_.

Their teeth clanked, tongues slipping past lips as he dragged her fulling into his lap. She straddled him as much as her dress would allow, frustrated by the barrier, the limitation.

She wrenched her head back, gasping into his mouth.

“I want to feel it, Tom. I want to feel alive.”

And then the world tipped on its axis.

Her curls flew past her face as he threw her down on the mattress. Her arms were already latching onto his shoulders, clawing at his flesh, welting his skin in her frantic pursuit.

“Make me feel alive.”

He gathered her dress with both hands and tore it up, movements fast and furious, eyes burning with quiet intensity, determination written across every hard line of his face.

She pressed her head back and gasped as he grabbed behind her stocking clad knees and pulled, ripping her across the mattress until she was situated firmly beneath him.

Her back arched high, hips pinned. And then he descended, pulling her legs apart as he nestled between her thighs-

A floorboard creaked in the hallway, echoing clear and loud through the gap between the door and frame.

They both froze, poised to strike, lungs pumping furiously as they gazed at each other with blatant hunger and absolute shock, as though waking from a shared dream at the same moment.

The sound of distant footsteps was quick to follow, slow and measured from the opposite end of the house.

Her spine lowered to the mattress. Tom followed suit, once more sinking his weight upon her, resting his forehead against her own.

The room fell silent but for their labored breathing and the creaking box spring.

He wet his lips, holding her gaze.

“You don’t need me to feel alive.”

His hands released her knees, fingertips tracing a burning path along her thighs and hips before settling at her waist.

“You put yourself back together, Hermione. All on your own.” Despite his pressing weight, it was his eyes that truly trapped her. “You don’t need me. You don’t need anyone.”

She continued to share his heated breath. “I know.” Her fingertips trailed along his shoulder blades, tracing each scar they passed. “But I want you.”

His jaw ticked. She waited for him to push away.

And was rendered once more boneless with shock as he tilted his head down instead, kissing her slow and passionate, pulling the air from her lungs and the marrow from her bones, sapping every ounce of strength she’d ever gathered.

Her eyes burned. She wove her arms behind his neck, pulling him down, pinning him just as he pinned her, recognizing the kiss, sensing its true meaning, feeling her heart rupture at the mere notion.

She clung to him tightly, gasping against his mouth as he finally pulled back, teeth grazing her swollen lips, eyes heavy-lidded and dark.

“We must finish our mission. We must kill the Dollmaker.”

She nodded, trailing her nails through the hair at his nape.

“I’m with you.”

He held her gaze for a short eternity.

And then he pushed back, prompting her arms to drop.

He carded a trembling hand through his hair, taking several steadying breaths as he once more swung his legs over the side of the mattress.

“I’m going to Grimmauld. I need to check on Ms. Patil’s sister.”

She scooted up, pushing her dress over her knees.

“Padma.”

He stood from the bed, giving her a clear view of his prominent bulge. She flushed, glancing to the quilt.

“Padma,” he repeated, voice void of any discernible emotion.

He turned away, adjusting himself briefly before reaching for the shirt laid across the back of the chair.

“You’ll be safe here, Hermione.”

She picked at a loose thread in the blanket. "It's not my safety I'm worried about."

He slipped his arms into the shirt, folding down the collar and turning to face her.

“If I die, I will take him with me. I promise you that.”

Her eyes flickered up, chest tight. “I’d rather you lived to tell the tale.”

He watched her in the stillness.

She unfolded her legs and pushed to the edge of the mattress, rising to her feet and softly padding across the floor.

“I know that when this is all over, nothing will be the same.”

His hands clenched at her measured approach.

“Neither of _us_ will be the same.” She stopped just before him, the warmth of his body washing over her front.

“If this is our final moment together, standing in these bodies, breathing this air, thinking these thoughts, I want to take a piece of it. Something to hold. Something to remember when I’m a different me, looking back on this night.”

She pressed a hand to his bare chest, centered over his heart. She felt it beat faster as she stood on tiptoes, grasping him behind the neck with her free hand and pulling him down.

She kissed him slowly, lips barely pressing but softly lingering, sending an electrical current along her spine with every breath.

“I know you never intended to survive this,” she whispered against his mouth, feeling a similar tremor race through his tall frame. “I know you planned to drag him kicking and screaming into the Underworld by your own bare hands.”

She swallowed heavily, pulling back, a single tear rolling down her cheek.

“Please. _Survive this_.” Her nails slid beneath his collar, gently scratching along his nape. “Even if you don’t return. Even if I never see you again.” She released a trembling breath. “Please survive.”

He grasped her waist when she swayed, steadying her against his body, eyes burning brilliantly all the while, twin flames lighting her way through the dark.

“I will.”

Her heart seized, rupturing at last, blood overspilling. She held his gaze a moment longer, nodding, sealing the pact.

And then turned her face away, releasing his neck and lowering to her heels, hand falling lifeless from his chest.

She stepped back, wiping her eyes dry, fighting to maintain composure as he picked up his traveling cloak and turned for the door, floorboards creaking as he opened it the rest of the way.

The room filled with flickering candle flame, his silhouette stretching across the opposite wall.

Frozen in the doorway.

She sensed his eyes upon her, felt them like a physical touch.

She glanced over her shoulder, forcing her gaze up, forcing her throat to work.

“Goodbye, Tom.”

His chest rose high, the breath lingering in his lungs as though he were holding a piece of her in with it.

“Goodbye, Hermione.”

She bit her tongue, vision hazing as he backed into the hall, holding her in his thrall until the final moment when he turned away.

And then he proceeded forward, disappearing from sight.

She lingered in place until she heard him journey down the steps and out the front door.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, waiting for the tears to seize her, for the dam to break.

But the onslaught never came.

She exited the room slowly, feeling like a shell of her former self, void of any identity.

And discovered the hallway wasn't empty.

She peered up, sensing the presence before seeing it, recognizing the change in pressure, the unnatural cold pressing upon her skin.

She wet her lips, eyes dancing with candle flame.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

* * *

Harry watched the sun dip beneath the rooftops as the carriage pulled beside the rod iron gates.

He leaped out first, paying the driver while Ron helped Susan down.

As he unfastened the chain he felt a shift in the air, a pressure differential that set the fine hairs along his neck on end.

He blinked, sliding open the lock and standing aside, glancing either way down the empty, darkened street.

“Harry?”

He met Ron’s eye.

“Okay, mate?”

He wet his lips, glancing once more to the road, the air feeling denser, the sound muffled, like they were encased in a bubble.

He nodded.

“Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

He pushed open the gate, suppressing the unease, though his eyes continued to search the bushes ahead, the street lamp, the empty bench.

He took his time chaining the gate, pulling it tight, testing its strength, wondering why he didn't hear any insects or owls-

_Get a grip._

He sighed deeply, spinning on his heel and following the couple to the house.

Sirius was already waiting for them in the doorway, arms crossed and hair a frightful mess, almost as disheveled as Harry’s own chaotic mop.

“What the bloody _fuck_ did you think you were doing, leaving the goddamn house like an absolute-”

He blinked, eyes darting down, expression softening.

“Hello, Susan, dear, it’s lovely to see you again.”

She curtsied, smiling politely. “Lord Black.”

“I’m going to be doing quite a bit of swearing for the next five minutes or so.”

“Understandable. Don’t mind me.”

“Cheers, luv.”

He spun on Harry once more, visage twisting into a mask of unbridled rage. “As I was saying, you must not even have _half_ a brain in that fucking head of yours-”

“Sirius, I had to let Ron know Mione was alright, after what happened to Cormac I couldn’t risk leaving him exposed.”

Ron blinked, glancing between them. “Cormac?”

Harry shook his head. “Let's just get inside and I’ll explain everything.”

Sirius opened his mouth to respond but was rendered silent as another sound filled the air.

Horses.

Several of them.

A goddamn stampede.

They all blinked, spinning around to face the gates.

The street beyond remained empty, but the sound grew nearer, deafening in volume, the ground trembling beneath their feet.

Sirius surged forward, grabbing Harry and Ron’s shoulders, pulling them towards the house.

“Everyone inside.”

They dragged their feet, transfixed by the rapidly approaching storm.

“Now!”

They jolted, spinning around, Ron grabbing Susan and rushing her up the steps. Harry was just at their back, Sirius crossing the threshold last, slamming the door and sliding the bolt.

They rushed to the windows, pulling aside the heavy curtains, jaws hanging loose as the horses and their riders finally appeared.

A small army of men rounded the corner, beasts rearing high, screeching into the night as they piled outside the gates.

“Who the hell is that?” Ron swallowed heavily, face pale as he pulled Susan close to his side.

Sirius watched on, eyes diamond hard.

“Fenrir Greyback.”

Ron jolted. “He’s real?” He leaned in, nose smudging the pane. “Fucking hell. What is he doing here?”

Harry wet his lips, emeralds glinting in his gaze. “He’s here for the girls.”

“What?”

A massive black steed pushed to the front of the horde, the others parting to give way. Its rider was the most massive creature Harry had ever laid eyes on, more beast than man.

His horse reared on his hind legs, bursting free from the pits of hell itself, hot steam pouring from its nostrils and filling the dark sky in a dense cloud.

“Riddle! Show your fucking face!”

His horse landed with a crash, hooves cracking the stone. The creature pivoted, revealing Greyback’s leg, heavily bandaged and stained dark with dried blood.

Footsteps pounded behind them. They all turned to the stairs, watching as the landing filled. Parvati rounded the corner first, Blaise just at her back. She braced the banister, eyes wide.

Hannah and Luna emerged next, faces pale as they hovered near the wall.

Neville arrived in the next beat, charging in from the drawing room, grinding to a halt beneath the archway, knees locked as Greyback’s voice once more filtered in from the end of the drive.

“I’m going to flay you alive you fucking bastard! I’m going to carve the meat from your bones while you watch my men take turns with your little bitch! Then I’m going to slice her up, too!”

Harry looked at Sirius, voice low and dangerous. “Where is she?”

“Riddle took her.”

His godfather held himself with measured poise, but Harry wasn't fooled. He exhibited the same eerie calm every time they sailed into battle.

Harry spun to the window as Greyback dismounted, slowly limping towards the gate and snarling like a beast.

“You’ve got till the count of ten to do it the easy way. Then we’re coming in and doing it the fun way.”

His men erupted into unrestrained laughter, their horses riled and restless with commotion.

Ron swallowed heavily. “How many are there?”

Susan’s brows drew together. “At least a dozen.”

Harry drew a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.”

“There’s only five of us,” Ron provided, voice edged with panic.

“Nine.”

He blinked, gazing up over his shoulder at Parvati. Her eyes glinted like onyx, knuckles white against the railing.

“I’m not counting the girls.”

She started to respond but fell silent as Sirius dropped the curtain, spinning to address them all.

His spine lengthened, shoulders drawing back, eyes burning with fire.

“Everyone listen!” His voice echoed off the marble, surrounding them like the voice of God Himself. “We only have seconds to prepare and no time to hesitate! Do exactly as I say and don’t deviate so much as an inch!”

_“Ten.”_

"Harry, unlock the gun cabinet, give the girls long-range weapons, show them how to shoot-"

_“Nine.”_

“No need.” Susan stepped forward. “I’m a trick shot. I’ll show them what to do.”

_“Eight.”_

“Good lass. Take a pistol with you as well. I want the girls in the master bedroom upstairs, barricade the door and shoot out the window if anyone tries to scale the brick.”

_“Seven.”_

“Ron, you stick with Neville, barricade the kitchen and back windows, take as many guns and ammunition as you can carry.”

“Yes, Captain.”

_“Six.”_

Sirius spun towards the stairs. “Can you shoot, Zabini?”

Blaise swallowed heavily. “I know which end is which.”

Sirius nodded. “Good enough.”

_“Five.”_

“You’re stationed in the hall outside the bedroom. You’re going to be the last line of defense if anyone makes it upstairs. Do you understand?”

Blaise nodded quickly, face bloodless as he rested a hand at Parvati’s lower back.

_“Four.”_

“Harry, after you distribute the guns go into the study and get my locked box. Do you know the one I’m talking about?”

_“Three.”_

Harry stood at attention, movements sharp and automated.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Grab my hunting blades as well. Bring everything to the main parlor, I’ll meet you there.”

_“Two.”_

Sirius faced them all, fists clenched at his sides. “Does everyone understand their role?”

They all nodded, some more frantically than others.

“Good. Now listen closely!”

_“One.”_

“These men didn’t come here to talk. They came to kill every single one of us.”

_“Ready or not!”_

“The police won’t make it in time to help. Not before all or most of us are dead. Our only chance of survival is to fight for it.”

_“Here we come!”_

The sound of hammers and crowbars bashing the gate was near deafening, each impact radiating off the walls and into their bones.

Sirius didn’t spare the commotion a glance, facing his godson instead, his next words piercing Harry straight through the heart.

“Prepare for war.”


	27. Pandora

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter broke my brain.

_In war, truth first!_  
_There's always time for lies later._  
_.   .   ._

The sound of metallic battering rang through the entire estate, filling every room from floor to ceiling as the gate slowly gave way beneath the efforts of no less than fifteen men.

Harry ignored the chaos outside, pushing a rifle into Neville’s trembling hands. Ron stood just beside them, strapping his own rifle across his back with one hand and flicking open a pistol chamber with the other, bullets pressed between his lips.

Neville glanced sideways, tracking the man’s practiced movements, a tremor racing along his frame as he clutched his weapon tighter.

Harry placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, causing him to jolt.

“Nev, breathe.”

He blinked twice, jaw hanging loose for several beats before sound was squeezed out.

“Right.”

He moved to strap the firearm around his shoulder but fumbled with the lanyard, nearly dropping the gun before catching it with both bands.

Harry lowered his arm, cursing silently, wishing there was more time to comfort, to train.

But there wasn't.

He turned to the gun case as Hannah stepped forward, taking the rifle strap and directing it over Neville’s shoulder with a gentle expression. Neville nodded in gratitude, too pale to blush, and moved aside as Harry continued to distribute weapons.

“Susan.”

She broke away from the cluster, meeting his eye with confidence as he gestured to the contents of the cabinet.

“You comfortable with long range?”

She nodded, scanning the row of gleaming barrels and walnut grips.

“My father took me hunting before I learned to read.”

He reached for a rifle. “Thank god for that.”

She took it with ease, strapping it behind her arm while admiring the bottom shelf of the case.

“Give me a 422 Mark.”

He raised a dark brow, glancing down at the revolver in question.

“It has a kick.”

“I know. I’ve used powder on the ranges.”

He nodded, picking up the gun and flicking open the chamber. She shook her head, holding out a steady palm.

“I’ll fill it, just give me a box of lead.”

Harry snapped the cartridge shut and placed the firearm in her hand, grateful for her skill and experience. She stepped back, ripping open a box of bullets with her teeth as she held the gun aloft.

He lost sight of her as Zabini moved in next. The man appeared remarkably composed, tanned complexion free of the grey pallor it possessed on the landing.

Harry held his gaze.

“Ever use a gun before?”

“No. But I can fence.”

He was too far gone with adrenaline to discern whether the man was making a quip, so he merely nodded, reaching into the cabinet.

“Perfect. This is practically the same thing.”

Zabini blinked. “Really?”

“No.” Harry lifted another rifle out of the rack. “But you’ll get the hang of it.”

He held the gun between them, gesturing to a switch on the side. “Here’s your safety.” He bent open the chamber. “Here’s where you reload.” And snapped it shut with a powerful click, extending the weapon.

Zabini grabbed the casing carefully, studying the barrel as though it was etched with a foreign language. “Wait until I see the whites of their eyes?”

Harry shook his head. "The bullets curve on their trajectory, you can shoot for half a mile. If you want something close range, use this."

He reached into the cabinet and extracted a double barrel shotgun.

“Pellets travel a short distance but cast a wide spray, doing most the work for you.” He wet his lips. “Shoot for the heart. Even if your aim is shite, you’re bound to hit something of value.”

Zabini stared at the gleaming item for a long moment, making no move to take it. Harry tilted his head, watching him carefully.

“Would you rather have a knife?”

Zabini’s jaw tensed, spine going rigid as he shook his head, at last reaching for the shotgun.

“No. This is fine.”

He took it by the grip, holding it at his aside and backing away on stiff legs.

Parvati and Hannah moved forward next, taking what Harry offered without hesitation or question.

And then they parted, making way for the final person in line.

His hand clenched over the case, heart skipping as she smiled serenely and folded her hands behind her back, waiting patiently.

It felt like a gross violation against nature itself to supply her of all people with a deadly weapon.

The ethereal blonde tipped her head, blue eyes glittering beneath the sconces.

“I’d like a gun and a knife, please.”

He blinked. “A knife?”

“I use blades to prune the garden.”

He barely suppressed a grin, the frantic banging emanating from outside an incessant reminder of all that was at stake.

“This is different, luv.”

He selected a narrow rifle, holding it out. She accepted it with both hands, weighing it carefully in her palms before lowering the weapon to her side, doe eyes softly blinking.

Harry sighed, shaking his head as he reached into the drawer beneath the cabinet and extracted a gleaming dagger.

“Hell, whatever you’re comfortable with. I’d give you a sword if I had it.”

He gripped the long blade, holding the ivory hilt aloft. She accepted it with another sweet smile.

“I prefer something I can use with one hand. That way I can shoot with the other.”

He couldn’t suppress a bark of laughter, handing her a pistol as well.

“Thank you, Harry.”

He nodded. “You’re welcome, Luna.”

His expression rapidly sobered as he directed his gaze to the women. “The master bedroom is-”

“We know where it is,” Hannah interjected patiently, still hovering at Neville’s side.

He pinned her with the full intensity of his gaze.

“Don’t come out for anyone, under any circumstance. No matter what you hear. No matter what they say.”

She paled, rocking back on her heels as if to escape the ominous words.

Susan turned to Ron, grabbing his arm. He glanced up from his task, taking her wrist in hand and drawing her towards the wall.

Harry watched as he grasped her chin, tipping her face upwards and pressing a fierce kiss to her lips, drawing back a moment later to whisper against her parted mouth.

“It’s going to be okay, I promise.”

She swallowed heavily, gripping his shirt with her free hand, eyes glistening, sucking in an uneven breath as though to speak.

Harry beat her to it.

“There isn’t time for this.”

They froze, glancing sideways. Harry sighed deeply, expression sharpening as he held his friend’s tumultuous gaze.

“If you want to keep her safe, let her go now.”

Ron’s jaw snapped shut with a click, another sweltering beat passing before he nodded, gazing down at Susan and cupping her cheek.

“Go.”

She pressed forward. “Be smart.”

He smirked, sweeping his thumb across her lips. “Not my strong suit.”

“I know.”

He blinked. Before he could muster a response she stood on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to the side of his lips, pushing back as she lowered to her heels.

Her skirts twirled around her legs as she spun around, breaking into a run for the entryway.

The rest of the women followed suit, weapons strapped across their backs and filling their hands, dresses and hair flowing through the archway. Blaise nodded to him before dashing out of the room in their wake.

Harry lifted his chin, glancing to the room’s two remaining occupants.

“Sirius wants you to barricade the back entrances, I imagine he’s trying to bottleneck them at the front.”

Ron stood at attention. “We’ll join you after we seal the doors and windows.”

“Our number one priority is the stairs. That’s where I want you both stationed when you’re done. Zabini will be the second layer of defense.”

“Why the hell is Greyback after the girls?”

Harry carded a hand through his hair, making the locks stand on end. "There's no time to explain. But at this point, we're all targets. He won't leave behind any witnesses."

His gaze darted to Neville, watching as the man turned an alarming shade of green.

“Nev, you have to shoot to kill. Do you understand?”

His friend nodded tightly, clutching the rifle until it trembled in his grip. But his voice remained low and steady.

“Yes.”

Ron started to back away towards the hall. “This way, Nev.”

Harry turned his back on their departure, grabbing the remaining pistol and tucking it into his waistband before sliding open the drawer and selecting two blades, slipping them into either boot. Then he stuffed a box of ammunition in his pocket.

He grabbed the last two rifles and slung them over his shoulder, closing the cabinet and sprinting for the hall.

He barrelled into the study a moment later, glancing around the dimly lit interior frantically, the pounding at the gate echoing his rapid heartbeat.

At last, he spotted his target atop the bookcase at the far wall, half hidden behind random trinkets and decor.

He dashed forward and stood on his toes, pushing the impeding items to the floor with a careless sweep before grabbing the handle and carefully sliding the leather box forward.

He blinked as it gave no resistance, nearly weightless in his grip as he tugged it free.

His examined the dust-caked lid and sides, fearful the case was empty. He wet his lips, reaching for the metal clasps, only to freeze in place as a bone-jarring sound met his ears all at once.

Silence.

The relentless banging had stopped.

He clenched his fist around the handle, racing out of the study so quickly the rug gathered at his heels.

He collided with a side table as he rounded the corner, on a warpath towards the parlor.

* * *

Blaise adjusted the precious cargo in his arms, mindful of the rifle hanging across his shoulder, the barrel tapping his spine with every step.

Parvati threw open the double doors, leading the way into the master bedroom. He was tight at her heels, making a beeline for the bed, carefully laying the comatose girl across its center.

Padma was unresponsive, blissfully oblivious to the ensuing chaos exploding to life around her. Parvati reached forward, brushing dark hair from the girl’s lax face.

Blaise wet his lips and backed away, turning for the door.

Only to be pulled back by an unrelenting vice at his arm.

He glanced over his shoulder, briefly glimpsing the two blondes in the corner of the room, huddled around the police chief's daughter as she showed them how to shoot.

But his gaze was fixed to the dark eyes directly ahead.

Parvati’s fingers tightened, causing his circulation to wane.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going into the hall. You need to push the wardrobe in front of the door-”

“You can’t go out there.”

He blinked. “That’s where Black wants me.”

“You’ll get killed! You’ll wait in here with us, we’ll all defend each other.”

He sighed, gently tugging his arm, but her grip held firm.

“No, I’m going to be in the hall.”

“Blaise-”

“There’s no time to argue!”

He gave up trying to escape, surging forward instead, taking her off guard as he grasped both her arms and pulled her into his body.

He tilted his head down, leveling their gazes.

“I’ll be right outside the door.”

She went rigid in his hold. “You can defend us just as well from inside the room.”

He searched her face, feeling the rise and fall of her chest against his own with each breath.

“I’m not prone to following orders. But this is one I intend to mind.”

All of a sudden, the deafening banging from beyond the driveway ceased.

Silence rang, absolute and terrifying.

Susan moved to the window, drawing back the curtain.

“The gate is down! They’re coming through!”

Blaise squeezed Parvati’s arms, regaining her attention.

“Barricade the door. Kill anyone who makes it past me.”

Her eyes welled as she braced her hands against his chest, rearing up, tears overspilling the corners as she sought his mouth with her own.

Blaise released one of her arms, capturing her face in his palm and pressing the pad of his thumb to her bottom lip.

“Kissing before a battle is bad luck.”

She stilled in his hold, eyes flashing.

“Bullshite.”

He smirked, tracing the edge of her mouth. “Accost me after, when I’ve gallantly saved the day and we can make a grand show of it in front of the others.”

She drew back slowly, settling onto her heels. “I can’t kiss you if you’re dead.”

“I’ll fight harder knowing what awaits me on the other side.”

He seized her wrist and brought her hand to his mouth, kissing the center of her palm before she could formulate a response.

And then he released her, watching as her hand curled around open air.

“Barricade the door.”

She wet her lips. “You’re a bloody idiot.”

He paused in the doorway, winking over his shoulder.

“That’s what you like most.”

And then he disappeared into the hall, slamming the door behind him.

Parvati swallowed thickly, staring at the wood barrier for a handful of fleeting seconds before surging forward.

“Hannah, Luna, help me move this bloody thing!”

Susan lowered to her haunches before the window, removing the rifle from her shoulder as the girls sprinted across the room and gathered around the massive wardrobe.

She slid the window open a narrow fraction, wedging the end of the barrel between the gap and taking aim.

She licked her lips, settling into place, resting the stock upon her shoulder and closing one eye to peer through the scope.

At last, she held her breath, curling a finger around the trigger as the wardrobe scraped across the floor.

Her first target darted into sight, a dark smudge on an already shadowed landscape.

She squeezed the trigger.

The shot was deafening, echoing through her ears as the stock slammed into her clavicle.

She steadied herself, inhaling sharply and opening her eyes wide, watching her target bleed out on the grass.

Her heart thundered, not in celebration, but in cold terror as a rapid succession of gunshots tore through the air.

Coming from downstairs.

* * *

“Alright- one, two, up!”

Both men grunted with exertion, staggering to the side as they hoisted the china cabinet off the ground and walked it towards the garden entrance.

They set it down with a deafening thud, rearing back and panting heavily.

Neville wiped the sweat from his forehead, studying the door.

“Tip it back.”

“What?”

He struggled to catch his breath, gesturing with his hands. “A door opens when force is applied at center mass. We need to redistribute the opposing-”

“Bloody hell! English, Nev!”

“We need to push it against the hinges. There’s no way they’ll be able to pry the door open.”

Ron blinked, then nodded.

They pushed against the front of the cabinet, slowly rocking it onto its hind legs and wedging it against the door. Plates and teacups fell, shattering against the back panel of the case.

They both staggered, panting anew as Ron reached for his rifle lying across the counter.

“We need to start on the windows-”

As if on cue, an explosion of shattering glass rang down the hall. They spun in place, Neville stumbling back as Ron darted forward, charging into the dark corridor with his weapon in hand.

Neville blinked, frozen in place for another stuttered beat before regaining feeling in his legs, grabbing up his own gun and following his friend's trail.

As he rounded the corner he heard Ron’s sharp gasp, whether in pain or exertion he wasn’t certain, and then he burst into the dining room, utter chaos unleashed before him.

Two men had come through the busted window, one still crawling over the frame. Ron stood at the other end of the table, rifle aimed high. Before Neville could think to speak or blink he pulled the trigger, the man in the window flying back as the bullet struck him dead center.

The other man snarled in rage, charging forward and leaping on top of the table in a single bound. Ron pointed the rifle upward but it was too late, his adversary gripped the barrel and wrenched it to the side, swinging a powerful fist at Ron’s head.

He managed to duck the brunt of the hit, though the impact clipped his shoulder enough to send him staggering to the side.

Ron rolled with the momentum, aiming a punch of his own upward, colliding with the man’s rib cage and earning a satisfying shout of pain. His opponent crumpled, clutching his side.

Ron whipped his head around, eyes wide.

“Nev!”

Neville jolted, fumbling with the rifle in his hands. By the time he gazed back up Ron was kneeling on the table, arm wrapped tightly around the man’s neck. His opponent thrashed and struck blindly, fists glancing off Ron’s legs and sides as he struggled to maintain his chokehold.

Yet he continued to stare at Neville.

“Behind you!”

A second window shattered.

Neville spun around, adrenaline surging through every pore, clouding his vision and slowing his thoughts even as his limbs jerked uncontrollably, the urge to run and hide nearly overwhelming his senses.

Instead, he lifted the rifle and fired without aiming.

The bullet clipped the third window, causing it to shatter as well, glass raining upon the hardwood, a gleaming lake of shards.

The man who attempted to crawl through ducked for cover, diving headlong into the bushes.

Neville blinked rapidly, spinning back to Ron, unsure what to do now that he’d lost sight of his target.

Ron continued to grapple, though his prey’s movements slowed significantly as his brain was deprived of oxygen. His attempts at escape became clumsy, face turning an impressive shade of crimson, bloated and gleaming with sweat.

Within seconds the battle was over, all four limbs falling limp as his eyes rolled back in his head.

Ron slowly loosened his arm, panting heavily, sweat dripping from his forehead onto the scuffed table.

Neville watched on in numb silence, waking from his stupor only when Ron retook his rifle and aimed it square at his chest.

“Down!”

Neville dropped his weapon, throwing his arms over his head and dropping to his knees without hesitation.

Ron fired for a second time, hitting Neville’s previous target in the side as he once more attempted to crawl through the window.

He fell into the bushes, screaming loudly.

More gunshots rang out in the distance, the shattered windows making it impossible to detect their source.

Neville scrambled over the sea of broken glass, reaching for his gun, limbs going stiff as footsteps pounded over pebbles and grass, drawing near.

Ron slid off the table, landing in a pounce beside him and gripping his shoulder, dragging him forward.

“Neville, get your bloody gun!”

Neville blinked, eyes darting to the windows as more footfalls joined the fold, rapidly approaching.

“There’s too many of them!”

“We don’t have a choice.”

He wet his lips, eyes gleaming. “I have an idea.”

Ron ignored him, opening his weapon and releasing the empty shells from the chamber.

Neville reached out, grabbing his arm and pulling him to his feet.

“Come on!”

“What are you-”

“Just trust me!”

Ron shook his head, closing the rifle and slinging it over his back as he chased his friend out of the demolished room.

* * *

Hermione’s fists clenched as she met the pale, translucent gaze hovering at the end of the hall.

“Hello.” She drew in a slow breath, pulse thrumming. “Ariana.”

The apparition gave no visible reaction to the name.

“That was you I saw running downstairs, wasn’t it? Some echo of your past?”

Silence greeted her. She pressed on, taking a tentative step forward.

"Your brother told me what happened. How you died. I'm so very sorry." Another step. "I understand why you came to me. And I promise we're going to stop Him. Tom is on his way now to-”

She broke off as Ariana hovered higher, nearly touching the ceiling.

And then drifted back toward the staircase. Hermione opened and closed her mouth, following slowly.

“What…”

Her brows together as the girl faced forward and floated down the steps, steady and slow, allowing Hermione to keep pace behind her.

She clutched the railing tight, words caught in her throat as she emerged on the first level, staring into the darkness of the hallway beyond and losing sight of Ariana as she drifted into the shadows.

She scrambled for the side table, remembering the lantern she spotted earlier and breathing a sigh of relief as her hands found the smooth glass, fingers fumbling with the dial and igniting the flame.

She gripped the handle tight, holding it aloft and gasping as she spotted the girl hovering at the far end of the hallway.

In front of a familiar door.

Dread pooled in her stomach like black oil, congealing to thick sludge as the anticipation built.

And then, sure enough, Ariana began to drift through the barrier.

Hermione stepped forward, reaching out.

“I can’t-”

She disappeared from sight. Hermione’s hand dropped to her side.

“Float through walls.”

She bit her lip, shifting from foot to foot as she waged an internal war, holding her breath and straining to listen for any signs of movement upstairs.

But the only sound to greet her ears was the house settling and a gust of wind whistling in the distance.

She shook her head, lowering the lantern and shifting towards the side table, pushing down her latent guilt as she pressed her fingertips along the bottom panel, searching for the catch.

She found the groove in the wood and slid it to the side, the panel falling open as a small gold key dropped into her waiting palm.

She crept to the bedroom door on tiptoes, glancing over her shoulder as she gripped the knob, staring into the darkness.

And feeling as though the darkness was staring back.

She swallowed heavily, gooseflesh spreading across her arms and legs as she faced forward and hurriedly shoved the key into the lock, fingers trembling as she twisted the metal.

The bolt slid away with an echoing click.

She braced herself, muscles clenched in anticipation as she slowly turned the knob and pushed open the barrier, cringing as the door groaned on its hinges.

A draft of cold air rushed past, blowing back her hair and stealing her breath.

And then she gasped, staggering away as a pair of gleaming eyes watched her from the darkness.

She raised the lantern, mouth agape, rendered mute with stilted shock and relief when the flame revealed a pair of glittering glass eyes staring out of a pale, porcelain face.

She pressed a hand to her chest, settling back on her heels and forcing her gaze away from the wall of unnerving toy spectators.

But the dread remained firmly rooted in the empty caverns of her heart and stomach.

For Ariana stood in the corner of the room, bare soles bracing the floor and long, pale hair draped neatly down her back, no longer floating in an invisible current around her head.

But most jarring of all was her body.

It appeared solid. Real.

Alive.

Hermione stepped over the threshold, lantern trembling in her grip as she stared at the pale figure.

“This is your bedroom.”

She shook her head at the inane statement, still at a loss for words following the girl’s disturbing appearance.

Ariana continued to face away, seemingly absorbed by the sight before her.

Hermione tilted her head, peering around her pale skirts to see what held her focus with such rapture.

And then she saw the item quite clearly.

“Your dollhouse.”

Hermione drew closer, studying the detailed shingles framing the roof, the perfectly spaced bricks along the exterior.

“It looks like the one in the attic of the Home.”

She wet her lips, faltering.

“All those broken dolls…”

She glanced to the wall once more, gazing upon each porcelain mask staring out from the shelves.

The dolls no longer faced the doorway.

They faced her. Watching in silence.

Her heart stuttered.

“Ariana.”

She inhaled deeply, light headed as she turned to the ghostly figure. “Were you kept in that room?”

The girl moved at last, lifting her chin to gaze at the wall, pale hair swaying softly at her back.

Hermione stepped closer, lifting the lantern.

“You were brought to the Home? The Dollmaker kept you captive in the attic?”

She held her breath as Ariana slowly turned her head, delicate profile coming into view as she gazed upon her doll collection.

Hermione watched her carefully.

“I wish so badly you could speak. That you could communicate somehow.”

She closed her eyes, shaking her head.

And then opened her lids, gasping sharply as her gaze was met by an empty corner.

She blinked rapidly, spinning in a frantic circle.

“Ariana?”

Her heart thundered manically.

“Ariana!”

She charged the corner, glaring accusingly at the dollhouse as though it were to blame for the girl’s sudden departure.

And just as suddenly as the apparition vanished, a cold breeze arrived, sweeping powerfully through the room and causing her flame to flicker wildly.

She gazed at the closed window, lungs compressing.

And then the bedroom door opened, pulling her attention as light from the hallway spilled in.

Hermione spun on her heel, eyes wide, stomach twisting as she scrambled desperately for an apology, an explanation as to why she broke into the sacred room.

But the words turned to smoke on the air when she saw who stood in the doorway.

“Dawn?”

The girl padded softly into the room, footsteps all but silent, a soft smile curving her lips as she met Hermione’s wide, bemused gaze.

Hermione continued to gape, dumbfounded by the girl’s sudden appearance, wondering how she failed to hear her journey across the second floor or down the stairs.

“Are you alright? Did I wake you?”

Dawn tilted her head, curls cascading over her shoulder and down her bare arm, and another draft flooded the room, wrapping them both in its cold embrace.

Hermione blinked, a pang of familiarity striking her heart. In the vast sea of strangeness, this encounter was particularly strange.

Which made her next question seem particularly normal.

“Ariana?”

The girl continued her slow approach, stopping only to clasp Hermione’s shoulder, nudging her gently aside.

She jolted at the icy touch, stepping back to allow her room to pass, watching in equal parts fascination and growing unease as she lifted her skirts and lowered to her knees before the massive dollhouse.

And then she reached forward, gripping two shingles on opposite ends of the wall and pulling out.

The wall separated seamlessly, two halves of the panel sliding along their tracks in opposite directions to reveal the dark interior.

Hermione stepped closer, lowering the lantern to illuminate the four levels and all their rooms. The detailing along the floors and walls was astounding, but the true masterpiece was the miniature furniture adorning each nook.

Hermione watched in silence as Dawn started moving pieces about, rearranging dishes and plates, straightening a vase, folding over covers on a bed.

And then she caught sight of two dolls within the house, positioned inside a tiny bedroom.

One was kneeling in the corner, the other standing behind it, gazing down.

Hermione reared back, glancing behind her, eyes rapidly scanning the flickering shadows.

She took a deep breath, facing forward, alarmed to see Dawn’s head was tipped back and her gleaming eyes were fixed upon on.

“Inside.”

Hermione jolted, nearly dropping the lantern.

“What?”

The girl faced forward once more, tying back the curtains in the parlor and nudging aside the grand piano.

Hermione sidled closer. “Inside what, Ariana?”

Her companion smiled brightly, continuing to play.

“Inside.”

Hermione opened her mouth, intent on asking more questions.

And then realization struck her like a bolt of lightning.

“Inside…” Her eyes widened. “Inside the dollhouse.”

She gripped the lantern until the handle cut into her palm.

“You wanted me to find something inside the dollhouse in the attic.” She wet her lips, pulse skipping. “But I got distracted.”

She ran a hand over her face, staggered by the revelation. “We’ll find it. Whatever it is. I’ll tell Dumbledore, he can send-”

“You, Hermione.”

Her spine went rigid at the quiet intensity of the voice, arm dropping lifeless to her side as the girl focused her sparkling eyes upon her once more.

The way they glistened in the oil lamp… they almost appeared glass.

“Why?” Hermione lowered to her knees just beside her, shivering as cold radiated off her form in heavy waves. “Why must it be me? Why am I the one you chose?”

Ariana leaned in and slowly raising a hand to Hermione’s cheek. Her palm was so frigid the touch was near painful, but Hermione held fast, refusing to pull away, to risk losing this moment.

“Only you.”

Hermione blinked back tears. “Please, just tell me-”

Dawn jolted forward as though struck between her shoulder blades, eyes rolling back in her head. Hermione gasped, gripping her arms to steady her.

“No, Ariana, don’t go!”

But it was too late.

She felt the cold evade the girl’s skin, warmth blossoming beneath her hands as Dawn gasped for air, lids fluttering open.

“Dawn, are you alright?”

She went rigid in her hold, wrenching free and falling against the side of the bed, legs splayed out beneath her.

“Where…”

Her eyes landed on Hermione and went wide, as though registering her presence for the first time. And then she surged forward, seizing Hermione in a steel grip.

“Please! Help me!”

Hermione paled, searching her gaze.

“Dawn?”

The girl released a broken sob, throwing herself into Hermione, clinging to her desperately as tremors shook her frame.

“Please! Don’t send me back there!”

Hermione gaped, slowly wrapping her arms around her huddled form. “I won’t, you’re safe-”

She stiffened as Dawn began to seize, collapsing upon her lap in a jittering tangle of limbs.

“Dawn!”

Hermione struggled to hold her upright, pushing back her hair to reveal her pale face, only the whites of her eyes visible as she convulsed uncontrollably.

“No!”

She lowered the girl onto her back, tipping her chin up in an attempt to open her airway.

Her chest wasn’t moving.

“Dumbledore!”

Her voice was broken, frantic, ringing through her ears. She began chest compressions.

“Dumbledore! Help!”

She heard a muffled thump from the floor above.

“Dawn.” Tears dripped from her face as she silently counted the compressions. “Please hold on.”

She grasped the girl’s chin once more, trying to pry apart her sealed jaw and blue lips.

“I promise I’ll get you out.”

She heard Dumbledore race down the steps.

“I’ll get you all out.”

* * *

Harry skid into the room, nearly losing his footing as he fought to slow his momentum. He steadied himself, ducking low to keep out of view of the windows.

The room was dark, lit only by the moonlight streaming through the tall glass.

“Behind the couch!”

Harry charged towards his godfather’s disembodied voice. He rounded the settee, dropping to his knees beside the man.

“Everyone squared away?”

He nodded swiftly, lowering the rifles to the ground.

"Yes, Sir." He caught the slip-up, shaking his head. "Sorry. Sirius."

His admiral clapped him on the shoulder. "It's alright, lad. I need you in top form." He looked at the windows. "Did you bring Pandora?"

Harry blinked. “Who?”

Sirius gazed at the items scattered between them, nodding to the leather box.

“Her.”

Harry wet his lips, pulling the box of ammunition from his pocket. “Christ, that sounds ominous.”

“Rightly so. Slide her here. Carefully.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. He lowered the rifle and bullets and did as bade, jolting back at the sound of approaching footsteps from outside.

“They’re coming.”

Sirius nodded, centering the box before him. “With the back blocked off they’ll be forced through the front half of the estate.”

Harry gazed over his shoulder, watching his godfather’s movement. “That’s a lot of ground for four men to cover, regardless of firepower. We should split up.”

Sirius shook his head, flipping open the gold clasps. “I plan on reducing the ground.”

Harry raised a brow, but before he could articulate a response his attention was drawn by the sound of boots treading across the garden, gravel dispersing, twigs snapping.

Harry positioned the barrel of the rifle along the top of the cushion, leveling his gaze behind the scope, ever watchful of the shadows dancing outside the pane, trying to distinguish swaying branch from human limb.

Sirius flipped open the lid. Harry blinked, unable to quell the urge to gaze over his shoulder.

He peered inside the box and paled, nearly dropping the rifle.

“Holy. Fuck.”

Sirius smirked. “Precisely.”

“ _That’s_ Pandora?”

“The one and only. Isn’t she stunning?”

“You had that sitting on a goddamn bookcase in the study?”

“What, like I’d have books?”

The window shattered, glass exploding across the rug as a brick crashed into the floor, rolling to a stop beneath the piano.

Harry whipped around, taking aim at the dark mass hurtling through the busted frame, pulling the trigger and hitting his mark dead center, square in the heart.

The man flew back on impact, collapsing in a sprawled heap across the stone walkway, blood rapidly pooling beneath his torso, running in streams through the grout.

Harry didn’t stop to contemplate he’d just taken his second life. Gunshots exploded upstairs and across the property, pulling every ounce of his focus.

Windows shattered across the hall, deep male voices calling out to one another from the study.

He spun around as he glimpsed movement at his back, his godfather rising to his feet, holding a rifle in one hand and the sealed box in the other.

“I’m setting her up in the library, cover me until the entry, then meet up with Ron and Neville.”

Harry nodded while a random, stray thought ran errant through his mind.

Relief that Hermione wasn’t here to see her beloved library utterly destroyed.

“Yes, Sir.”

He pulled to his feet, taking aim once more as another figure appeared at the parlor window, leaping over the fallen body of his companion. But this man saw the rifle, ducking just in time to avoid the oncoming bullet.

Harry cursed to himself, breaking open the action and fishing more bullets from his pocket.

“Down!”

He followed his godfather’s instruction without hesitation, collapsing to the hardwood like a corpse, a bullet whizzing just past where his head once stood.

The outside invader had a pistol and frighteningly good aim.

Sirius set the box aside and began to raise his weapon. Harry caught movement at his back once more, gaining speed down the hall, heading straight towards them.

“Behind you!”

Sirius bobbed out of the way just in time to avoid a blow to the side of the head with a large wooden bat.

The room’s newest occupant growled in frustration, discarding his club and diving headlong into Sirius instead, catching him around the middle and driving them both to the ground.

Harry had no time to pay their scuffle any mind, attention diverted to the man climbing through the window, pistol leveled at his head.

Harry scrambled to refill his rifle but lost grip on the box of bullets, heart skipping in time to the sound of each one hitting the floor.

“Shite!”

He ducked once more, following the casings’ path as he rolled along the rug and took shelter behind the couch. Another shot tore through the air, the bullet exploding through the backing and lodging in the wall directly ahead, fabric and stuffing cascading in its wake.

Inspiration struck.

Harry sprang to his feet, racing across the rug toward his godfather and the assailant he was still grappling with.

“Down!”

Sirius didn’t hesitate, elbowing the man in the ribs and dropping to his knees as another shot rang through the air.

Harry hit the ground at the same moment, the bullet flying overhead and hitting Sirius’s opponent in the stomach.

The man clutched his abdomen, blood flowing past his fingers, thick and dark, dripping onto the rug and across the side of Harry’s face.

Harry rolled beneath the piano as the man collapsed face first, hitting the ground so hard it shook the floor beneath his hands and knees.

The shooter cursed, taking aim once more.

Directly at Sirius’s head.

Time sped up and slowed down.

Harry blinked, scrambling forward, crawling over the fallen body as the man pulled the trigger and a deafening click filled the room.

Everyone jolted, staring at the gleaming weapon in disbelief.

Empty.

The shooter cursed again, flicking open the chamber and reaching into his coat while Sirius crawled towards his discarded rifle.

Harry reached into his boot, withdrawing a hunting blade and rising to his knees, throwing the knife with all his strength.

He watched it sail end over end with blurring speed, glinting brightly in the moonlight.

It struck home just as Sirius gripped the rifle, glancing up as the pistol hit the ground, bullets raining down in a slow cascade as the box slipped from the man’s grip, his focus diverted to the knife wedged deep in his neck.

He dropped to his knees, pulling the blade free with both hands.

Harry cringed, averting his eyes as a torrent of blood followed. He’d struck an artery, a crimson fountain spurting out with each successive heartbeat.

The rest of the body hit the floor a moment later. Harry and Sirius rose to their feet, panting and taking inventory of each other.

Harry didn’t realize how tense he was until his godfather stepped forward and clasped his shoulder, squeezing hard, holding his gaze.

“Good job, son.”

His heart skipped once, twice, then thudded hard and painful against his ribs.

Sirius only called him that on rare occasions.

He swallowed heavily. “Go. I’ve got you covered.”

His godfather nodded. “I know you do.”

Harry leaned down, grasping his rifle as he watched the man strap his own around his back. Then he picked up the leather box with meticulous care, charging headlong into the shadowed hallway.

* * *

Ron chased Neville down the hall with bated breath, footsteps pounding loudly in their wake as they rounded the corner, leading the invaders on a cat and mouse chase through the corridors.

“Where the hell are we going?”

“The library!”

Ron blinked, pressing a hand to the wall to steady his path around another intersection.

“Why?”

“The ceiling’s domed!”

Ron opened and closed his mouth, watching in bemusement as Neville grabbed up a lantern from a side table, barrelling ahead at full speed to the double doors at the end of the hall.

He sighed, shaking his head and finding his voice at last.

“Fucking hell!”

.   .   .

The four men charged through the doorway, piling up just beyond the threshold, glancing around the expansive space.

“Where are they?”

“Maybe they passed-”

“No. I saw the cowards run in here.”

The man in front wet his lips, stepping forward, eyes fixed to the tall bookcases as he raised his revolver.

“Come out, come out, ginger rat! I know you and your pretty lass are in here!”

Muffled shuffling sounded from the far end of the room.

He glanced over his shoulder, smiling broadly, yellow teeth gleaming in triumph.

“Scabior, go upstairs and get the women. We’ll make quick work of the girls down here.”

They all exploded into laughter. The man referred to as Scabior winked, backing towards the doorway.

“Don’t have too much fun without me.”

He disappeared around the corner. The Leader nodded to the pair standing behind him, gesturing to either wall with his chin.

They parted ways, flanking both sides of the room as he took the center aisle, quickly descending upon the back of the library.

They glanced down each row they passed, guns aimed, smiling at each other as they approached the final bookcase, pausing just before the end aisle.

The Leader held up a staying hand, silently counting down three fingers.

Then they sprang, leaping around the final row, weapons drawn and eyes bright.

They blinked, staring at each other over the open expanse of empty space.

“Now!”

Neville’s shout tore through the air, echoing all around them, its source indiscernible.

They spun in frantic circles, searching him out, jolting hard as the bookcases at the opposite end of the room tipped over in a mighty explosion.

Hundreds of books rained down upon the tile as the two end cases crashed into their neighbors, causing a domino effect down the twin rows.

“Move!”

They attempted to flee down the center aisle.

Neville darted into view, lantern held aloft.

One of the men took aim with his pistol, only to drop it a moment later, screaming as a gunshot echoed loudly off the dome ceiling, amplifying the chaotic explosion of noise created by the falling books and splintering wood.

Ron lowered the rifle, eyes gleaming as he watched the man clutch his bleeding hand, gaping at the large hole in the center of his palm.

Neville leaped over fallen books and threw the lantern down, oil spilling across the floor and igniting the pages, creating a path of flame down the center aisle.

The men scrambled back, pressing against the far wall as the final two cases crashed into the wall on either side of them, splitting open the wood paneling and blocking their exits.

They gazed around frantically, then tried to scale the imposing obstacles to evade the growing flame. But the cases were too high, the sides completely smooth, offering no handholds.

New footsteps pounded down the hall, rounding the corner at impressive speed.

Ron raised the rifle once more.

“Whoa!”

Sirius skid to a stop, books piling at his feet. He blinked, gazing around the utter destruction of the room, eyes lingering on steadily growing inferno.

“What are you boys up to?”

The men began to scream as the flames reached them, clawing desperately at the wall.

Ron lowered the gun. “Bonfire.”

Neville stepped forward, panting heavily. “We’ve got three barricaded.”

Sirius shook his head, stepping over a pile of books towards the table in the corner.

“Not for long.”

He set the leather case atop the surface, turning it around and flicking open the clasps with his thumbs.

Ron and Neville edged closer, watching in abject fascination.

Sirius opened the lid.

Ron blinked rapidly, jaw unhinging. “Holy-”

“-shite,” Neville whispered, leaning in to inspect the contents.

Sirius stood back. “You boys get clear, Harry will meet you at the stairs.”

Neville jolted as though electrocuted.

“The stairs!” He met Ron’s eye, panic etched into every line of his face. “They sent a man ahead.”

Ron paled.

“Fuck.”

They spun on their heels, racing out of the room, skidding on slick covers and broken spines as they went, rounding the corner as the screaming reached new heights.

Sirius turned back to the table.

“Not to worry, gents. You won’t be burning alive tonight.”

He reached into the box and carefully extracted the dynamite, dark eyes gleaming with childlike anticipation.

“In fact, I don’t think you’ll be feeling much of anything.”

* * *

Susan bit her lip, steadying the barrel along the window ledge and closing one eye as she took aim.

She released a short breath and pulled the trigger.

The explosion died away with the rest of the chaos surrounding them, her bullet tearing through the dark night and clipping her target in the shoulder, blowing him clear off his feet.

His companion staggered back, glancing to the window and diving for cover as she pulled the trigger a second time.

Her bullet sailed overhead, missing by several feet.

“Shite!”

She drew back, both eyes open as she watched the man scramble around the side of the building, out of sight.

“I don’t have a clear shot.”

Hannah moved towards the balcony doors.

“What about over here?”

Parvati and Susan sprang forward at the same time, twin cries filling the room.

“No!”

The girl turned to stone, arm frozen, half extended towards the handle. Susan shook her head, lowering the rifle.

“You’ll be exposed on the balcony, don’t open-”

An incoming bullet clipped the frame, splitting the wood and shattering the glass, knocking debris into her hair.

They all screamed and dropped to the floor as more shots invaded the window, tearing through the silk canopy and lodging in the wall and ceiling.

Susan perched on her elbows, eyes flickering up as the gunfire finally ceased.

“I need a mirror!”

Parvati sprang into action, grabbing a spare pillow from the bed and tearing off the ivory case, wrapping it around her hand. She crawled to the dresser, lifting to her knees and driving her covered fist into the mirrored backing.

It shattered around her cloaked hand, shards scattering across the surface of the counter.

She carefully selected the largest piece she could find, lowering to the rug and crawling to the window with the jagged shard extended.

Susan nodded, accepting it carefully.

“Thanks.”

She took a steadying breath before raising the mirror overhead, turning it in either direction until she caught the reflection of the hedges and the shooter hidden within.

“Northeast corner.” She wet her lips, lowering the mirror. “Alright, new plan.”

She glanced to Hannah, hovering nearby on her hands and knees. “Open the doors, stay low.”

Hannah blinked. “I thought you said-”

“It will distract him long enough for me to take the shot.”

The blonde looked hesitant but nodded all the same, swallowing heavily before turning in place and crawling to the french doors.

“Tell me when.”

Susan inhaled deeply through her nose. “On the count of three.” She gripped the rifle at her side. “One.”

She pulled it close, positioning her hand on the action and trigger.

“Two.”

She wet her lips, surging forward.

“Three!”

Hanah reached up, turning the handle and pushing both doors open as hard as she could. They swung wide, hitting either wall with a bang.

Bullets tore through the air, zipping in from the balcony and tearing chunks out of the plastered ceiling. Parvati scrambled to the bed, rearing up and throwing her arms over her sister’s head.

Susan took aim and fired, once.

The opposing gunfire ceased immediately.

“Got him.”

Parvati sank to her knees beside the bed, panting heavily.

“Bloody hell, you’re brill-”

Pounding footsteps charged down the hallway directly outside, followed by a single gunshot.

Parvati spang to her feet, racing across the room.

“Blaise!” She pounded the wall beside the wardrobe. “Blaise!”

“Parvati, no!” Hannah and Luna rushed to her side, grabbing her arms and pulling her back. “They could shoot through the wall!”

“We have to help him!”

Susan rose up, peering through the shattered window once more.

“There’s more coming in!”

Parvati fought the restraining grip. “We have to help them! We’re sitting ducks in here! If we wait for them to kill all our boys we’re as good as dead anyway!”

“Black said to stay-”

“Fuck what Black said!”

“It’s no use.”

Parvati stilled, all heads turning to Susan as she backed away from the window with a somber expression.

“Whether we stay or go, we’re grossly outnumbered. We need backup and we need it now.”

Hannah blinked. “Backup? Like the Yard?”

“Precisely like the Yard.” Susan strapped the rifle over her shoulder. “I need to get word to my father. He’ll have the cavalry here in no time.”

Parvati eyed her speculatively.

“How are we supposed to get a letter across town?”

Susan held her gaze. “This side of the house is clear.”

Parvati blinked. Then paled.

“You can’t be suggesting what I think you're suggesting.”

“The tree line is twenty yards from the property line, the coverage will conceal-”

“We’ll be shot before we make it to the bloody ground!”

“I’ll cover whoever goes.”

“No fucking-”

“I’ll go.”

Parvati’s jaw snapped shut as she spun on her heel, facing the source of the gentle voice.

She shook her head, shoulders drawing back.

“Luna, no-”

The blonde reached forward, placing a hand on her arm.

“She’s right. We need help. If I go now, fewer people will die trying to protect us."

Parvati grit her teeth, fists curling. “Then I’ll go.”

“And leave Padma?”

She blinked rapidly, eyes glittering with unshed tears. “Luna-”

Susan stepped closer. “If she’s going to do it, she has to do it now.”

Parvati closed her eyes, shaking her head and raking both hands through her plaster-strewn hair.

“Shite.”

She opened her eyes, surging forward and grasping Luna in a tight embrace.

“Here, take this.” Susan stepped beside them and pulled a gold ring off her finger, holding it out. “It was my mother’s. Give it to my father. He’ll believe your story.”

The blonde nodded, accepting it carefully. Susan waited until she gazed up, blue eyes glittering like topaz.

“I’ll cover you.”

They all ventured to the window carefully, standing alongside the wall before gazing upon the grass, quickly scanning the side of the house.

Distant fighting could be heard but the gunshots had stopped, as well as the sound of approaching footsteps.

Susan aligned the rifle along the frame, watching the swaying shadows with hawk-like precision as Hannah and Parvati helped their friend over the busted sill.

“Luna.”

The blonde looked up, meeting Parvati’s dark gaze.

“Run fast.”

She smiled softly. “That’s wonderful advice, Parvati. Thank you.”

Parvati smiled in turn, shaking her head as she helped the girl swing her other leg over.

Luna adjusted her grip on the large stones framing the window, carefully sliding her feet into grooves along the brick beneath.

And then began to climb down.

Hannah and Parvati watched closely, heads hanging out and hair blowing in the gentle breeze.

Susan tensed, spine straightening.

“Wait! I see some-”

The remaining words were swallowed by a deafening explosion.

The building shook, the foundation splitting with a powerful surge of energy. The girls all lost their balance, Susan nearly dropping the gun as she fell to her knees, ears ringing with the aftermath of the chaos.

She swallowed thickly, pulling up with a hand on the frame as Luna cried out. Parvati leaped forward, nearly falling out of the window as she reached desperately for the girl hanging off the brick.

“Luna! Hold on!”

She’d lost her footing, supporting her weight with only one hand.

Parvati leaned further down, reaching out as far as she could but barely grazing her fingertips, watching in abject horror as they slowly slipped.

And then Luna lost her grip entirely, pale hair and skirts whipping out in front as she fell from the second story to the hard ground below.

Parvati’s scream radiated through their bones.

* * *

Blaise held the rifle with both hands as he leaned against the door, nerves strung taught as the sound of breaking glass and gunfire filtered into the hall from downstairs.

And then gunfire exploded to life behind him, followed by feminine screams.

He spun around, one hand bracing the wood as he prepared to call out.

But his words disintegrated to ash as footsteps pounded up the staircase.

He drew back swiftly and lifted the rifle, only to blink with uncertainty as he caught sight of the shotgun in the corner.

 _Shite_.

The footsteps came closer as their owner reached the landing.

He debated which weapon to yield, just how terrible his aim would prove to be.

But the decision was made for him as a body rounded the corner at the far end of the hall, a dirt-smudged face glancing in either direction before its dark eyes landed on him.

The stranger smiled.

The girls screamed anew, glass shattering.

Blaise tightened his grip, shoulders tensed as the man stepped closer.

“Well, well, what do we have here? A brave knight guarding the fair maidens?”

Blaise fought to keep this grip steady but a powerful tremor ran through his entire body and along his arms, causing the barrel to jitter as the man continued his slow approach.

“You know how to use that, laddie?”

“I know which end is which.”

The stranger laughed, withdrawing a pistol from his coat and holding it aloft.

"You've never killed a man before. In fact, I don't think you've ever held a gun before. Otherwise, you'd have taken the shot by now."

Blaise wet his lips, vision clouding. The man’s smile deepened.

“You’re shaking pretty bad. It’s going to affect your aim.”

"Not any more than your incessant drivel affects yours."

He tossed his head back and laughed anew, his own hand perfectly steady as he continued to aim the pistol.

“You don’t need to die over this, kid. Our quarrel isn’t with you. Stand aside and I’ll let you walk free of this mess.”

Blaise ground his teeth as he heard muffled thumps and gasps from beyond the double doors.

“I’m not interested in such an arrangement.”

The man raised an intrigued brow.

“No?” He traced his crooked teeth with the tip of his tongue, savoring the taunting. “One of those birds yours or something?”

Blaise licked his lips, aiming the weapon without peering through the scope.

“Or something.”

He pulled the trigger.

The man shouted as the bullet hit the side of the pistol, sparks flying as it flew out of his hand and fell to the hall runner.

They both blinked in shock.

And then the man released a rabid snarl, charging full force ahead.

“You little fuck!”

Blaise backed up, firing again, missing by a mile.

In the next beat, the man was upon him, wrenching the gun from his hand and tossing it aside as he caught him around the center, driving them both to the ground with a mighty crash.

He absently heard Parvati screaming his name, but his thoughts were quickly consumed by the fists raining down upon him, battering his side and chest.

He threw his hands over his head, curling in on himself to protect his vital organs as adrenaline flooded his system in a heady rush, slowing his mind and sharpening his reflexes.

He reached to the side, grasping desperately for something he knew was there but couldn't see.

His fingertips grazed smooth, cold metal. He knocked it over, jolting as it fell to the floor with a loud thud.

He tried to reach out further-

A fist collided with his stomach, driving the air from his lungs. He curled inward, eyes tearing as his adversary reared up, reaching for the shotgun instead.

Blaise swallowed heavily, driving his knee up and clipping the man in the ribs with enough force to throw him off balance. As he tried to steady himself Blaise forced his body to unfurl, dragging himself across the rug and grasping the hilt of the gun.

The man grabbed the back of his jacket and wrenched him back, causing his chin to clip the floor hard enough to fog his vision once more.

But he kept his death grip on the weapon, rolling over and aiming blindly as sweat dripped into his eyes.

He pulled the trigger, shuddering as it kicked powerfully in his hands.

The man flew back, hitting the opposite wall with a crack and sliding down in a heap. Blood soaked through his shirt and streaked down the pale wallpaper.

Blaise panted, shotgun trembling in his grip as the man stared at the gaping hole in his chest, absently patting the wound and though trying to stuff his missing parts back inside.

Blaise cringed, glancing away as the movements slowed, the man’s head finally tipping back and hitting the wall with a dull thud as his arms fell limp at his sides.

More footsteps rounded the corner, quick and agile.

Blaise scrambled back on his bum, holding the shotgun aloft once more–

Weasley came into view, red hair flaming like a torch as his hands flew up.

“It’s us!”

Longbottom appeared a heaving breath later. Blaise sagged in place, dropping the weapon and slowly pushing to his feet, knees weak.

Weasley studied him carefully. “You alright?”

He blinked, then nodded slowly, stepping away from the rapidly growing pool of blood spreading across the floor.

“Yeah.”

He drew a hand over his face, cringing when it came away red. He scrubbed furiously at his cheeks and jaw, unable to discern sweat from blood splatter.

Weasley nodded, staring at the body slumped against the wall.

“Good work. We’re going to guard the bottom of the-”

Blaise didn’t hear the rest, a massive explosion filling the cavernous void in his head.

The ground shook, dust falling from the ceiling as the plaster cracked.

He stumbled sideways, pressing against the wall to stay upright as the ground trembled with aftershocks.

The silence that followed was as jarring at the explosion itself.

Blaise pushed away from the wall, finding his voice.

“What the fuck was that?”

* * *

Draco’s heart seized as the carriage rolled before the property line.

He stared at the remnants of the gate in sheer panic.

“Pull over!”

“Master Draco, surely-”

“I said pull over!”

He leaped out before the car came to a stop, running headlong for the mouth of the drive, only to falter as he spotted a stable’s worth of horses tied to posts just before the entrance of the home.

Gunshots ripped through the night, each a deafening crack that sent him reeling.

He circled back, gazing at his driver.

“Elijah. Go straight to the Yard, get help.”

“Please, Sir, let me take you-”

“Now goddammit!”

He spun on his heel, running through the busted tatters of the gate, stopping short as another round of gunfire echoed all around, prompting him to change course and run into the woods along the perimeter of the property.

He paused as silence followed the resounding chaos, broken only by his pounding heart and panting breath.

And then he caught motion from above.

He blinked, ducking low and peering beneath a branch, watching something move along the side of the house.

He blinked again.

And then charged forward.

A girl was scaling the brick with her bare hands, blonde hair flowing in the breeze as she struggled to find her footing.

He opened his mouth to call out but became distracted by the rifle pointed at his head.

He skid to a halt beneath the window, raising his hands and once more trying to speak, but his words were drowned out by a ground-shaking explosion.

He staggered back, nearly toppling to the grass as Grimmauld shook on its foundation, the stone walls cracking and releasing a large dust plume into the air.

The girl lost her grip, dangling by one hand, legs kicking the air in a panic.

“Luna!”

The brunette lunged forward, hanging half outside the window as the other two women watched on in shock. She stretched her arm out, nearly reaching her–

And then the blonde slipped.

Draco dove forward, driven by pure instinct, arms thrown out just in time to catch her.

The sudden impact of her dead weight toppled them both to the ground in a graceless heap, long tresses in his eyes and mouth as she landed atop him.

He fought to catch his breath, adrenaline buzzing through his veins and making his pulse skip to the point he was certain he was having a heart attack.

“Oh my god, Luna!”

The cry from above broke him of the stupor. He blinked, leaning up on his elbows as he gazed down at the girl still sprawled across his torso.

He pushed her hair out of his face, fishing it out of his mouth with a cringe and meeting her wide gaze.

“Are you alright?”

She blinked slowly, looking equally shocked to be alive.

And then she nodded, smiling softly.

“I’m quite well, thank you.”

The prosaic response helped restore part of his sanity. He pushed up higher, offering a supporting hand as she took to her feet, wobbling slightly. Once she was standing he followed suit, knocking loose grass from his knees.

“Malfoy?”

He glanced up, meeting Parvati’s wide gaze. He stepped closer to the side of the building, which now sat lopsided.

“What the hell is going on?”

She set her jaw, dark eyes glinting in the moonlight.

“Greyback.”

He paled, fists clenching. “Where’s Hermione?”

“She isn’t here.”

His heart skipped anew.

“Where is she?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. But she’s safe.”

He shook his head, supremely unsatisfied with that answer, but gunfire filled the air once more and his priorities rapidly shifted.

He turned his gaze to the rifle one of the girls was holding.

“Toss me a gun.”

The blonde who accompanied them to Avery’s estate darted into the room and emerged a moment later with another rifle in hand. She leaned through the frame and lowered it slowly, dropping it when her arm couldn’t extend any further.

He caught it by the barrel, holding her gaze.

“How many men does Greyback have with him?”

“At least a dozen.”

The third girl shifted forward, gripping her own firearm tight. “Luna is going to send word to my father.”

He nodded. “The rest of you should climb out, too. I’ll catch you.”

The glanced between each other, the one holding the rifle nodding and stepping aside.

“Go, I’ll cover the field.” She raised the barrel and pointed it ahead.

The blonde shifted forward first, standing closest to the frame. Parvati helped her over the ledge, releasing her only when she started her shaky descent, knuckles turning white as she clung to the gaps in the bricks.

Draco reached up, gripping her waist as soon as she came into range and lifting her off the wall and over the bushes, setting her on her feet beside Luna.

He turned back to the wall, raising his arms once more.

“Hurry!”

Parvati shook her head, taking a step back. “I’m not leaving my sister.”

Her companion glanced at her sharply. “But–”

“Go, Susan.”

“You can’t stay!”

Draco growled under his breath, slamming a fist to the brick. “There isn’t time for this bullshite!”

The girl with the rifle nodded solemnly, strapping the weapon across her back and gathering her skirts, carefully straddling the window frame and beginning her downward trek.

Draco sensed movement at his back. He tensed, glancing sharply over his shoulder, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw it was merely one of the blondes stepping forward, gazing up at the second story.

“Parvati–”

“I’ll be alright, Hannah. Please, the sooner you go the sooner this will all be over.”

Draco grit his teeth, snatching the brunette off the wall as soon as she came within arm’s reach and setting her aside, reaching into his coat to extract his gleaming billfold.

“Go, take this for fare and anything else you need. I’ll cover you to the woods.”

The brunette accepted it, stuffing it in her skirt pocket as the others peered upward forlornly.

Parvati nodded once more and they finally relented, darting across the grass as Draco took aim with his rifle, grateful his father insisted his only son become fluent with firearms at a young age.

His shoulders dropped as their flowing hair and skirts disappeared behind the dark treeline.

He started to lower the gun when he heard a branch snap to his right. He spun on his heel as Parvati's cry echoed down.

“Behind you!”

A dark mass exploded from the hedges, rushing straight for him.

He took aim and fired, hitting his target in the leg.

The man wailed like a dying animal, skidding in the grass and falling flat on his backside as he clutched his injured thigh, tipping his head back and screaming into the night.

“They’re getting away!”

Draco scowled, running forward, gun aimed at his head.

The man gaped, face red with exertion as he tried to pull himself back.

“Please! God please!” He raised his arms, hands trembling. “Don’t kill me!”

Draco’s heart thundered violently in his chest, battering his ribcage.

“Please!”

He shook his head, lowering the gun and flipping it over in his hands, driving the hilt into the side of the man’s skull.

He slumped over in a dead heap, silent at last.

Draco panted, arms falling limp as he staggered back, vision hazy.

“Malfoy!”

He blinked, spinning around to face the broken window. Parvati eyed him carefully, expression tense.

“You should go for help, too.”

He took a steadying breath, lifting his chin.

“No. I’m coming to get you.”

She blinked, slowly drawing back. “I told you, I’m not leaving-”

“I heard you the first five bloody times.”

She scowled, crossing her arms. “I’d really love to smack the shite out of you.”

“You’ve already done that, luv. Stay put, I’ll be right up.”

* * *

Parvati sighed, dropping her arms to grip the sill, watching the blonde dart around the corner of the house and disappear from sight.

She shook her head, thorn-covered vines tightening around her heart with each successive beat.

“Famous last words,” she whispered, stepping back into the shadows and turning for the bed.

Oblivious to the dark figure in the trees, watching her through the window with slitted eyes and a Cheshire grin.

* * *

Dumbledore released a weary sigh, rubbing his thumb and forefinger along his brow as he slowly paced the front of the bedroom.

Hermione leaned over Dawn’s still form, the girl’s limp wrist encased in her hand. She watched the seconds tick by along the clock on the side table, counting the frail beats beneath her fingertips.

At last she sighed, releasing her arm and laying it gently across her middle.

“Her pulse is weak.”

He dropped his hand, turning to face her.

“What can I do to help?”

She held his gaze. “Admit her to the nearest hospital.”

“Letting her out of this house puts her life in great danger.”

Her shoulders tensed, latent panic still knotting her muscles. “It’s amazing she’s alive at all. The fit nearly killed her. She stopped breathing altogether. If she has another seizure her heart will most certainly give out.”

He released a long breath. “What if I call for a private physician to come to the house?”

Hermione shook her head. “She needs around the clock monitoring, intravenous liquids… her condition extends well beyond the scope of a house call.”

“If she’s recognized-”

“The Dollmaker doesn’t know she’s a part of this. As far as he's concerned she’s just another product sold to one of his clients.”

She rubbed her palms along her dress, glancing down at the bed as she fought to keep her tone unaffected. “But just in case, you should stay with her.”

A tense beat.

He shifted forward, drawing her gaze.

“I can’t leave you here alone. I’ll station men I trust outside of her hospital room.”

Her jaw clenched.

_Good enough._

She nodded slowly. “Alright. I’ll grab her traveling cloak.”

She stood from the edge of the mattress, casting a parting glance at the bed before walking past him.

“Ms. Granger.”

She paused in the doorway, glancing over her shoulder.

He tilted his head, glacial eyes sparkling like clear water.

“Why were you in this room?”

She paled, fingers clenching upon the frame. “I’m terribly sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“I’m not upset. Merely curious.”

She wet her lips, gaze darting around the feminine space, caught by the accusing stares of the dolls.

Watching. Waiting.

“I…” She shifted uncomfortably, forcing herself to meet his unnerving gaze. “I felt compelled to take a second look.”

He studied her carefully.

The silence was heavy, oppressive. Filling her lungs with white smoke.

And then his spine straightened, something indiscernible flashing in the depths of his stare.

“Sometimes, when the house goes still and quiet, I swear I hear her footsteps.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a tragic smile. “On even rarer occasions, I feel her presence enter the room like a warm breeze.”

He drew in a deep breath, chin lifting. “From the moment you entered this home, I’ve felt Ariana all around me. Permeating the air more powerfully than ever before. I showed you her room because I thought…”

He blinked, shoulders dropping.

“I _hoped_ it was what she wanted.”

Hermione lowered her arms to her sides, heart fluttering beneath her breastbone. She swallowed heavily, blinking away the burning sensation behind her eyes.

“It was.”

She held his gaze for another painful beat.

And then stepped back slowly.

“I’ll get Dawn’s cloak.”

He nodded, smiling once more.

“We’ll be waiting in the carriage.”

.   .   .

Hermione folded her arms, gaze affixed to the window, spine ramrod straight as she watched the carriage slowly pull out of the drive and around the privacy bushes.

The air shifted at her back.

Her gaze flickered to the side as a pale face appeared in the glass, hovering at the opposite end of the room.

She gazed upon the reflection for several moments before addressing it.

“The Dollmaker will be tearing the city apart for me. He’ll have people stationed to watch the Home.” She set her jaw. “If I go there, I’ll be taken.”

She slowly turned in place, hands curled atop her arms. “It will be a miracle if I make it out unscathed.”

The apparition made no gesture of response.

“Ariana, I can’t go back there.”

The ghost continued to watch her in the festering silence.

Until at last, she tipped her head in acknowledgment.

Hermione released a sharp breath, hands clenching as tears sprang forth, blurring her vision.

“What you have hidden in the dollhouse, it’s important?”

Ariana continued to bob gently, pale hair obscuring her face as it flowed all around her.

“Will it help us stop Him?”

Hermione’s breath caught as the girl hovered higher, drifting slightly closer. She wiped her eyes, stealing her nerves.

“And I’m the only one who can retrieve it?”

Ariana tilted her head once more, eyes laced with such profound sadness it caused her chest to throb anew.

She dropped her arms at her sides, tilting her head back to maintain the levitating gaze.

“If I’m taken, if I’m killed, will you appear to another? Luna has the sight. Parvati also believes. They’ll be able to help you stop Him if I fail.”

Her mournful gaze lowered as Ariana drifted down, hovering at eye level.

Hermione nodded slowly, shoulders bracing the impossible weight set upon them.

“If the key to ending this evil once and for all is sitting in the attic, then it’s well worth my life.”

She wet her lips, eyes gleaming in the fading moonlight.

“Let’s go.”

* * *

Harry skid into the entry hall at his godfather’s side, earning the startled gazes of its two existing occupants.

Ron lowered his gun upon seeing their faces, Neville doing the same a moment later.

Harry met the former’s eye. “Did anyone make it up?”

“Just one. Zabini shot him.”

Sirius stepped forward, watching the front door. “Good lad. The back is blocked?”

Ron nodded. “The library is gone?”

Their admiral arched a dark brow, reloading his rifle.

“Half the house is gone. Mother will be rising from the grave right about now. Perhaps her poltergeist will help chase some of these tosspots off. Lord knows she did a good enough job of that while alive.”

Harry’s jaw tensed as he reached into his pocket for a box of bullets.

“Brace yourselves, they'll be piling through the front any mo-”

The front windows shattered on either side of the door, decorative rocks scraping along the marble as glass rained down in an impressive, glittering arc.

Harry retook his gun and began firing through the opening directly ahead, the others quickly following suit.

He ran out of ammunition within seconds, cursing heavily as he reached into his pocket, pulling out the box as a man barrelled through the open frame.

Harry blinked, gazing up just in time to see a fist swinging at his head.

He ducked low but lost his grip on the bullets, cringing as he heard the container hit the floor between them.

He tossed the useless weapon aside, resorting to fists instead, driving one into the man’s side even as he felt an iron band slip across his middle, someone grabbing him from behind and lifting him off his feet.

He reared back with his head, relishing the satisfying crunch of cartilage and the wet, gurgling scream of pain that followed.

The arm loosened enough for Harry to twist free, ducking as the first attacker charged him head-on. He dived out of his path, watching as he barrelled into his partner, both men crashing to the marble with bone-crushing force.

Harry picked up his discarded rifle and ran to their sides as they tried to right themselves, hitting one over the back of the head with the hilt.

He collapsed atop the other man like a human blanket.

Harry began to point the rifle, only to grit his teeth when he recalled it was still empty.

He sighed, leaning down and extracting the second hunting blade from his boot.

The conscious man’s eyes turned to saucers, complexion waning as he desperately tried to throw the restricting weight off and scramble back.

Harry advanced quickly, knife raised overhead–

A hand grabbed his arm from behind.

He spun with lightning reflexes, slashing out with the blade.

The man behind him reared back with millimeters to spare, colliding hard with the side of the staircase.

“Fucking hell, Potter!”

Harry blinked rapidly, knife still poised to strike as he questioned his sanity.

“Malfoy?”

The blonde lowered his arms, stepping away from the railing with a furious scowl.

“Obviously. Jesus Christ, you nearly cut my bloody head off!”

He blinked again.

“Malfoy?”

Draco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as the chaos continued to rage on around them.

“I don’t have time for this.” He met his eye. “Just stand aside, I need to get upstairs.”

Harry lowered the blade at last, turning his head as gunfire rang out. Sirius took aim and shot a man attempting to climb through the frame even as another charged him from the side.

“The girls are up there.”

“The girls went out the window.”

Harry jolted, attention drawn forward once more.

“What?”

“Parvati and her twin are the only two left, now move.”

“ _What_?”

“Christ! How many blows have you taken to the head tonight? You already had limited brain function begin with!”

“Wait, where did they-”

Gunshots rang out anew. Harry sighed, spotting Neville with a pistol. He slipped his knife back into his boot and reached for his rifle.

“Do what you need to do, I’ve got to help them down here.”

He turned away from the blonde, charging for the thick of the battle.

Draco cast a quick glance around the room.

“Potter!”

Harry dodged a punch to the side, rolling with the momentum and catching his attacker around the neck, putting him in a chokehold.

He glanced up, emerald eyes gleaming.  
Draco raised a pale brow.

“Where the hell is Greyback?”

Everyone froze as a feminine scream filled the air, drowning out the sound of panting breath and pained groans.

Harry and Draco held each other's gaze.

“Shite.”

* * *

Hermione pulled her cloak tighter, lifting the collar over her face as she stepped free of the carriage.

She paid the driver in silence, glancing over her shoulder at the ominous presence of the Home in the distance, hissing gargoyles illuminated by moonlight, hollow eyes watching her from the rooftop.

She swallowed heavily, stepping onto the curb as the carriage pulled away, the horses rounding the corner a moment later.

The street was still and quiet.

She held her breath, making a dash for the nearest alley.

She stood at the mouth, keeping her face averted as she quickly scanned the street, heart leaping as she spotted her target at last.

He was leaning against a nearby shop front, one leg propped against the brick as he puffed steadily at a cigarette.

She pulled her collar higher yet and began a meticulous path towards him, mindful of her gait.

She tucked her hands into her pockets to hide her clenched fists, eyes fixed on the uneven cobblestone as her heels clicked an unhurried path towards the shop.

She was upon him at last. He stood away from the wall, moving clear of her path and tipping his cap in polite greeting.

"Evenin', Miss."

She glanced up, eyes gleaming in the orange streetlight.

“What did I tell you about smoking, Colin?”

His eyes widened to comical proportions, cigarette falling from his mouth, ashes raining across his shirt and pant leg as he reared back.

“Mione?”

“Shh!” She glanced around frantically, clutching his arm and pushing him around the side of the shop into the dark alley.

“What the hell are you–”

“Please, Colin, keep your voice down.”

His brows drew in. “Why? Are you in trouble?”

She wet her lips, facing forward. “You could say that.”

“What’s wrong?” He leaned close, casting his voice low. “Does it have to do with Luna? Dennis told me she’s at Grimmauld.”

“Luna is safe, this has nothing to do with her.” She released his arm, tucking her hands back into her pocket. “I just need to sneak into the Home.” Her jaw tensed. “Have you seen anyone watching the building?”

He blinked. "There were a couple gents who kept walkin' past earlier. I didn't recognize them, figured they worked for Umbridge."

Her shoulders drew in. “When was the last time you saw them?”

He shrugged. “Maybe an hour or so. They headed to the corner pub, I don’t think they’ve left.”

She bit her lip, glancing once more over her shoulder into the empty street beyond, only the edge of the Home visible from their vantage.

“Mione, what’s going on?”

She released a heavy sigh, shaking her head as she turned to face him. “I don’t have time to explain. But I need to ask a favor, a very important one, and I promise to repay you as soon as-”

“Don’t worry about that, luv. Just tell me what you need.”

She smiled, warmth spreading through her chest.

“Thank you, Colin.”

.   .   .

She clutched the bricks at her back, nails digging into the mortar as she carefully examined the pub across the street.

The front of the venue was adorned with a massive window, revealing the dimly lit interior, tables filled and bustling at this late hour.

She watched as Colin cut a quick and casual path across the street, leaping gracefully onto the walkway and reaching for the door, slipping into the crowded venue with ease.

She blinked, losing view of him, standing on her tiptoes, lowering only when she caught sight of his cap as he moved through the sea of patrons with agile swiftness.

She held her breath as he sidled close to a table centered just before the window.

Her eyes widened as she noticed the men seated at the small countertop.

They sat along the same edge, both facing the window, sipping from half full pints, their gazes fixed upon the Home situated just across the narrow street.

She slipped deeper into the shadows, pulse thrumming as Colin turned in place, pretending to count coins in his palm as he bumped the corner of the table.

Hard.

Both men reared back, nearly toppling off their stools as one spilled the contents of his glass down his front.

She cringed as they pushed back from the table in rage, rounding on Colin. The boy raised his hands in obvious supplication, feigning apology, though he couldn't hide the shite eating grin on his face, shoulders rolling with pent laughter.

_Dammit, Colin. I said distract them, not incite a bloody row!_

She gasped as one of the men surged forward, grasping Colin by the lapels and wrenching him forward, nearly lifting him off his feet.

The men became absorbed in their conflict, neither focused on the Home.

She took a tentative step forward, guilt plaguing her stomach as she continued to watch the brawl unfold.

But it was a distraction nonetheless, and Colin’s efforts would be wasted if she didn’t seize the opportunity.

She forced her gaze ahead as she darted out of the alley and into the street, making a beeline for the garden side of the Home, well out of view of the pub.

Her hair fell loose of its pins, curls bouncing across her shoulders and neck as she ran with as much speed as her skirts and heeled boots would allow.

She charged the tall gate, clinging to the rod iron and duking low, panting as she struggled to quell her adrenaline. She glanced over her shoulder, barely able to make out the pub in the distance.

Colin burst free of the venue, laughing hysterically and flipping a two-fingered salute at the window. The men watched on, red-faced and enraged, most likely over their inability to give chase.

Instead, they retook their seats, one calling out to the barkeep while the other brushed broken glass onto the floor, affixing his gaze to the entrance of the Home once more.

Hermione dropped lower, spinning on her heel and sliding further along the gate until she reached the gap in the bars. She pulled her skirts tight around her legs as she slipped through, emerging into the dark garden.

She rose to her full height, glancing at the night blooms and meticulously trimmed hedges.

Strange. She’d assumed without Luna there to tend it the overgrowth would run rampant.

She crept carefully to the kitchen door, gripping the handle and bracing herself. She couldn’t help but think of Filch every time she stood before this particular entrance.

She turned the handle and breathed a heavy of relief when it gave way beneath her touch.

She pushed the barrier open, blinking quickly as light streamed out, blinding as she stepped out of the darkness.

Laughter filled the air but cut off abruptly as she moved inside. She continued to blink, eyes adjusting, the smell of freshly baked bread assaulting her senses in a satisfying gust.

Three girls came into view, one behind the sink holding a whipping bowl and whisk and two by the ovens, rags and pans in hand.

They stood just as frozen as she, eyes wide and mouths agape.

Hermione closed the door at her back, forcing a smile.

“Hello.”

The girl with the bowl tilted her head, setting aside her frosting covered whisk.

“Can we help you?”

One of the girls at the oven stepped forward, nearly dropping her pan of raw dough.

“Wait, you’re Hermione Granger.”

The other two stood at attention, eyes widening as they roamed her figure from bottom to top.

“Um… yes.” She shifted awkwardly. “I am.”

“I knew it!” The girl slid the pan onto the counter and bounced on the balls of her feet. “Is he with you?”

Hermione blinked.

“Who?”

“The Doctor!”

She opened and closed her mouth, glancing at each of their eager expressions in turn. “Doctor Riddle?”

They nodded, eyes bright. Hermione shook her head, her own face warring between amusement and utter confusion.

“No. He isn’t.” She raised a brow as they each deflated. “Why do you ask?”

The first girl set her bowl beside the whisk. "We wanted to thank him."

“For what?”

“Getting rid of Umbridge.”

Her heart skipped. “Umbridge? She’s gone?”

They nodded in unison. “And Filch barely leaves his room, it’s fantastic!”

Hermione braced her hands against the dividing island.

“Wait, who’s in charge?”

The girl still holding her pan shrugged.

“The older residents have been overseeing chores. Mandy’s sort of the leader.”

Hermione breathed a heavy sigh, hands falling to her sides.

“Everyone’s alright then? You have enough food and supplies?”

They nodded as one. Hermione couldn’t help but smirk at the image they made.

“Have there been any accidents, illness?”

They shook their heads. She opened her mouth to ask more questions but was distracted by sharp laughter in the hallway as a group of girls rushed past, giggles echoing in their wake.

Her chest filled with warmth, pride lengthening her spine.

The girls were doing just fine on their own. Thriving even. She’d never heard such laughter fill these corridors, not when everyone was focused on keeping their heads down as Filch made his daily rounds.

She stepped back, eyes burning. She averted her face, embarrassed by the sudden onslaught of emotion.

“Hermione, are you alright?”

She nodded quickly, smiling.

“I’m so very proud of you.” She met their gaze one at a time. “All of you.”

The girl with the bowl blushed lightly, playing idly with the whisk on the counter. “Would you like to speak with Mandy? We can fetch her for you.”

Hermione shook her head, reining in her emotions. “Mandy and the others are doing a great job, I’m not going disturb them.”

She started for the hallway.

“Hermione.”

She glanced over her shoulder. One of the girls by the oven shifted, hands tightly knotted at her front.

“Will Umbridge be coming back?”

Hermione held her gaze, pulse thrumming.

“I don’t think so.”

They each rocked back on their heels with overwhelming relief, exchanging excited glances.

Hermione laughed softly, nodding to the oven.

“Don’t burn your bread.”

They shrieked, scrambling towards the metal door. Hermione imparted one last smile before entering the corridor and turning the corner.

As she made her way through the intersecting hallways she passed by more clusters of residents, laughter and conversation ringing through every open doorway.

She gazed at the swept floors, the smooth baseboards, the webless ceiling seams.

Everything was remarkably clean.

She was amazed the girls maintained their chore schedule in the wake of their matron’s absence.

She emerged into the entry hall a moment later, spotting a group of girls wielding feather dusters and rags, talking animatedly as they went about cleaning the statutes and staircase.

Umbridge never allowed conversation, believing it pure distraction that deterred from work.

But it seemed the girls were working even more efficiently as they laughed and called to each other across the room.

The cold, severe atmosphere that encased the Home like an ice dome was shattered. The air itself felt warmer, less abrasive on her lungs as she made her way to the staircase.

A couple girls peered at her with wide eyes, falling silent as their work stalled. Hermione smiled, nodding in acknowledgment. They blinked, snapping out of their daze and smiling in return, glancing to each other before resuming their work.

She made her way up the steps, wondering why her presence should cause any sort of stir. No one had seen her get carted off to the Asylum.

Unless Marietta had bragged about her accomplishment to others.

The rumor mill was a vicious, unrelenting machine.

She made her way to the landing undisturbed, picking up only a few additional stares as she entered the hallway leading to the abandoned wing.

She picked up a lantern as she went, clicking it on as she entered the first of the darkened hallways leading to her destination.

As the hum of conversation and laughter faded into the distance Hermione was left alone with her own tempest of thoughts. They twisted like tentacles through her mind, rising from the dark sea and wrapping her chest tight, pressing the air from her lungs.

She wondered what happened to Umbridge.

She wasn’t disturbed by the notion Tom killed her. She was disturbed by the disappointment eating through her gut like acid.

Disappointment she hadn’t been there to see it.

She swallowed heavily, closing her eyes as she continued her trek through the cold hallway.

_“Have I destroyed you, Hermione?”_

The phantom whisper sent chills along her spine, knotting her stomach tighter, desire and revulsion warring for dominance.

She suppressed the errant musings as she turned the corner into the final corridor, walking with poise and confidence to the hidden door at the end.

The macabre portrait watched her approach, its faded eyes flickering in the candle flame.

Hermione nodded to the painting in greeting, sparing no thought for the insanity her life had become as she set the lantern aside and jumped for the trick sconce.

She caught the metal hook on her third attempt, cheeks flush with exertion.

The panel clicked open, a cold draft rushing out, chilling her skin as the dark stairs greeted her.

She grabbed her lantern and took a stealing breath, jaw tightening as she slowly ascended the narrow steps, heartbeat reverberating in her ears.

She paused outside the gleaming black door, hand clenching at her side before she forced it to grip the knob.

She blinked as it turned beneath her hand of its own accord, slowly swinging open on rusty hinges without prompt, groaning loudly and setting her nerve endings aflame.

She drew her shoulders back and stepped inside.

And then doubled over, caught off guard by the rancid smell invading her airway.

She wretched, nearly dropping the lantern as she struggled to keep the meager contents of her stomach at bay.

It smelled like stale body odor and excrement, the small room overpowered with it.

She blinked rapidly, eyes tearing as she gazed around the floor, looking for the animal carcass that surely supplied such foul odor.

And noticed the subtle differences in the room.

The broken dolls were swept into a pile in the corner, the fallen and discarded papers stacked or wadded into a neighboring cluster.

She blinked slowly, drying her eyes and breathing through her mouth.

_What the hell happened?_

She stood to her full height.

_It must have been Tom._

No one else knew about the room, after all.

She clutched her lantern tight and made a quick path to the dollhouse centered against the far wall, forcing her eyes to stay upon the structure and off the haunting message written above it.

She dropped to her knees, setting the light aside and gripping the shutters, pulling the walls apart as Dawn had shown her.

She held her breath, eyes wide and hopefully, expecting something profound to be waiting for her within.

But the house sat empty.

She blinked, reaching inside the dark cubbies, searching out a key, a note, some gleaming beacon of hope and freedom to cling to.

But there was nothing.

Her shoulders tightened as she ran her fingers along the smooth floors and walls, shaking her head all the while.

“No…”

She leaned closer, eyeing the floors carefully, looking for notches in the wood, a trap door or compartment, anything.

“No!”

She slammed a fist atop the roof, shaking the structure.

“Ariana!” She wet her lips, diving back in, searching desperately. “Where is it?”

Something caught her eye, a slight movement from above.

Her gaze flickered up.

The dollhouse had an attic, and there was something inside it.

She blinked, wondering how she missed the two dolls earlier.

She grabbed her lantern and held it aloft, illuminating the narrow cubby.

Her mouth ran dry.

The dolls were positioned quite strangely.

One was kneeling over, facing the far wall.

The other was standing just behind it, arms raised above its head as it wielded something in its hands, poised to strike.

Her blood ran cold, fine hairs standing on end as the air shifted at her back, a cold breeze swirling around her, lifting her curls and forcing more of the rancid odor into her lungs.

She spun around on instinct, sensing the presence behind her and knowing it wasn’t Ariana.

The figure above her raised the brick higher, smile gleaming feral in the moonlight.

“Hello, Ms. Granger.”

Hermione’s scream shook the walls.

* * *

Parvati balanced carefully on the edge of the mattress, arm hovering over her sister's unmoving form before she finally reached down and took one of her hands between her own.

“Padma, I don’t know if you can hear me. I don’t know if you recognize my voice…”

She swallowed thickly, blocking out the sound of shouting and gunfire filtering in from downstairs.

“And I don’t know if I’m going to survive this night, or if I’ll ever have the opportunity to say this again.” Her jaw tensed. “So I have to say it now.”

She took a fortifying breath, squeezing the limp hand tighter. “I’m so sorry I left you. That I wasn’t there when you needed me most. I’ll never forgive myself for letting him take you. For not searching. For not knowing.”

Glass shattered in the distance.

“But I need you to understand, none of it was your fault. You aren’t responsible for anything that occurred over these last three years. You weren’t in control, you couldn't escape, and everything he made you do-”

She cut off abruptly, throat swelling. Her eyes squeezed shut as she averted her face, sucking in a sharp breath.

She released it slowly, forcing her eyes open and forward.

“It wasn’t your fault. You have nothing to feel ashamed of.” Her eyes flashed. “The bastard is dead, Padma. Burned alive. He paid for what he did.”

She pulled the arm into her lap, gently stroking her wrist. “He hurt you. But he didn’t destroy you. He didn’t take away who you are. All that you can be.”

She lifted her chin. “You’re going to survive this. I don’t care if it costs me my life. You _will_ live to see the morning.”

Her eyes burned fiercely, welling with tears, blurring her sister’s face. “And you’ll go on to do such amazing things. You’re going to leave Lestrange behind in the muck and the dirt where he belongs and you're going to thrive and succeed and become everything you ever dreamed of becoming.”

She wiped her eyes dry with her sleeve. “And if I’m not standing beside you, know that I’m still there. I’m still with you. Forever and always.”

She nodded, as much to herself as to the girl lying beside her. “You’re my heart. My soul. And I’m your heart. Your soul.”

She pressed the back of Padma’s hand to her heart.

“Death can’t change that. It can’t keep us apart.” And then lifted it to her face, turning it over and pressing her cheek into the cool palm. “I love you more than anything.”

She closed her eyes, pressing it harder to her face. “If you only remember one thing about me, please let it be that.”

“Well, isn’t that just beautiful.”

Parvati gasped, dropping Padma’s arm and springing from the bed.

She spun around, nearly losing her balance, voice caught in her throat as she met the gleaming eyes of the Boogeyman.

“Sorry to interrupt, pretty one. Please, don’t mind me.”

He smiled like his wolfish namesake, stepping into the room from the window frame he straddled.

She retreated rapidly, knees colliding with the mattress as she glanced manically to the barricaded door.

“Nah ah ah. It’s not polite to scream.” He licked his lips, rising to his full height, massive build blocking the window frame and what meager light it cast.

“Besides. You’re not a runner. You’re a fighter. That’s what I like about you.” He tilted his head, taking a casual step towards the bed. “I remember you now, poppet. I remember the first night we met.”

He smiled with perverse fondness. “You did some handy work on the side of my head with a brick.”

She grit her teeth, hands curling to claws at her sides. “You did some handy work of your own, nearly tossing me out of the window.”

“Come now, luv. I wouldn’t have damaged merchandise as fine as you.”

Fury bled into her dark gaze, casting it red in the pale moonlight. “You broke into our flat to kidnap Padma.”

“I meant to take you both.” He stopped just before her. “Until you put up such a fight, that is. Then I decided to keep you for myself.” He reached up and gently stroked a claw along her cheekbone. “Such a pity we were interrupted.”

She averted her face, shuddering with fear and revulsion.

“It was you.” Venom dripped from her lips, thick and heavy. “You stole her from the clinic. Paid off the staff to tell me she was dead.”

He shrugged with nonchalance. “Lestrange liked the exotic ones. I knew I’d fetch a fortune, even sick as she was. It was well worth the second trip.” His fingers continued their slow perusal unabated, drifting down her neck. “I would have taken you, too, but you weren't there.”

He wet his lips, leaning down, searing breath scalding her face and burning her nostrils.

“You sweet sister was all by her lonesome, dying on a filthy cot like an animal put out to pasture.” He smiled. “You should be thanking me. I saved her life. She’d be dead and buried if I’d left her in your care.”

She blinked, tears tracking both cheeks beyond her control.

“So go ahead. Thank me.” His large hand gently encased her throat, squeezing against her frantic pulse. “Make me believe it, and maybe I’ll consider killing you first. You won’t have to watch me stick a knife through your sister’s chest.”

She tipped her chin back and spit in his face, relishing as he blinked in shock. “I promise you, before this night is through, I’m going to cut out your heart.”

He blinked once more, hand cutting off her airflow for the space of a heartbeat.

And then his grip loosened, air flooding her lungs as he tipped his head back and laughed.

“Oh, what a waste killing you is! You’re something special, pet. I’d love nothing more than to put you on a leash and chain you to my bed.” He shook his head, voice laced with mocking contrition. “Unfortunately, orders are orders, and I can't leave either of you alive. But the manner in which you die is completely up to you.”

His teeth gleamed as he bared them before her face.

“Riddle gave me the same offer. Seems only fair I pass it forward.” He squeezed once more, raising her onto her tiptoes. “Now, tell me where he is and I’ll snap your neck. Quick and painless.”

She held his gaze, sucking in just enough air to make her words intelligible. “Burn in hell.”

He sighed, shaking his head.

And then he lifted her off her feet by her throat, striding across the room.

She gagged and sputtered, feet kicking the air as she clawed desperately at his wrist, his arm, his chest and face.

He laughed all the while, quelling her struggles as easily as subduing a kitten before slamming her into the wall with enough force to knock the fight right out of her.

Her ears rang as stars shimmered before her eyes, pain splitting her skull in half.

Her spine and shoulder blades screamed in protest, heels scraping the wall for purchase as he continued to hold her aloft.

“I’m going to ask you one more time, pretty one. And then I’m going to start cutting off sleeping beauty’s fingers and toes.”

From the corner of her eye she spotted the chest of drawers situated beside her.

Inspiration struck, heavy and clouded in the oxygen-deprived fog of her mind, but actionable nonetheless.

She released his wrist and reached out, stretching desperately for the broken shards of mirror still littering the counter.

Greyback paid her struggle no mind, pressing in until her field of vision was overwhelmed by his dark presence.

“Where. Is. Riddle?”

Her fingers gripped her prize, a jagged shard that cut into the flesh of her palm, blood welling in her hand and dripping down her wrist.

She met his eye, her own bloodshot and glazed, and smile wickedly.

“Burn. In. Hell.”

She brought her arm forward, gripping the broken glass with all her strength, victory singing through her veins as she felt the sharp edge make contact, slicing through skin and muscle as she slashed his face open.

He let loose a deafening yell, more outraged than pained, and released her all at once.

She collapsed in a lifeless heap, desperately sucking in air, watching from the ground as he staggered back and clutched his face. Bright red blood oozed between his fingers and cascaded down his neck, soaking through his collar.

He drew his hand away slowly, gazing at the gleaming crimson coating his palm in shock.

And then his yellow eyes slitted, blood-drenched face turning upward as he pinned her with a murderous glare.

“Stupid cunt!”

He charged forward like a raging bull, the ground shaking beneath his heavy stride.

Parvati pressed back into the wall and let loose a desperate wail.

* * *

Blaise spun on his heel as a feminine scream tore through the hallway, muffled but unmistakable.

His heart dropped to his stomach, cold sweat drenching him as he charged the double doors.

“Parvati!”

He turned the handles but the barrier wouldn't budge.

“Shite!”

He threw his shoulder into the wood, cringing as the impact radiated through his bones.

And then he heard it.

The deep, masculine growl on the other side of the doors.

Blaise roared, pounding his fists in a blind rage.

“Don’t you fucking touch her!”

He reared back, grabbing up the rifle and pointing the tip of the barrel against the knob, holding his breath and pulling the trigger.

The brass fixture blew away, hitting the ground with a crash as chunks of wood flew in every direction.

He tossed the gun aside and pushed again, but the wardrobe on the other side remained unmoved.

Parvati screamed again.

Blaise threw himself repeatedly into the door.

“Greyback! I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Blaise!”

He blinked, spinning to face the new voice at the end of the hall.

His heart soared with renewed hope.

“Draco! Help me!”

The blonde ran to his side, testing the doors himself before nodding, meeting his eye.

“Together.”

Blaise nodded in turn, pressing his back to the center of the door, Draco following suit, shoulders pressing as they dug in their heels and braced their weight.

“Push!”

They groaned, driving back with all their strength, grunting with pained exertion as the wardrobe started to slowly give way on the other side.

Parvati screamed again and Blaise felt a renewed surge of strength overtake him. He released a shout of fury and pushed back as hard as he could, stumbling over his feet as the wardrobe slid faster and faster.

At last the doors crashed open, both men tumbling back, hitting the bedroom rug in a heap of scrambling limbs.

Blaise found his footing first, scanning the bedroom with bated breath–

And then he saw her.

His heart stopped.

Greyback held her by the throat just before a broken window, moonlight illuminating their still figures.

Even in the dim glow, Blaise could see the fire and determination in her eyes as she held his gaze from across the room, standing on tiptoes as she twisted in the restraining grasp.

He swallowed heavily, taking a step forward.

“Don’t hurt–”

“Shut up.”

Greyback squeezed her throat tighter, eliciting a weak keen she fought to suppress.

Draco rose to his feet, watching the scene play out with unnerving calm.

“Greyback, surely you know who I am.”

“You can suck my cock, Malfoy. So can your father. I don’t give a fuck about you inbred privileged shitstains.”

“You work for my Uncle.”

“ _Worked_. Past tense. Rabastan is dead. At least according to this one.”

He shook her for emphasis, squeezing tighter and causing her to sputter, eyes squeezing shut as tears over spilled her lashes.

Blaise stepped forward again, lungs squeezed in a vice, but froze in place as Greyback snarled, dragging her up against the busted frame.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. Our girl has many talents, but landing on her feet from a two-story drop isn't one of them."

Blaise's eyes flashed. He opened his mouth to speak but Draco held up a silencing hand.

“You’ve been hired to kill her.” The blonde wet his lips, tone measured. “I’ll pay you ten times the amount to leave her alive.”

Greyback let loose a high pitched laugh, near manic in quality, causing Blaise’s skin to prickle and burn as though acid were being poured across it.

“This isn’t about money, you dumb fuck.” He dragged her further back, until her head and shoulders were outside the window.

“Look at me!” He gestured to his bandaged leg. “Look what that fucking madman did!” Spit flew from his lips, eyes gleaming wild. “I want my pound of flesh! And if I can’t carve it out of him or his little bitch then I’ll take it out of her!”

He shook her again, dragging her further out until the backs of her knees hit the sill, her torso exposed to the damp night air.

Blaise swayed in place with the force of his heartbeat, eyes fixed firmly to her shuddering form.

“Please.” He raised his hands, palms up. “Just tell us what you want.”

Greyback laughed anew. But this round was deeper. Sinister.

“What I want is simple, gents.” His teeth gleamed hungry in the moonlight. “I just want someone to answer my question.”

He leaned back, pulling her further out. Her skirts caught on jagged shards of glass littering the frame, the fabric tearing as she tried to scramble back inside.

“ _Where is Tom Riddle_?”

* * *

Tom gripped the reins tighter as he felt a shift in the air.

He glanced around the empty street, hackles starting to rise, senses sharpening as the distinct feeling of unease settled deep into his bones.

And then he saw it.

Just around the corner.

Smoke in the air.

His heart leaped as he urged the horses on, realizing two vital things as he drew near.

It wasn’t smoke. It was dust and debris.

And it was coming from the direction of Grimmauld.

He shouted to the horses once more, speeding ahead, at last nearing the outer gate.

It was in tatters, parted wide, allowing his carriage to speed through. As he advanced along the drive he saw the horses milling at the entrance, absent their riders.

He abandoned his own carriage without tying it, unable to tear his eyes from the lopsided building, gaze steadily lifting to track the dust cloud emanating from the back of the structure.

He was halfway up the steps when he heard the first shot of gunfire, followed by a pained battle cry and the heavy tread of boots across a hard surface.

He pulled at the front door. It didn’t budge.

He blinked, seeing the windows on either side were completely exposed.

He shook his head, carefully stepping over the frame and into the entry.

He quickly counted four separate fights raging on across the pale marble, everyone engaged in hand to hand combat despite the copious amount of firearms and loose bullet littering the ground.

He recognized Potter and Black immediately, though he had trouble discerning the other two men embroiled in the fray. Luckily, the snatchers were easily distinguishable, each of them bearing a roughed over appearance that made them stand out quite clearly from their opulent surroundings.

Tom stepped further in, glancing around the war-torn hall before treading on a body lying face down before him.

He tilted his head, kicking it onto its back with his boot, quickly inspecting its front.

He leaned over, extracting the blade from the corpse’s chest, noting absently the bullet wound to the head and wondering who saw fit to waste their time killing the man twice.

He tossed the blade in the air, watching it spin end over end before catching the handle and calmly approaching the nearest brawl.

The sandy-haired boy looked overwhelmed, unsure what to do with his fists, taking the brunt of his opponent’s hits on his head and sides, swaying precariously with the onslaught.

Tom stood casually, watching the fight play out for another few seconds before striking forward like a cobra. He punched the snatcher in the side, causing him to bend at just the right angle for Tom to wrap an arm around his neck, holding him steady as he drove the knife into the base of his skull to the hilt.

He gurgled blood, eyes bulging before they rolled back in his head. Tom released the body, stepping aside as it crumpled before him.

The boy staggered back, eyes wide and skin pale.

Tom held his gaze.

“You’d do better with a gun.”

He blinked, hitting the wall and jolting.

“T-Thank you.”

Tom cast his gaze across the room, watching Black skillfully fight two opponents at once. “Where are the women?”

The boy remained silent.

Tom scowled, rounding on him quickly.

“ _Where_ are they?”

“The master bedroom!”

“Riddle!”

Tom blinked, turning once more. Potter met his eye from across the room, dodging a blow to the head without even looking at his attacker.

“Upstairs! Parvati needs help!”

Tom’s fists clenched, gaze darkening as he leaned down to pick up a nearby pistol.

He flicked open the chamber, assuming it empty, raising a brow when he noticed two bullets nestled within.

He set his jaw, flicking it shut against his thigh before ascending the stairs two at a time.

Once on the landing, the sounds of the entryway battle merged with faint voices on the other side of the floor. Tom followed the low hum of masculine chatter, rounding a corner and spotting shadows cast across the far wall from a set of double doors at the end.

He quickly and silently progressed, gun held at the ready, stepping over a corpse propped against the wall, a thick pool of blood already congealed beneath.

He paused just before the doors, concealed by the wall, listening intently to the voices within, shoulders tightening as he immediately recognized the deep brogue.

“What I want is simple, gents. I just want someone to answer my question.”

A feminine whine followed. Tom’s hand clenched upon the gun.

“Where is Tom Riddle?”

He shook his head, unable to suppress a dark grin of amusement as he rounded the corner and entered the room.

“I see someone’s done their homework.”

The room’s four other occupants jolted at his sudden appearance. He raised a dark brow, staring directly ahead at the hulking figure leaning half outside the window.

“You’ve asked around. I’m flattered.”

Greyback’s yellow eyes went wide, hand visibly tightening at her throat, causing her to gag and scramble anew.

And then he smiled, eyes slitting with malevolent pleasure.

“About time you got here, Doc. We had to start the festivities without you.”

Tom eyed the new wound marring the man's face, a deep gash drawn with near-perfect symmetry to the purple scar stretching across his other eye.

“I can see that.” He tucked the gun into the back of his waistband, movements slow and methodical. “You might as well put the girl aside. We both know she isn’t the one you came for, regardless of your orders.”

He smiled knowingly. “You came for me.”

“I came to destroy everything you hold dear.”

Tom tilted his head. “Then I regret to inform you, throwing Ms. Patil from the window won’t bring you any closer to accomplishing that goal.”

Greyback smirked. “Of course not. You have your sights on another little bitch. What a shame she isn’t here.”

“Why don’t you put the girl down so we can finish this like men.”

He arched a dark brow, glancing over his shoulder at the girl flailing in his grasp.

“Put her down?” He laughed shortly, meeting Tom’s eye with a careless shrug. “Sure.”

He opened his hand.

Parvati screamed, kicking her legs as she tumbled over the ledge and disappeared from sight.

The dark haired man at Tom’s side exploded to life, darting to the window like a shotgun blast with Malfoy hot at his heels.

“Parvati!”

Tom had no time to pay them any mind, for Greyback launched himself across the room with a thunderous growl.

Tom charged forward in the earth-shaking beat, meeting him halfway.

* * *

Hermione’s scream cut off abruptly as Umbridge sent the brink plunging at her head.

She rolled to the side, skirts tangling around her legs as the rock hit the floor with a deafening crack, splitting the wood beam just beside her.

Hermione kicked out on instinct, boot cracking into the woman’s shin before scrambling back on her hands, spine pressing the wall as the Matron tumbled over, screaming in pain and clutching her leg.

She blinked rapidly, eyes adjusting to the darkness, gazing beyond the woman’s crumpled form to the far corner of the room.

The curtain was laid out over the floor, a makeshift bed. She blinked again, casting her eyes to the other corner and spotting a bucket, flies buzzing overhead.

And then Umbridge drew her attention down as she rolled onto her back and wailed.

“You vile little bitch!”

Hermione scowled, pushing to her feet. “You're lucky I didn’t break your leg.” She took a steadying breath, raising a brow. “So _this_ is where you’ve been.”

Umbridge growled and slowly lowered her leg, face blistering red.

Hermione smirked. "Tom must have been running low on time. Otherwise, you'd surely be dead."

The Matron's beady eyes glinted in the lantern glow. "It must give you great pleasure to see me in such a state."

Hermione tilted her head, considering.

“Yeah. It does.”

Umbridge huffed, nostrils flaring as she pushed into a seated position with slow, pained motions.

Hermione noticed the gauntness of her cheeks, the heavy bags beneath her eyes and the waxy pallor of her skin.

She pushed any remnants of sympathy aside, drawing her shoulders back. “You don’t look surprised to see me.”

Umbridge pushed back her matted, sweat-dampened hair before smoothing the stained tatters of her dress. "I knew you'd be back. You've been a thorn in my side from the moment you were dumped in my lap. I'll never be free of you."

Hermione’s eyes flashed, gaze sharpening as shadows surged along the walls, collecting at her back in a dark halo.

“How many of us have you shipped to Him, tied up in a ribbon?”

Umbridge glanced away. Hermione surged forward, fists clenched.

“Answer me!”

The Matron met her gaze once more, veins throbbing at her temples. “I will _never_ answer to you! You're nothing but a common trollop! A filthy degenerate!"

“You’ve been shitting into a bucket for the last three days. I hardly think you’re one to judge.”

Steal laced her spine as she continued her slow approach.

"You killed Lavender." The floor radiated beneath her feet. "You may not have drawn the knife across her throat, but you killed her just the same." She stopped just before the trembling woman. "And for that, you _will_ suffer.”

Umbridge scrambled across the floor, movements slow and clumsy. Hermione followed.

“I know _exactly_ why Tom left you alive. And I'm immensely grateful for his keen forethought."

Umbridge hit the wall, pressing her hands against the slats, trying to burrow through. Hermione stood over her, shadows following in her wake, bleeding across the floor and ceiling like massive, jagged wings.

“You’ll pay for every one of your crimes. You’ll answer for every innocent life you sold to those monsters.”

She lowered to her haunches, leaning in close.

“And I’m going to be there, watching, basking in every moment of your misery.”

Umbridge blinked rapidly, searching Hermione's metallic gaze.

“You’ve changed.”

Flames burst to life within her chest, smoke billowing from her lips.

“You’ve no idea.”

She gazed upon her former Matron in disgust a moment longer, drawing back at last.

“But fortunately for you, I don’t have time to exhibit the full scope of my evolution.” She rose to her feet. “Which is just as well. It’s a miracle you’re even coherent. You’ve been without food and water this entire time?”

The Matron swallowed heavily. “Yes.”

Hermione turned, beginning a slow approach to the dollhouse. “The girls were cooking bread downstairs. It smelled divine.”

Umbridge drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around her legs and burying her dirt marred face into her skirts.

“Must you be so cruel?”

Hermione scoffed, stepping over the brick and picking up her lantern before lowering to her knees.

“Calling the kettle black, aren't we?”

She stuck her hands back inside the empty cubbies, searching for whatever Ariana intended for her to find.

Umbridge began to weep softly, sobs wet and broken. Hermione set her jaw, doing her best to ignore the pathetic keening.

But after thirty more seconds she couldn't bear the sound, groaning in frustration and leaning back.

“I’ll bring you bread and water before I leave.”

Umbridge jerked hard, elbow cracking the wall as she unfolded from her hunched position.

“Really?”

“Only if you promise to shut up.”

She blinked her bloodshot eyes, wiping tears from her face. "Why would you bring me food?"

Hermione narrowed her gaze, glancing forward and resuming her search. “Your soul is black. You deserve to suffer. You deserve to starve. Wasting away alone in the attic with nothing but broken dolls for company is poetic justice.”

Her shoulders tightened as she pulled at the toy flooring, wondering if something was written along one of the panel seams.

“But my soul isn’t black. Not yet. And I won’t allow you to haunt me from beyond the grave when I had the opportunity to prevent your demise.”

She bit back a sigh as the walls and floor held true, refusing to budge. “Besides. We need you alive to testify before the magistrate when the time comes. Death is far too good for you.”

“We.”

Hermione blinked, glancing over her shoulder. Umbridge watched her carefully, sitting so still she barely seemed to breathe.

“It’s always been ‘we’, hasn’t it?” She wet her lips, eyes slowly roaming Hermione’s bent figure. “Always you and him.”

Hermione lifted her chin. “Nothing bonds individuals quite like mutual hatred.” She faced forward. “Now shut up. I’m trying to concentrate.”

The silence lasted a blessed ten seconds before it was shattered to bits.

“What are you looking for?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, rising to her knees as she moved her search to the roof, inspecting each shingle. "None of your business."

“I’ve already raided the house. There’s nothing in there.”

Hermione froze in place. “You what?”

Umbridge scrubbed a hand over her face. “I was desperate for food, for warmth, I was hoping to find something, anything of use.” She released a pained sigh, arms dropping. “Alas, there was nothing.”

Hermione lowered once more, gazing at her carefully. “You’re certain?”

The Matron tipped her head back, gazing at the cobweb-caked ceiling.

“I assure you, I was equally disappointed.”

Hermione gazed ahead, mind racing. “It doesn’t make any sense. She told me it would be inside the dollhouse.”

She slumped into a sprawl, tapping her fingers along the ground. “There’s something I’m missing.” Her eyes narrowed at the wall. “Unless I misunderstood her.”

Her gaze darted to the busted file cabinet in the corner, discarded papers still littering the floor from her last visit.

A distant whisper echoed through her mind, indiscernible but familiar, insistent.

She sat up, pulled forward by an invisible thread.

“Of course.”

* * *

Tom and Greyback collided in a flurry of motion.

Tom ducked low, barely missing the mighty fist that whistled through the air, blowing his hair back as it soared past his face. He twisted with his forward momentum, punching his opponent in the side with as much force as he could muster.

Greyback barely seemed to register the impact, eyes clouded with pure adrenaline and rage.

Tom rolled along the ground, springing to his feet beside the bed, taking note of the unconscious girl lying atop the bedding as he grabbed an oil lamp off the side table and spun on his heel.

Greyback was already charging. Tom brought the lamp crashing into the side of his head, liquid and glass exploding everywhere, soaking them both.

The beast staggered back, blinking rapidly as he ran a hand across his mangled, bloody face, oil seeping into the wound as fresh blood dripped from his temple.

He growled, launching himself forward. Tom had no room to move, blocked by the bed and its helpless occupant.

So he reached for his pistol.

Greyback watched the movement, eyes flashing.

“Fucking coward! Can never fight me like a real man!”

He swung a mighty fist, punching the side of the gun with such force it flew from Tom’s hand like a missile, crashing into the opposite wall and falling to the baseboard.

He caught hold of Tom’s wrist, twisting it.

Tom turned his body in the same direction, no stranger to this particular stronghold. As he pivoted he drove his knee up with great force, slamming hard into his opponent’s gut and driving the air from his lungs, causing him to double over and retch, loosening his hold.

Tom pulled free, driving his head forward as Greyback attempted to straighten. His heart swelled at the sound of the cartilage shattering, blood cascading from his concave nose, coating his lips and chin as he screamed with rage, driving his own knee upward in an attempt to copy Tom’s attack.

Tom crossed his forearms, blocking his torso from taking the hit, but the impact still sent him staggering.

Greyback charged him once more, blood dripping from his chin in a thin stream as he pushed Tom in the chest with enough force to send him airborne.

He flew halfway across the room, heart galloping as weightlessness took hold, dreading the crash to follow.

He sensed movement and noise somewhere in his peripheral but it faded as soon as he collided with the hard ground, skull cracking against the unforgiving wood and filling his vision with an ocean of black.

* * *

“Parvati!”

Blaise charged the window, mindless of Greyback and the Doctor surging towards one another, the air crackling with the impending storm.

His heart was lodged in his throat, blocking his airway as he skid to the window, gripping the ledge and leaning over, eyes wide, dread weighing his limbs.

He braced himself for the body, the pale, twisted corpse and the pool of blood spreading across the stone.

But it was another sight that greeted him.

A beautiful, magnificent sight.

“Parvati!”

“Blaise!”

She clung desperately to the wall, having somehow caught a handhold during her fall. Draco ran to his side, peering over the frame and breathing a heavy sigh.

“I’ll go outside, catch her–”

“There isn’t time, she’s slipping.”

Blaise leaned back, eyes affixed to dangling her form as he shrugged out of his coat.

“Hold onto my waistband, I’m going to pull her up.”

Draco nodded, watching as Blaise bent over the ledge, slowly lowering himself further down as the blonde took hold of his trousers, bracing his foot against the wall to steady his descent.

Blaise met her eye. She panted heavily, tears falling in a constant flood though her expression remained tight with concentration.

“Hold on, luv.”

“Easier said than done.”

He nodded. "Good point." And then he reached out a hand, groaning as he strained to reach her white-knuckled grip.

“Let me down more, Drake!”

“I’ll lose my hold!”

“Do it!”

Draco cursed lowly, letting him down lower.

Blaise’s heart soared as his fingertips grazed her wrist.

“Okay, okay,” he chanted, eyeing her hand like it was an oasis in the desert.

He wet his lips, sweat dripping from the tip of his nose and blood rushing to his head, filling his head with the manic flutter of his heart.

His fingers wrapped her wrist, gripping it tight.

“I’ve got you.”

She blinked, dark lashes clumped with tears.

“He can’t pull us both up.”

“He can and he will.”

He inhaled deeply, shouting into the night.

“Drake, I’ve got her!”

Draco grunted, pulling him back with all his might. Blaise grabbed her wrist with both hands, holding on like a steel vice.

Draco shouted, sliding forward beneath the drag of their combined dead weight. She screamed as they sagged lower.

Draco called down, voice edged with frustration and panic.

“Fuck! You’re too heavy!”

Parvati choked back a sob as they slipped lower yet.

“He can’t pull us both!” She blinked quickly, tears streaming anew. “Let me go, Blaise.”

He shook his head, eyes narrowed.

“No.”

“We’ll both fall!”

“Then we both fall!”

She held his gaze, her own glinting like faceted crystal in the moonlight.

“You’re a bloody idiot.”

He smiled. They slipped lower.

“That’s what you like most.”

She swallowed heavily, nodding with resolve.

“Alright.” She glanced around the wall, studying the brick. “Hold me with one hand, push back with your other, I’ll try and push up with my legs.”

“I might lose my grip.”

She met his eye once more. “I’ll hold on with both of mine.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

It took another few seconds before he removed one of his hands, the concentration on his face turning his already sharp visage even more angular.

She immediately grabbed hold of his wrist with her other palm, squeezing until his hand turned blue.

“Got it?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Alright. Push!”

They grunted with the effort, beginning a slow and arduous trek upward. Blaise pushed back with his free hand, she scrambled up with her feet, Draco growling in the background all the while as he pulled on Balsie’s legs.

His waist finally breached the sill, feet finding purchase on the hardwood.

Draco let him go, rushing forward and reaching down, taking hold of one of her arms. Together they pulled until at last her hands reached the frame.

Blaise elbowed Draco aside, grabbing her waist and hauling her through with such force they tipped back, toppling to the ground in a messy sprawl.

Parvati blinked, gazing down at him for several seconds, the only sound in the room the violent combat happening several feet away.

And then she erupted into a fit of hysterical laughter, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face into his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her back.

“I’ve got you.”

His head hit the floor as he collapsed fully, utterly spent, swallowing heavily as her laughter turned into broken sobs.

“I’ve got you.”

He stroked her hair, sensing Draco’s movement at his side. He glanced at his friend, nodding his appreciation, and then she drew back, reclaiming his gaze.

Her hands braced his chest.

“I think it’s time.”

He blinked. “Time for what?”

She wet her lips, eyes red and tear-stained. “The terribly ill-timed kiss.”

He smirked, brushing the damp hair from her face. “I couldn’t agree more.”

She leaned down.

And then reared back as Draco surged forward.

“Move!”

Blaise gripped her tight, pressing her close as he rolled them both to the side.

Just in time to watch the Doctor land with a crash atop the spot they’d laid moments ago.

Riddle blinked slowly, pushing up with a pained groan as he took in his new surroundings.

His eyes landed on Parvati.

“Ms. Patil. Glad to see you’re alive.”

She nodded from her perch atop Blaise. “So am I. Do you need help?”

He shook his head, slowly rising to his feet. “No. Everyone leave.”

“They aren’t going anywhere.”

Riddle met Greyback’s menacing eye from across the room. His expression turned dark, lethal, and then he began to shrug out of his coat, dropping it to his feet and rolling up his sleeves, unaware a small item concealed within the pocket slipped free, hitting the floor with a soft tink.

Parvati blinked, starting at the gleaming metal with raw hunger.

But her focus was drawn upward as the Doctor spoke.

“Everyone leaves at the first opportunity.”

They watched silently as the man charged headlong back into the fray.

* * *

Tom feinted right and then dropped low, dipping left and driving both fists into Greyback’s kidneys, causing him to jolt forward, a roar of pain ripping from his lips, spit flying from between his yellowed teeth.

Tom panted hard, blinking rapidly to clear his vision, still recovering from the impact to his skull. From the corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy edge towards the bed, sliding his arms beneath the unconscious girl.

He glanced up, as though sensing eyes upon him. Tom met his gaze, nodding once, then set to work on luring Greyback away from the doorway.

He led the hulking giant towards the window, noticing a moment too late Parvati and the other man were still in the corner.

He barely suppressed a growl.

“Go!”

But he could tell by the all-too-familiar glint in her eye she had no intention of leaving this room while Greyback still breathed.

He shook his head, sensing the latter’s movement behind him, diving out of the way just in time to avoid a hard collision as Greyback slammed into the busted window frame.

He shouted with rage, pivoting and giving chase as Tom rolled across the now empty bed, landing on the opposite side and watching as Malfoy whisked the unconscious girl out of the room and into the hall.

Greyback shouted anew, leaping onto the bed with such force it cracked the frame, the mattress tipping down and depositing the wolf right before him.

Tom reared back, colliding with the wall, cornered once more and silently cursing himself for the lack of foresight.

When he noticed the glint of metal from the corner of his eye.

The pistol.

Unfortunately, Greyback noticed the weapon in the same instant, both men diving sideways, hitting the ground with bone-jarring impact. Tom bit his tongue, the metallic tang of blood filling his mouth and overspilling his bottom lip.

They fought desperately, scrambling and kicking. Tom took a hard elbow to his side but refused to crumble, howling with animalistic victory as his palm gripped the butt of the weapon.

He gripped it fully, pulling his arm down and firing without bothering to aim.

The shot was deafening, ringing through his ears and causing Greyback to jerk away, roaring, though whether in pain or anger or some combination of the two was unclear.

And then the beast advanced anew.

Tom pointed with a steady arm and fired a second time.

Greyback fell back, panting hard and gripping his abdomen, red pouring out from between his already blood-caked fingers.

“You… fucker…”

Tom blinked, vision clearing as his adrenaline dissipated, finally able to take in the full scope of the damage.

He hit the man in the leg and stomach.

He pushed to his feet, back scraping the wall as he stood, wiping the blood from his chin and tossing the empty weapon aside as he gazed upon his subdued prey.

“The stomach wound is fatal, though it will take a very long time to do the job.”

He dragged a hand over his face, pushing his sweat-soaked hair back. "Would you like to slowly bleed out, or prefer me to end it now?"

“Fuck… you…”

Tom nodded.

“Bleed out it is.”

He stepped over him.

“No.”

He paused, glancing up.

Parvati stood in the center of the room, watching them intently, something narrow and gleaming held tightly in her hand.

“It ends now.”

He raised a dark brow, pulse thrumming as he caught sight of the item.

Hermione’s letter opener.

He blinked, glancing to his discarded coat in the corner, meeting her gaze a moment later.

She raised her chin, eyes hooded with firm resolve. He nodded slowly, stepping aside.

She paced forward, every step slow, measured, watching her prey squirm on the ground with calm calculation.

She lowered to her knees beside him.

He watched her through slitted eyes.

“You little…. bitch.”

Shadows played across her face as she tilted her head, eyes burning bright with hellfire.

“I made you a promise, Greyback.”

She gripped the letter opener tighter, raising it overhead.

“And I _always_ keep my promises.”

She brought it plunging down, driving it through his chest, the soft crack of his sternum filling the room, followed by a wet squelch as she pierced his heart.

He gasped, spine arching, driving the blade deeper, before violently twisting away. She rose on her knees, leaning forward and holding the weapon fast with both hands, following him as he tried to push back.

Blood welled around her hands, soaking her pale sleeves and bruised forearms.

It sputtered from his mouth, his gaze going wide and matte, the light rapidly fading from within.

She continued to hold the blade in place, panting heavily, tears dripping from her jaw as she clenched her teeth, watching him with steady, unblinking eyes.

Tom watched quietly, seeing no need to rush the moment.

But the young man at the other end of the room thought differently, stepping forward and touching her arm.

She jolted but made no move to dislodge him.

“Parvati, he’s dead.”

She gasped, eyes widening as she released the hilt of the blade, falling back into his legs and glancing down at her hands as though waking from a deeply disturbing dream or richly satisfying nightmare.

Tom stepped closer at last.

“Get her out of here.”

The young man nodded, offering his hand. “Come on, luv.”

She accepted it in a half daze, letting him pull her to her feet, only to sway heavily, knees weak. She pressed a bloody hand to her stomach, breathing deep.

“I just need a moment.”

He nodded, helping her to the broken bed. She sat gingerly on the footboard, listing into the post.

Tom averted his gaze, affording her privacy while he placed a boot to Greyback's chest, leaning down and pulling the blade free. It made a wet suction sound. He proceeded to wipe it clean on the snatcher's stained shirt.

There was an explosion of noise outside. Horses, shouting, footsteps.

They all turned to face the open balcony.

The boy charged ahead, running outside before Tom had time to blink.

“They’re leaving! The rest of Greyback's men are-”

“Get down!”

He spun in place, pinning Tom with a bemused stare.

A single gunshot ripped through the dark, desolate night.

The boy’s eyes widened as he staggered forward.

Parvati blinked, gripping the post with both hands.

“Blaise?”

Tom held his breath, sensing what was to follow before seeing the evidence.

Within moments red began to blossom across his chest. He stared down at his shirt, blinking slowly.

Parvati leaped to her feet.

“Blaise!”

She raced to the balcony as he dropped to his knees, a river of red soaking through the fabric, dripping off the hem onto the tile.

She dropped to the ground, catching him as he collapsed.

* * *

Parvati clung to his shoulders with trembling hands, turning him slowly in her hold to see his face. His complexion faded, pale as a ghost, blood rapidly soaking through the layers of her skirts.

“Parv…”

It dripped from his mouth. She shook her head.

“No!”

Her vision hazed, tears dripping from her eyes as she wiped the blood away with her palm, hand trembling violently.

“Riddle!”

She sensed movement at her back, glancing up sharply, meeting his overcast gaze with raw desperation.

He watched the scene play out before him with frustrating calm.

“Keep him conscious, I’ll be back.”

She blinked rapidly, watching him disappear through the doorway.

“Hurry!” She gazed down, pulling him further into her lap. “Blaise, please don’t die.”

He blinked slowly, trying to laugh, more blood bubbling forth, causing him to cough, stringing red across his cheeks.

“I’m a… bloody idiot.”

She shook her head, wiping his face clean once more, her sleeve stained crimson.

“No, you aren’t.” More tears fell, unabated. “You aren’t an idiot. You aren’t a fool or a lush or a court jester. You aren’t any of those things.”

The corner of his lips lifted, tinged blue. "Careful." He tried to wink but seemed drained by the effort. "You almost sound… fond of me."

She laughed in abject misery, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

He turned his head into her stomach, inhaling her scent.

“Bad luck.”

She drew back, fingers curling behind his neck as she cradled his head.

“I don’t think our luck can get any worse.”

He met her gaze, his own appearing dazed and clouded. “I’ll fight harder... knowing what awaits me.”

She swallowed heavily, tremors racking her frame as she clutched him tighter. “If you live through this, I’ll kiss you, I’ll smack you around, I’ll do anything you bloody want.”

He smiled, roguish even in his bloodless state. “I’ll... hold you... to that.”

And then his eyes rolled back in his head, body going limp as his lids drifted closed.

She went rigid, heart skipping.

“Blaise!”

She shook him, watching his head loll.

“Blaise!”

Footsteps sounded behind her, rapidly crossing the hardwood.

Bodies emerged beside her a moment later but she barely registered their presence, screaming outright when someone knelt down and tried to pull him from her grasp.

“Parvati.”

A gentle hand gripped her shoulder. She blinked, gazing up, lost, crazed.

Green eyes held her captive.

“Let us take him, let Riddle try and help.”

She blinked again, the words slow to process, taking root only when Malfoy appeared at her other side, his face just as pain stricken as hers.

“Let us take him.”

She nodded, relinquishing her hold at last, watching as the men grasped his arms and lifted him slowly, revealing the pool of blood beneath.

She watched them head for the doorway, clasping her blood slicked hands tightly before her.

“Take him to the dining room.”

She spun around, pulse thrumming at the deep voice.

Riddle moved past her without a glance, carefully watching the men progress.

She strode forward, catching his arm. “Can you save him?”

He paid her no mind, pulling away.

She surged forward, grabbing his shoulder with both hands and forcing him around, demanding his attention.

“Riddle! _Can you save him_?”

He met her gaze at last.

“I don’t know, Ms. Patil.”

His eyes glinted as brightly as the blade she wielded moments before. Just as cold. Just as lethal.

She released him, arms falling limply to her sides as he moved quickly inside.

Only to pause in the center of the room, glancing over his shoulder.

“But I’m going to try.”

* * *

Bella took a deep breath, lingering at the threshold with her fingers wrapping the handle.

She raised her chin, dark eyes glinting as she finally opened the door, stepping over the threshold and striding inside.

Only to be accosted with seconds.

“Mistress!”

Her lovely maid practically sprinted across the room, short skirt bouncing artfully around her thighs and she threw her arms around her.

“Thank God!”

Bella smiled, running a caressing hand along her delicate nape and spine.

“Margo, darling, what’s wrong?”

“We thought-”

“Bella?”

She went rigid. Margo released her at once, scurrying back into the corner of the room as Rodolphus emerged on the landing, panting wildly as though he’d run in from the outdoors.

He skid to the railing, grasping it tightly and staring over the edge, face pale and sunken, plagued by shadows, contorting his sharp features into a hellish mask.

She blinked and the vision dissipated.

“Bella!”

He charged down the stairs with a ground-shaking stride, robe billowing behind him as he emerged on the lower level, pulling her off her feet in a suffocating embrace.

“Thank Christ.”

She raised a manicured brow as he buried his face in her hair.

“I’m positively flattered by the heartfelt reception, love. And the chivalrous dramatics are simply superb.”

He slowly lowered her to the ground, gripping her arms tight as he searched her face.

“Where have you been?”

“I told you in my letter.” She smiled, resting a hand upon his chest, centered over his heart. Her nails pressed into the flesh. “I needed an emergency session.”

His jaw tensed. “You’ve been gone all night.”

“It ran late, I slept in a guestroom.”

From the corner of her eye she saw Margo glance to the floor, fingers knotted before her.

Bella inspected his face with as much care as he bestowed upon her, lifting her other hand and cupping his jaw, inspecting the dark circles beneath his eyes.

“You were up all night?”

He swallowed heavily. “There’s been an accident.”

She blinked, tilting her head. “At the Club?”

“In Bath.”

She blinked once more. “Bath? At the Estate?”

“The Estate is gone, Bella. Burnt to the ground.”

She stiffened, pressing forward, prompting him to loosen his hold on her arms and weave his hands behind her back.

“How? A kitchen fire?”

He shook his head, face tense. “The staff wasn’t on site. I’m still trying to track them down.”

“Then it is a miracle no one was injured.”

He wet his lips, voice lowering. “They found human remains.”

Her brows knitted together. “Burglars?”

“I don’t know.” He released a slow breath, gaze darkening. “Bella, I can’t get a hold of Rab. His butler says he was heading to Bath with Selene, but his carriage was nowhere on the property.”

She sighed, shaking her head and dropping her hands.

“Fucking hell. What a mess.”

“I’m worried.”

She laughed shortly, twisting out of his holding. “About Rabastan? We’ve been trying to kill him for a year.”

He released her with obvious reluctance.

“I’m worried about _us_. Dolohov dies in a fire only days ago, and now our home is targeted.”

She pulled her shawl free of her neck and shoulders. “ _This_ is our home. I hardly think our enemies would venture to Bath to strike.”

“Bella, I don’t think you realize the gravity of the situation.”

She pinned him with a sharp glance. “I realize it just fine, my love. Just because I’m not providing the reaction you want doesn't mean I don’t comprehend.”

He blinked, leaning away from the venomous cadence of her voice.

She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, allowing her nerves to settle in the resounding silence.

And then smiled anew.

“Apologies, darling. You know how I get after a session.”

He watched her closely. “You need to rest.”

She released a delicate sigh, sidling closer to trace her fingertips along his arm. “That sounds divine.”

Heat blossomed in his gaze, just as expected. He continued to stare at his wife even as he tilted his head to address the maid.

“Margo, please turn down the bed-”

“I’d like Margo to help me change.”

He opened and closed his mouth, nodding slowly. “Certainly. I’ll turn it down myself.”

She hummed low, leaning up and kissing him softly on the mouth.

“Thank you, luv.”

He captured her against him as she began to pull away, speaking against her lips.

“I’m so happy you’re home. You’ve no idea how terrified I was.”

She caressed his jawline. “I’m sorry I worried you. But I’m here now. Everything is going to be fine.”

He kissed the backs of her fingers. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. I’ll kill anyone who tries.”

“Do you promise?”

“Cross my heart.”

She tilted her head, eyes sparking at the center.

“Hope to die?”

He blinked, silent for a beat before responding.

“Of course.”

She grinned, drawing back at last.

He continued to study at her, opening his mouth before ultimately shaking his head, turning for the stairs instead.

“Roddy.”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder. She folded her shawl in half.

“Before I forget, we’re to have a party on Sunday.”

He blinked, spinning around fully. “What?”

“The Doctor's orders.”

“I… he never mentioned this to me.”

She folded the fabric a second time, shrugging.

“It’s to be a last minute showing. Someone is sailing in from India.”

He took a step forward. “Bella, the last thing we need to worry about is entertaining–”

“Rodolphus.”

His spine went rigid at her unrelenting tone.

“One of two things has happened.” She held his gaze with quiet intensity. “Either the fire was a freak accident and there’s no reason to delay our business.”

She arched a brow. “Or someone _has_ , in fact, targeted us and is using the fire as a means of instilling fear in our hearts."

The shawl bundled in her fist. “In which case, I refuse to give them the satisfaction of watching us lock ourselves inside a gilded cage.”

She raised her chin, spine infused with steel. “We’re having a party at this house on Sunday evening.”

Her smile cut glass.

“I’ll take care of the invitations.”

He stared at her for several moments, slack-jawed, before finally blinking, remembering how to move.

“If you insist–”

“Splendid.” She clapped her hands together, turning on her heel and offering her back. “Thank you, darling. I’ll meet you upstairs.”

He watched her for another endless beat before finally resuming his upward trek.

She continued to smile and play with her shawl as he reached the landing. He met her eyes once more as he walked to the hall. She blew him a kiss and he smirked, shoulders easing as he finally disappeared around the corner.

Her smile dropped like a corpse.

She turned on her heal, meeting the maid’s wide gaze and beckoning her forward.

“Mistress.”

“You did well, Margo.”

She reached out, running the backs of her fingers along the girl’s flushed cheek, watching her decolletage pinken as the blush bled downward.

“You are my favorite. You’ve always been my favorite.”

The girl listed forward, breath shortening.

“Yes, Mistress.” And then she swallowed heavily, brows furrowed.

Bella lowered her hand. “What’s the matter, darling?”

Margo opened her mouth but stalled on the words, seeming to struggle with a response.

“Are you… alright?”

Bella tilted her head, handing over her rumpled shawl.

“Yes, dove.” Her smile radiated dark and perverse beauty. “I’ve never been better.”

* * *

Tom followed the pair of men and their unconscious cargo down the grand staircase, Parvati nipping at his heels, blood-drenched skirts gathered in her hands.

He sent a sweeping glance across the body and wreckage-strewn floor, gaze caught by the tall redhead near the door, clutching a rifle and watching their makeshift party descend.

“What’s going on?”

Tom ignored the boy’s inquiry, stepping ahead of Potter and Malfoy as he led the way across the entry.

“Clear the dining table.”

The redhead blinked again, eyeing the empty landing with growing unease.

“Where are the others?” He started following. “Where’s Susan?”

“She’s fine,” Parvati snapped impatiently, brushing past.

Potter adjusted the limp arm around his neck, adjusting his hold as they made their way down the hall.

“She got out, Ron. She’s safe.”

Tom paused in the doorway, fits clenching at the mess awaiting him.

“Clear the damn table!”

Black emerged at the other end of the corridor, pistol in hand.

“What happened?”

Tom strode inside the dining hall, leaning over and sweeping the surface clear of debris, the sandy-haired boy he assisted earlier in the evening stepping forward to help.

“He’s been shot.”

“Then we need to take him to–”

“There isn’t time. I don’t see an exit wound. I need to remove the bullet before he bleeds out.” He stepped back, gesturing the awaiting men inside. “Lay him face down.”

He watched as they did as bade, Black stepping aside and eyeing the injury with a steady gaze.

“What do you need?”

“Clean towels, hot water, needle and thread, scissors, your sharpest blade, and the strongest alcohol you have on hand.”

Potter nodded. “I’ll start gathering it.”

The fair-haired boy backed away as well. "I'll help."

Parvati stepped forward next.

“What can I do?”

“Assist or stay out of the way.”

Her jaw tensed, senses seeming to return in phases. “I want to help.”

He spared her an assessing glance before nodding shortly. “Find a lantern. You’ll hold it steady while I work.”

She turned on her heal, darting out of the room with an eager step, hair and dress trailing behind.

Malfoy shifted, bracing the table.

“Can you save him?”

Tom began taking the patient’s pulse.

“I can remove the bullet. Whether he’ll have enough blood left in his body to keep his heart beating is another matter.”

The blonde gripped the table edge harder, fingertips turning white.

“What can I do?”

“Help me get his shirt off.”

They set to work stripping the saturated fabric from his torso, revealing a gleaming red back.

Tom sighed, the blood appearing black in the moonlight.

“Ms. Patil! I need light!”

“Coming!”

Soft footsteps pounded down the hall, her face emerging a moment later, glowing orange in the lantern flame. He gestured her forward.

“Stand beside me, hold it at shoulder level.”

She nodded, stepping close and doing as bid.

Tom skimmed his fingers over the slick skin, inhaling slowly as he found the point of entry.

“It pierced his trapezius but missed the cervical vertebrae.”

Malfoy tilted his head, leaning in for a closer look.

“That's good?”

“Yes.”

Tom glanced to the doorway, eyes tracking between Black and the gangly redhead.

“I need supplies.”

The former nodded. “I’ll help the boys.”

Tom sighed in frustration, glancing over his shoulder.

“Ms. Patil.”

She stood at attention, elbows tucked into her sides as she fought to hold the light perfectly steady.

“Yes?”

“Hold still.”

She blinked again, then gasped as he lowered to his haunches directly before her, grabbing the bottom hem of her skirt and lifting it to his face. She swayed on her feet but remained rooted in place, watching with wide eyes.

At last he found a clean patch of fabric, grabbing the material with both hands and ripping a seam up to her mid thigh, tearing out a pale chunk of fabric with easy skill.

He stood just as swiftly, folding the material until it fit into the palm of his hand.

She flushed, raising a dark brow.

“You’ve done that before.”

Tom barely heard the words, already wiping the site of the wound to get a better vantage point. He paid no mind when Malfoy scowled and pushed away from the table, turning to face the windows with tight shoulders.

And then footsteps rounded the corner, and he forgot either were even in the room with him.

Black led the charge, a pile of towels stacked high in his arms. Potter and his companion entered just behind, hands full of supplies.

Black held his eye.

“Found some bandages and medical grade scissors. The perks of being in a military household.”

Tom gestured to the workspace he cleared on the edge of the table.

"I think those perks extend well beyond scissors if the heavy cloud of gunpowder lingering in the air is any indication."

Black nodded, setting the towels down and stepping back. “We’ll stay out of your way, just shout if you need anything.”

Tom began rummaging through the items without response, already absorbed in the task ahead.

He picked up the knife provided, testing its sharpness along the edge of fabric procured from Parvati's skirt and sighing in resignation. Though not ideal, it was far from the worst he’d been forced to make use of. He’d treated the injured and sick in war-torn villages across the globe. He always found a way to make do.

“Malfoy.”

The blonde spun around, expression guarded. Tom met his eye without qualm.

“Do you want to continue assisting?”

The young man blinked and then stepped forward. "Yes."

“Clean his back.”

He set about his task silently, grabbing a towel off the top of the pile and soaking it in warm water.

Tom soaked a towel as well, using it to wipe his hands of debris before pouring alcohol over them, drying them once more.

Then he began sterilizing the instruments.

He took a deep breath as he picked up the blade, flexing his wrist, the joint still sore from the night’s repeated hand to hand combats.

Parvati began to tremble as he pressed the blade down, the tip dimpling the flesh as the light jumped spastically.

“Hold the flame steady or give it to someone else.”

She swallowed thickly, drawing her shoulders back. “No. I’ve got it.”

He sighed, then proceeded to make a short but deep incision along the skin and muscle of the inner shoulder blade.

Blood rose to meet the metal, spilling in thick rivulets across the pale skin, pooling along the glossy wood.

Malfoy reared back, distracting him.

Tom shook his head, setting the knife aside and taking up the scissors.

“Malfoy, please wait outside. I’ll notify you if his condition changes.”

The blonde tensed. “I don’t–”

Tom glanced up sharply, eyes sparking like metal.

“Wait outside.”

The boy glared, chewing on words he undoubtedly planned to deliver in a pristine and scathing aristocratic tone.

But then his pale gaze lowered, softening as it fell upon his friend laid out between them.

His shoulders relaxed, resignation heavy in his pointed features as he turned without a parting word, exiting the room on stiff legs.

By the time he joined the entry hall with the others Tom had already forgotten about him, completely focused on peeling back the muscle and following the path of the bullet.

He heard a feminine murmur at his back, not registering the words.

“What?”

She wet her lips, shifting closer. “I just said, he’s lost so much blood already.” She shook her head mournfully. “Can you give him a transfusion?”

“I do not possess the implements to conduct such a procedure on site.”

He tilted his head, eyes narrowed as he tracked the curved trajectory. “Regardless, transfusions don’t always work.”

He continued on, barely processing his own words. “Likely some compatibility issue with the blood. No one knows for certain. They have much higher success rate with pregnant women and those with long-term illness.”

She nodded, biting her lip. “Hermione mentioned that once. I think. A study her father was working on or something.” She released a deep sigh, the light bouncing with the motion. “Christ. I wish she was here right now. She’d be a proper assistant, helping you operate.”

“You’re doing a fine job. Now be quiet.”

She rolled her eyes but did as bade.

The light shook once more. He bit back a growl, glancing at her sharply, but the words died on his tongue as he noticed the brimming tears in her eyes.

_Fucking hell._

He gazed forward, relenting.

If small talk would keep the lantern steady, so be it.

“I’ll attempt to stabilize him here, then we’ll transport him to Mungo’s.”

She blinked, studying his profile. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

“No matter what happens, thank you for trying.” A weighted pause. “And thank you for letting me kill Greyback.”

He raised a dark brow, skillfully clipping through another tissue layer. “It seemed only appropriate.”

He set his jaw as the scissors bottomed out, hitting the final barrier with a metallic tink.

They both straightened.

“Found it.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, watching closely as he carefully pried the bullet loose with the edge of the blade.

More blood rushed to the surface, overspilling his hand.

She cringed, glancing away.

“The light.”

“Shite! Sorry!”

She faced forward once more, holding it steady. The flickering flame danced in his eyes, chest expanding as the bullet slowly worked its way out.

He wet his lips, setting the scissors aside and reaching in with his fingertips, feeling the hard metal and gripping it carefully.

He ground his teeth, gaze narrowing as it finally became visible.

A few more seconds passed and it was out entirely, sitting in a pool of blood in the palm of his hand.

He held it before the light, examining it for breaks, some indication there was another fragment left inside the torso. Parvati stared at it with open scorn, watching as he tossed it into the metal dish.

She opened her mouth as though to speak, hesitating, and then closed it, watching silently as he cleaned his hands and wiped them dry, clouds of blood swirling in the water dish, tinging it pink.

He grabbed up the needle and thread, feeling completely in his element as he set about stitching the flesh, every movement precise and effortless.

She spoke at last, softly, as though afraid to break the transient silence.

“That’s it?”

He nodded. "The basics, yes. However, the true hardships will be blood loss and infection."

“But is he…” She swallowed, shaking her head. “Can he hear us?”

He continued to hold the flesh together with one hand while stitching with the other. “It’s uncertain. My general advice is to act as if they can.”

She nodded, stepping forward and reaching out a steady hand, tracing along the young man’s brow and nose, then up along his forehead, smoothing his hair back.

Tom took idle note of her ministrations.

“A close friend, I presume?”

She smiled softly. “Not at all.” Her hand dropped to her side. “We met a few days ago.”

“What does one have to do with the other?”

She smirked, glancing up. “I forgot who I was talking to.”

Tom blinked, sensing the true meaning of her words and deciding to ignore them. He cut the end of the string and began tying it off. She continued to watch the young man sleep, all trace of amusement melting from her features, giving way to familiar haunted agony.

“I need to check on Padma.”

He nodded, setting the needle aside. "As do I. Has she had any more episodes?"

“She hasn’t woken up.” She glanced up, watching him clean the wound once more. “Is that bad?”

“I don’t understand the mechanics of her condition well enough to provide a meaningful answer.”

She tilted her head, examining him closely. “You don’t sugar coat things.”

He wiped his hands on a towel. “No. I don’t.”

She nodded. Setting the lantern aside. “I respect that.” She sidled closer, resting her palms atop the table. “I didn’t trust you before. I told Mione to stay away from you.”

He blinked, focused upon his task.

She sighed softly. “I was wrong.”

“On the contrary.” He met her gaze. “You have no reason to trust me, which makes your advice very sound.”

"I have reason now." She folded her arms, sleeves crusted with dried blood. "I trust you. I trust that you're helping us and that you'll keep her safe."

Tom couldn't fight the smirk from curving his lips.

“Keeping Hermione Granger safe is a Herculean task no man can hope to conquer alone.”

She smiled. “It took you this long to figure that out?”

They shared a knowing look, the air suddenly clearer, lighter.

And then there was a knock on the door, shattering the moment like glass.

Tom glanced forward. “Come in.”

Black popped his head in, glancing around the dimly lit room. “How’s our patient?”

“Stable enough for transport. Do you have a carriage ready?”

“I have about two dozen.”

Tom blinked.

Black stepped fully inside, pushing the door open the rest of the way, revealing the entry hall at his back.

“We have guests.”

Tom raised his chin, pulse thrumming as he eyed the dozens of police officers roaming the property.

“Our backup finally arrived.”

* * *

Umbridge leaned forward, trying to glimpse whatever held Hermione’s focus with such intensity.

Only to rear back as Hermione gasped, bouncing on her knees as she at last found the file she wanted, holding it aloft like a hard-won trophy.

“Got you!”

She lowered the pages to the lantern at her side, flipping open the top and reading the first paper with careful veneration.

“Ariana Dumbledore. Admitted June 13, 1839.”

She blinked, pulse quickening. “Patient suffering from severe delusions, auditory and visual hallucinations.”

Her gaze snapped up, pinning the Matron in place.

“This used to be a mental hospital?”

Umbridge set her jaw, leaning into the wall. “The Home has served many purposes since its establishment.”

Hermione’s eyes flickered back to the paperwork. She turned the page, scanning the notes until she found something of interest.

A staff entry log.

_[July 1, 1839 … Patient doesn’t respond to hydro or light therapy. Medication has not reduced frequency or intensity of delusions.]_

She flipped another page, reading further.

_[August 8, 1839 … Patient has stopped speaking. Communicates only through writing and hand gestures. Refuses medicine and all meals. Force feeding and syringe dosing required twice daily.]_

Pain and outrage tightened her chest. She clutched the pages tighter, blinking quickly to stave back tears.

_[September 25, 1839 … New physician specializing in adolescent mental health arriving in three days time. Doctor has been briefed on patient’s rapid mental and physical decline.]_

She turned another page, hand stilling when she noticed the change in script.

The new handwriting was precise, elegant.

And strangely familiar.

_[October 1, 1839 … Patient had a successful first session, timid at first but became quite animated when prompted about her dolls.]_

_[November 13, 1839 … Patient responds well to new treatment. Physical therapy sessions reduced in place of hypnosis.]_

_[December 6, 1839 … Ariana has begun to speak. Only to me, and only during our sessions.]_

She turned another page, heart skipping.

_[January 11, 1840 … Ariana brought her toy rabbit to our session today. She let me hold it. Trust is building, she has agreed to take her medicine orally in my presence.]_

_[February 3, 1840 … Increasing Ariana's hypnosis sessions to once a day. Canceling all other therapy.]_

_[March 7, 1840 … Ari had a very productive session today, speaking in great length about her delusions. She has constructed a vivid fantasy world in her mind, believing inanimate objects can communicate with her.]_

_[April 2, 1840 … Ari is doing magnificently. She has resumed voluntary eating and speaks quite passionately during our sessions. I have cut her medication dosing back as_ risk _of self-harm has substantially decreased.]_

She swallowed thickly, gripping the file so tightly she nearly tore the page as she turned it.

_[April 19, 1840 … Received notification I have been transferred to a clinic in Austria.]_

Her eyes narrowed.

_[April 21, 1840 … Put forth official request to bring Ariana to Austria in order to maintain the progress of her treatment.]_

_[April 30, 1840 … Ariana’s transfer request denied.]_

_[May 3, 1840 … New physician will arrive in two week’s time. Ari became quite distraught when informed of my impending departure.]_

_[May 6, 1840 … Ari has become withdrawn during our sessions, expressing a lack of appetite and trouble sleeping. I believe she is experiencing anxiety over our upcoming separation.]_

_[May 8, 1840 … I fear for Ariana’s welfare under a new physician. I have scheduled a meeting with her parents to discuss temporary guardianship.]_

_[May 10, 1840 … Ari has stopped eating and no longer responds to hypnosis.]_

_[May 12, 1840 … Ariana’s parents denied me temporary guardianship. They believe their son will contest such an arrangement.]_

_[May 14, 1840 … Ari refused to attend her session today. It took several hours to coax her from her room.]_

Hermione blinked as she turned the paper, noticing the next page was torn out, the jagged seam barely visible.

_[May 16, 1840 … Ariana did not attend her session this morning. The nurses found her bedroom empty and the window pried open. Several dresses were missing, as well as food and supplies from the cupboard. A wide-scale search is underway.]_

_[May 17, 1840 … Ariana’s family was notified of her escape. They have decided to deal with the matter privately rather than notify authorities.]_

She pulled the page closer to her face, the next entry smudged.

_[May 31, 1840 … Ariana was found-]_

She squinted trying to discern the text, but the ink was smeared too heavily.

_[June 1, 1840 … I depart for Austria this afternoon. Case file will now be sealed for records.]_

She shook her head, a tremor running through her body, causing the papers to tremble in her grasp.

“Liar.” She wet her lips, glaring at the text as though it were an accomplice to the affront it detailed. “She didn’t escape.”

She ground her teeth, casting an accusing glance around the room.

“She never left.”

She loosened her hold on the file, tipping it back and causing a stack of loose pages to spill across her lap, fluttering to the dusty floor.

She set the file aside and began to carefully gather the papers, hand stilling as she caught sight of something colorful.

She blinked, fishing the page free and holding it to the light.

A drawing.

Done by a skilled hand.

It showed a sprawling green field overrun by large blossoms, all encased beneath a rainbow sky.

Her pulse thrummed as a strange image took root in her mind.

And suddenly, vertigo seized her. She was free falling through the air, the sky dancing around her like an iridescent soap bubble–

She blinked, gasping for breath as she returned to her body, seated upright on the floor, paper clasped tight in her trembling hand.

She carefully set it aside, grabbing up the next drawing.

This one was a rendition of the London Bridge, flowers strung across the beams, the rainbow sky shining brightly above, the colors so carefully blended they appeared to sway and dance and before her eyes.

Hermione blinked, moving her thumb aside as she caught sight of cursive script at the bottom.

She tilted her head, brows drawing in as she read the strange name.

“Wonderland.”

The air shifted behind her. She sensed movement from the corner of her eye, keen awareness setting in.

She set the bridge drawing aside and picked up the final colorful page.

It was a home, situated in the center of a field.

Not just a home… a cottage.

She blinked, holding the drawing closer to the light.

She recognized the front of the building, had seen it with her own eyes and stood upon its porch only this morning.

She traced a fingertip along the front of Ariana’s childhood home, taking note of the large flowers and colorful animals scattered across the grass.

A large white rabbit sat in the back garden, nearly the size of the door.

She smiled, at last studying the signature rainbow sky blanketing it all.

There was writing at the very top of the page, the same cursive from before.

_Inside Wonderland._

She went rigid.

“Inside…” She swallowed heavily, lowering the page to her lap, eyes slowly drifting up. “Not inside the dollhouse.”

The air swelled and crackled. She turned her head, glancing past Umbridge to the door.

Ariana hovered at the entrance, rendered translucent in the beams of moonlight cutting through the circular window.

Hermione drew a deep breath, holding the girl’s haunted gaze.

“Inside Wonderland.” She set the drawing aside. “What you want me to find is inside Wonderland.”

Her pulse quickened, thoughts racing frantically. She shook her head, slowly pushing to her feet. “But it’s not real, Ariana. Wonderland was only in–”

She paused, limbs frozen.

“Your mind.”

Her hands curled in.

“The key to escape is inside their minds.” Her gaze flickered over the spilled pages at her feet, lingering on the colorful artwork.

“The only way to save them is to become one of them.”

Her shoulders tensed. “But I resisted treatment before, I can’t–”

She paused once more. Ariana bobbed gently in place, hair twirling in a pale mass, obscuring her eyes for half a beat.

“Is that why you chose me? Because I was able to resist treatment? Resist him?”

She took a tentative step forward.

“I stand a better chance of escaping.” She shook her head, expression tensing. “But what if I can’t? What if I become trapped? Like Dawn, like Padma?”

“Who are you talking to?”

Hermione jolted, head snapping around as Umbridge shifted. The Matron glanced frantically between her former charge and the open space before her.

Hermione glared.

“A ghost.”

Umbridge swallowed thickly. “You really can see them?”

Hermione raised her chin, fists tightening. “Yes.”

The Matron slid back against the wall, taking shelter in the shadows. "What do they want?" She drew her legs up, glancing nervously at the seemingly empty wall. "Revenge?"

Hermione tilted her head, examining her closely.

“Justice.”

Umbridge closed her eyes, turning her face away. “I always wondered what became of my mother. If she lingered in my presence after her death.”

Hermione raised a brow, turning to face her fully. “Were you responsible for her death as well?”

The Matron’s eyes snapped open, face tightening to a scowl. “I’m not a monster.”

“I beg to differ.”

“I never set out to hurt anyone. They told me those girls were being given to men of means and power. Afforded luxuries well beyond their wildest–”

“Lavender was found discarded in the river with her throat cut. You knew _exactly_ what life you were selling them into. And let’s not forget, you tried to smash my head in with a brick only minutes ago.”

Umbridge leveled her with measuring stare.

“I thought you came to finish the job Riddle started. I was merely trying to protect myself. We don’t all have the pleasure of being handed our good fortune. Some of us have to fight for every scrap we’ve ever clung to.”

“Don’t speak to me about fighting. My good fortune ran out the moment I set foot on these god-forsaken grounds.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “But they aren’t haunted anymore. Now that you’ve been knocked from your throne the girls are thriving like never before.”

She raised a brow. “They don’t need you. No one needs you. And most importantly, no one wants you. Not even your precious Dollmaker.”

Umbridge shuddered, visibly shaken by the words. Hermione expected more of the same, flagrant denial, pathetic justifications.

But the Matron’s next words shook her just as badly.

“You won’t escape Him. If you allow yourself to be taken under His thrall.” She wet her lips, voice lowering to barely a whisper. “No one escapes.”

“She’s right, sweetling.”

Hermione jolted, arms lowering as she spun in place, spotting the owner of the deep voice in the shadow-filled corner.

Dolohov leaned casually against the wall, dark smoke billowing around his legs, obscuring his feet. But his charred skull was in full view, eyeless sockets watching her with steady intensity.

Her gaze narrowed.

“I didn’t ask for _either_ of your advice.”

Umbridge shrieked, glancing to the corner with wide eyes. “It’s another one?”

Hermione sighed sharply, rounding on the woman once more.

“Just go.”

The Matron blinked, hands bracing the ground.

“G-Go?”

"You've failed your employer quite splendidly and made yourself a massive liability. I imagine he's put a hefty price on your head." She raised her chin. "I doubt you'll survive the week. But if by some miracle you do, the police will be searching for you night and day."

Flames danced in her eyes. “Your life is over outside of these walls. And in here, you’re just as much of a ghost as your victims.”

She stepped aside, out of the path of the door. “The choice is up to you. Stay or leave. I couldn’t care less.”

The Matron rose slowly, legs trembling, nearly unable to support her weight.

But she gathered the last stores of her strength and lurched for the exit, hands splayed forth as though anticipating to find some invisible barrier blocking her way.

She paused in the frame, glancing over her shoulder wearily, meeting Hermione’s steel-hard gaze.

She opened her mouth–

Dolohov floated to her side, leaning down and blowing softly in her ear.

She let loose a blood-curdling scream, leaping out of her skin and launching herself down the staircase so quickly it was a miracle she didn’t summersault the rest of the way.

Hermione shook her head in irritation as the former solicitor erupted with deep belly laughter. Figuratively speaking, as his intestines currently dragged the floor in black tendrils.

He rose to his full, levitating height, turning to Hermione with languid movements, obviously very pleased with himself.

She didn’t spare him a glance.

“Leave.”

“I just got here, dove.”

She crossed her arms, averting her gaze to the window, still cursed by his ghastly reflection in the pane. Such a jarring contrast to the soft light emanating from Ariana’s glowing form.

“ _Now_.”

She watched as he slowly faded from view.

“I’ll be seeing you very soon, sweetling.”

He disappeared entirely, taking the scent of smoke and burnt flesh with him.

Hermione sighed, leaning down to gather the fallen papers of Ariana’s file, still reeling from all she’d uncovered this night and the general nightmare her life had become.

As she carefully stuffed the entry logs back into the folder she glimpsed the Doctor’s writing once more.

And suddenly, realization struck with such a powerful force it nearly tore her off her feet.

“Oh my god.”

She understood why the penmanship seemed familiar.

_Because I’ve seen it before._

At the asylum.

She fumbled to flip the folder back open, scanning the writing carefully, her entire body throbbing in time to her rapid heartbeat.

She held her breath, flipping to the last page in the stack, granting permission to seal the file for records.

The only page bearing the Doctor’s full signature.

She stared at it in abject horror and fascination, the ground trembling beneath her feet, the walls cracking down the center as the roof gave way, falling to pieces all around her.

“You weren’t one of his early victims.” She ran her thumb across the neat cursive of the Dollmaker’s true name. “You were the very first.”

She gazed up, meeting the apparition’s serene gaze. “The Dollmaker was your physician.” Her heart swelled and shriveled at the same moment. “Ariana, I-”

But words failed her.

Nothing seemed appropriate, nothing brought her back to life or changed the current circumstances.

Words wouldn’t fix anything.

Only action.

She dropped the folder to her side, stepping forward.

“You believe in me? That I’m strong enough to fight Him?”

She fell still as Ariana drifted closer, slowly raising her arm and lifting a hand towards Hermione’s cheek.

She held her breath, trembling as they made contact.

Her skin burst to life with warmth, a powerful current racing down her spine and through her limbs, infusing her with a heady rush of strength.

Ariana lowered her arm as Hermione pulled away, inhaling sharply and blinking back tears.

At last, she nodded, shoulders drawing back as a beam of moonlight cut across her gaze.

“Let’s kill this bastard.”

.   .   .

Hermione marched down the main staircase, past clusters of residents dusting and waxing, paying no mind to the obvious attention she gathered as she cut a path across the entryway.

She pulled open the front door and stepped outside with narrowed eyes.

Her heartbeat echoed through her ears, blood surging as she walked steadily down the stone steps leading to the sidewalk.

The street was still empty and illuminated by gaslight, giving her an unimpeded view of the pub.

And more importantly, giving the pub's inhabitants clear view of her.

The men assigned to keep watch blinked slowly, lowering their mugs in dumbfounded silence before finally glancing at one another, seemingly at a loss for words.

Hermione stepped onto the cobblestone, hands clenching repeatedly at her sides as she fought against her own fight or flight response, violently suppressing every survival instinct within.

The men came to their senses at last, pushing their ale aside and scrambling for the door. They burst outside a moment later, continuing to stare ahead with great hesitance.

She stopped in the middle of the street, forcing her body to relax as they slowly approached, eyeing the Home and neighboring buildings carefully, as though awaiting an ambush.

They finally reached her, stopping several feet away, continuing to stare in equal parts shock and anticipation. She put them out of their misery, calmly folding her hands atop her skirt and tipping her head.

"Good evening, gentlemen. I'd like to speak to your boss."

They blinked, watching with blatant unease as the mask of demure innocence crumbled to ash, falling to the damp stone beneath her boots, eyes glinting with predatory intent.

"Take me to Grindelwald."


	28. Itsy Bitsy Spider

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miss me? I missed you ❤︎ Now let’s get to it shall we ;)

_You've gone quite mangy, Cat._  
_But your grin's a comfort._  
.   .   .

Tom drew back from the doorway, muscles tensing as his eyes fastened to the plainclothes detectives carefully side-stepping bodies in the entry. Movement at his side broke his focus, allowing him to grip the reins of his rising panic. He turned to Parvati.

“Go to your sister, talk to no one,” he commanded, tone final.

She lifted her chin, holding his gaze without an ounce of trepidation. “I’m not leaving Blaise’s side until I know he’s on a carriage bound for Mungo’s.”

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as his thoughts surged and crashed, a threadbare plan rising from the chaos of his mind.

“Very well,” he relented, dropping his hand and deciding this was one battle not worth fighting. “You look like you’ve been dipped by your heel into a vat of blood. Stay out of sight.”

She nodded swiftly, taking the young man’s hand in her own as she sidled closer to his unconscious form. Tom strode past the table and met Black’s astute gaze.

“We need to transport him immediately,” he instructed.

The Peer tipped his head in agreement, stepping over the threshold. “I’ll have the boys move him.” His dark eyes glittered. “Bones wants to speak to me. He wants officers to interview everyone.”

Tom’s fists clenched at his sides. He took a steadying breath, forcing them lax. “We can’t tell them anything.”

Black arched a heavy brow, gesturing to the demolished room at large, glass and blood coating the floor in a shimmering carpet. "Riddle, look around you. There are four dead bodies in the entry hall alone, not to mention the tiny fact half the mansion is scattered a hundred yards in every direction."

Tom held his gaze for another moment, thoughts grinding to a painful halt at the reminder. He tipped his head back and glared at the ceiling, the mural above marred by blood splatter. “Shite,” he muttered lowly, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Black nodded, seeming to share in the sentiment whole-heartedly. “I’ll follow your lead on this. But my sway as a Peer can only get us so far, especially in these circumstances.” He wet his lips, casting his voice low. “Bones is smart. He’ll see through the bullshite. And if his reputation is to be believed, he can’t be bribed.” He waited until Tom met his eye to continue. “Might be a good ally to have.”

Tom ground his teeth, shoulders squaring. “It seems I don’t have much choice.”

Black smirked, clapping him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit.” Then nodded to Parvati as she continued to stand guard beside the table. “But Zabini is our first priority.”

She swallowed heavily, clutching the limp hand tightly between her palms. Black released him and stepped back, sweeping an arm towards the open doorway and smiling with enough enthusiasm to set Tom’s blood to boil.

“After you, Doctor.”

* * *

Susan rose to her tiptoes, struggling to peer over the numerous heads blocking the doorway. She pushed through the milling crowd of officers as her eyes desperately traced over every face in the entry hall, heart lodged in her throat.

_Please, God._

She turned in a circle, hands flexing aimlessly as she held her breath, gaze fastening to each pool of red collected along the floor, streaming through the grout, staining the pale marble.

 _Please_.

“Susan!”

She gasped, spinning on her heal and spotting him at once. She launched forward in the next instant, tears hazing her vision and blurring his features as she gathered her skirts and leaped over debris, mindless of the scene she made.

He met her halfway, catching her around the waist as she hurtled through the air like a cannon shot, arms wrapping his neck in twin tendrils as she released a broken sob. He clutched her tightly, burying his face in her hair while he held her off the ground for several stuttered beats. At last he loosened his grip, allowing her to slide down his body until her boots clicked the floor.

She pulled back, meeting his eye. “Are you alright?” She asked, tears streaming down her face as she carefully inspected his front for any signs of injury. He nodded, releasing her sides to swipe his thumbs beneath her eyes, drying her cheeks.

“I’m fine,” he assured, voice deep and hoarse, though from strain or emotion she wasn't certain. He searched her gaze, continuing to hold her face captive in his blood-caked palms. “What happened? How did you get out?”

She clutched his shirt with both hands. “We climbed through the window. Malfoy helped us. But Parvati refused to leave her sister.” She centered her palms over his heart. “Did anyone get hurt?”

His face tensed. “Zabini was shot. Riddle operated on him in the dining room. I don’t know his condition.”

She closed her eyes. “We took too long getting back up here,” she whispered miserably, chest aching with the guilt of his news.

He shook his head and took hold of her waist again, fingertips pressing the whale-bone lining of her corset. “Greyback’s men were retreating when he was hit, it was bad luck and would’ve happened regardless.”

She opened her mouth to reply but another voice filled the void, drawing her attention away.

“Susan.”

She gasped, and then smiled. “Harry!” Ron released her as she launched forward a second time, ensnaring the laughing man in much the same way.

“It’s great to see you, too, luv, but you shouldn't have come back here,” Harry chided, gently patting between her shoulder blades.

She released his neck, drawing back swiftly to meet his emerald gaze. “I had to make sure you boys were alright.”

“Greyback might have still been here.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I never back down from a fight.”

Harry smirked, dropping his arms. “Of course not.” And then he stepped away, taking in the surrounding chaos and its sea of new faces. “Did you bring the entire Yard?”

She shook her head. “My father sent word to the CID. Every single officer here was hand selected by him.” She turned in place, facing the room and watching the detectives work. “They can be trusted.”

Harry sighed heavily, carding his fingers through his electrified hair and knocking bits of lingering plaster to the floor. “Either way, we’re gonna have a hell of a time explaining this.”

She bit her bottom lip, peering up at his profile. “Harry.”

His eyes snapped to her, gleaming brightly at the trepidation in her voice. She swallowed, sensing Ron's radiant heat at her back, watching every moment of their exchange.

“My father knows you visited Cormac in the morgue,” she continued slowly, each word a feat. “There’s only two ways you could have possibly known he was dead. Someone with access to the confidential file leaked information, or you were involved in his killing.”

Ron glanced between them, stepping closer. “Wait, _what_ about Cormac?”

She grasped his hand without sparing him a look, keeping her focus tightly aligned on Harry. “I’m going to tell my father the truth.” Her heart galloped painfully in her chest. “All of it.”

Harry tensed. “Susan–”

“No.” She shook her head, squeezing Ron’s palm tighter. “I’m not going to let you incriminate yourself for me.”

Ron studied her profile. “Susan, what the hell are you talking about?”

Tears clouded her vision anew but she let them fall unabated, maintaining Harry’s steady gaze for a short eternity before earning his nod of acceptance. He reached out, gripping her shoulder.

“I’ll give you two some privacy,” he whispered, ducking his head and stepping away from the pair.

She released a shallow breath, glancing to her joined palm, fingers interlaced with a freckled hand. “Ron.” Her voice was thick, unrecognizable to her ears. She forged ahead, lifting her watery gaze with agonizing finality. “We need to talk.”

* * *

Bones rotated in a slow circle, taking in the shrapnel and gore adorning every surface of the opulent entry. “I want everyone to come back to the station for questioning,” he announced, voice decidedly calm yet resoundingly powerful.

Tom shared a brief but loaded look with Black from across the room, the message silent and clear. Black gave an imperceptible nod of his head before stepping forward.

“Commissioner Bones, surely we can skip all this red tape. Imagine the scandal it would induce should I be seen entering the Yard.”

Bones turned on his heel, eyeing the Peer with cool detachment. “You have ten dead bodies in your home, Black. The back portion of your home also happens to be missing. I think the news is bound to break one way or another.”

Black tipped his head, eyes flashing as he quickly changed tactics. “At least question us here.”

Bones gave his broad form a thorough once over, jaw tensing. “I don’t extend favors to members of the peerage simply for being born with a title.” He met Black’s gaze once more, shoulders drawing back. “But your promotion to Admiral was hard-earned, and I am willing to acquiesce out of respect to your rank and service to this country.” He turned to face the rest of the hovering crowd, voice rising high above the mayhem. “That said, I still intend to do this by the book. _Everyone_ will be questioned.” He arched a dark brow. “No exceptions.”

Black nodded, grinning with polished charm. “We’re willing to cooperate fully.”

Tom stepped forward, unable to linger in unbearable silence a moment longer. “There’s a young man requiring immediate transport to St. Mungo’s. That’s our first priority.”

Bones turned his head, eyeing Tom carefully for the first time. “And you are?”

“A doctor,” he deadpanned, gesturing to the dining hall at his back. “You can attest to his condition yourself, but in the meantime a carriage needs to be readied.”

The Commissioner studied him for a full beat more before calling the attention of two nearby officers. "Dawlish, Robards, prepare a wagon." The men nodded, departing swiftly. Bones held Tom's piercing gaze all the while. "Show me."

Tom turned on his heal, leading the man into the dining room as a small procession followed at their backs unbidden, everyone eager to see the patient’s condition. He met Parvati’s eye as she jolted out of her chair, setting the boy’s hand aside and stepping back to clear the way. Everyone piled into the room, surrounding the table and its motionless occupant.

"We'll get him taken care of," Bones said, his expression the same as before he entered the room. Tom suspected it took a great deal to elicit emotion from the man. A trait he understood well. “I’ll send one of my men along.”

“I’m going as well.”

Everyone looked to the young aristocrat hovering at the head of the table, the sharp lines of his face stretched taut as he gazed upon his friend’s still form.

Bones shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t permit that, Mr. Malfoy. I need to question you.”

The blonde’s visage twisted into a picture-perfect sneer. “You can question me after.”

“That’s not–”

“Respectfully, Sir, the _only_ way to stop me is to arrest me.” He lifted his chin, pale eyes glinting orange as the first rays of sunrise filtered through the shattered windows. “Then you’ll have my father to contend with, and I assure you, allowing me to accompany my friend is the _far_ less taxing option for us all.”

Bones stood straighter, eyes narrowing at the blatant threat. “Fine. But I’m still sending one of my men along to take your statement.”

Malfoy turned to Parvati. “Do you want to come?”

Bones glanced between them. “Wait a moment–”

“I do,” she stated plainly, ignoring the man as well. “But I can’t. I have to stay with Padma.” She blinked quickly, tears spilling past her lashes as she gazed at the table with palpable remorse.

“I’ll go, Parvati,” a delicate voice offered from the back of the crowd. The men parted down the middle to reveal the slight blonde hovering at the threshold, expression placid even with the attention she garnered.

Parvati nodded, wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands, soot and blood trailing in their wake. “Thank you, Luna.”

Bones sighed, shoulders drawing back. “I’m sorry, Miss, but–”

“The officer can take her statement just as easily as Mr. Malfoy’s,” Tom interjected, annoyed with this pointless delay. “But she must have around the clock guardianship, she may still be a target.”

Bones glanced at him sharply. “A _what_?”

A new presence entered the room, another officer appearing at the back of the crowd with a harried look. “Sir,” he announced without preamble, earning the Commissioner’s attention as well as the entire room. “There’s a bound and gagged man in the side parlor. Says he was kidnapped and held hostage.”

Black released a sharp bark of noise, something between laughter and surprise, rocking back on his heels and glancing to his godson. “Whoops, forgot about him.”

Parvati scowled, crossing her arms tightly. “He _isn’t_ our hostage.” A beat. “He’s our prisoner.”

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose as Malfoy voiced his thoughts aloud.

“Parvati, stop talking.”

Bones threw up his hands. “ _Everyone_ stop talking!” He took a steadying breath. “First we’re getting the kid loaded into a carriage.” He glanced to Luna, still situated beside the doorway, and then to Malfoy. “The two of you can accompany him but you _aren’t_ to leave the hospital.” And then he signaled a detective in the corner of the room, silently watching the shit show unfold. “Stay with the girl. _Don’t_ let her out of your sight.” Finally, he drew his focus back to the officer lingering at the threshold. “Untie the man but _keep_ him in the parlor.”

He inhaled deeply through his nose, eagle gaze sweeping across the room’s numerous remaining occupants. “And everyone else stays _exactly_ where they are.” He wet his lips, bracing his hands against the edge of the table. “Now, who do I have the pleasure of questioning first?”

Some people shifted awkwardly, others went still as death. But in the end everyone turned their head, eyes drawing to a common focal point.

Tom.

The detective blinked, tracking the movement and honing upon him in the next beat. Tom lifted his chin, adrenaline surging as his mask slipped effortlessly into place, but he was helpless to quell the flash of lightning in his gaze.

“I suppose that would be me.”

* * *

Hermione peered through the carriage window at the endless stretch of trees lining either side of the road. The carriage ride took her into daybreak, sunlight spilling across the grey sky in pools of orange and pink pastels, illuminating the vibrant greenery of the woods. She never imagined the pathway to hell could appear so peaceful, so majestic and beautiful. But perhaps that was most fitting, a suitable end to this particular tale.

One of her jailors sat across the narrow interior, wide frame taking up most of the bench. He took great care to keep his knees from knocking against her, appearing the far more uncomfortable of the pair. Both men donned the same perturbed expressions from hours before, gazing upon her in utter shock and trepidation as she offered up her freedom on a silver platter. They’d since made the entirety of the journey in silence, every passing minute putting her deeper into isolation, the woods growing denser and wilder until sunlight could barely penetrate the canopy.

But at long last the road led to a tall gate, the carriage pulling to a stop as the guard sitting front hopped down and pulled it aside. A moment later they were winding along a steep dirt road cut along the side of a stone hill, trees to one side and a cliff drop to the other. She clutched the window frame, knuckles turning white as she gazed into the open expanse of jagged rock, watching the treetops pass several hundred feet below.

And then they were pulling into a tunnel carved into the earth and reinforced by bricks, darkness overtaking them for the span of several breathless seconds. The path fed out onto a loose gravel drive, the horses crunching along the final stretch of road leading to a sprawling structure ahead. She drew in a slow breath as she took in the sight of the three-story mansion, heart stuttering as they pulled to a stop before its steps. The driver leaped from his perch, tying the horses before opening her door and holding out his hand. She ignored the offering, gathering her skirts and jumping down without hesitation, propelled by her longing need to see the structure up close.

It looked like something straight out of a fantasy novel, the outer walls white limestone, giving it the appearance of a castle off-set only by the black roof and shutters framing magnificent arching windows. Ivy climbed along the side of the home and cut across the front in a diagonal path, purple blossoms blooming on the vines, pairing splendidly with the bevy of rose bushes lining the wrap-around porch, adorned with petals in every shade of red, orange and in-between.

She’d never seen any place so eye-catching, so mesmerizing at first glance. A candy cottage in the middle of the wilderness luring lost children to its door.

Her chaperones stepped forward, wordlessly flanking her as they awaited her next move. She swallowed lightly and stepped forward, a strange sensation ghosting across her skin the moment her heel connected with the first step. The men were tensed at her sides, watching her carefully, no doubt expecting her to bolt at any moment. She held her chin high and proceeded up the rest of the stairs without submitting to the tremor in her limbs, the rapid hummingbird pace of her heart. One of the guards opened the gleaming black door while the other stood aside and allowed her to enter first. She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth and crossed the threshold, adrenaline suffusing her spine in a heady rush.

And then she was rendered breathless for the second time in as many minutes.

The entryway was another fairytale brought to life. The floor was a diamond checkerboard of white and black marble, a grand spiral staircase dominating its center, black ivy carved into every rod iron spindle, the detail magnificent. But what truly left her speechless was the circular skylight overseeing the five-armed chandelier, sunlight refracting through the crystal and casting dozens of rainbows across every surface, herself included. She raised her hand to the nearest prism, watching the vibrant colors dance along her palm.

_This can’t be real…_

How could a monster possibly live in such a magical abode?

She was pulled from her awed reverie as one of the guards stepped beside her, waiting until he gained her attention to speak.

“This way,” he instructed, turning on his heel without awaiting a response.

She blinked, remembering her situation all at once, face heating with anger and shame for allowing herself to be distracted by the pretty rouse of the inviting interior. She recalled her words to Harry the week prior, imparted as they wandered the garden outside the Home.

_“Poisonous creatures always bear the most colorful skin.”_

She drew her shoulders back and followed, allowing him to lead her around the staircase into a large corridor hidden beyond, the second guard trailing a few paces behind. They journeyed through a series of connecting hallways, each looking identical to the last, possessing the same closed doors and crown molding but no decoration to set them apart. And just as suddenly they stopped before one of the barriers, as unassuming in appearance as its predecessors.

Until she felt a pulse of dark energy emitted from beyond the barrier, raising the fine hairs along her arms and nape and causing her knees to lock in place. She clenched her hands tight, scraping together her final vestiges of courage as the guard raised his fist and knocked three times against the wood.

She held her breath, blinking rapidly as the temperature around her seemed to drop. She desperately wanted to look over her shoulder for Ariana but fought the urge, terrified it would be someone else watching her from the shadows. And then a voice spoke from the other side of the wood, effectively scattering her thoughts in every direction.

“Enter.”

Her spine stiffened at the familiar timbre, filling her chest with both fire and ice, their searing pain the same. The guard reached for the knob but she elbowed him aside, gripping the handle and opening the door herself, pausing at the threshold as the room came into view.

An office.

Spacious and brightly lit, a massive desk as its centerpiece and a familiar face and body inhabiting its chair. She felt her muscles strain to the point of hypertension as she stared upon him.

He continued to peer down at the papers on his desk, pen moving fluidly along the parchment as he wrote with great dexterity and speed. “What is it?” He asked with an annoyed edge, gaze still averted down.

She lifted her chin, forcing her feet forward and speaking before her rational mind had the opportunity to catch up with her madness. “Good morning, Grindelwald.”

Her heart skipped with satisfaction as he stiffened in place, the pen falling from his hand and rolling across the wood as his head snapped up. His eyes burned with unearthly intensity, scorching a path straight through her. And then he was pressing his palms to the desk, expression unreadable as he pushed to his feet, never breaking her gaze.

“Good morning, Ms. Granger.”

One of the men shifted at her back. “We found her at the Home, Sir–”

“Leave us,” Grindelwald commanded, the words echoing off the bookcases and ceiling beams, causing the men to stand at attention and back into the hall, closing the door in a rush.

Several moments passed in silence, time measured only by the racing of her heart and the steady ticking of an unseen clock. She folded her hands across her skirts, struggling to keep her movements slow and steady, knowing one tremor would unleash a torrent of bubbling hysteria. At last he seemed to absorb the reality of her presence, lifting a graying brow and his eyes swept over her person. “What an unexpected surprise.”

She tilted her head. “Is it? You had snatchers stationed outside the Home.”

“Indeed I did. But I never truly thought you foolish enough to return.”

Her eyes flashed. “It seemed only appropriate to go back to where it all began.”

He blinked. And then smiled. “You’ve been a busy girl.” He idly tapped his fingertips along the desk, matching the pacing of the clock. “And so very clever. Learning my true name. Sneaking into the Home undetected, and yet unable to accomplish the same task on your way out.”

She ground her teeth, gathering her skirts by the handful, desperate to exert her control over something. “My luck had to run out eventually.”

He stepped away from the chair and began to round the desk, steps slow and methodical. “Or perhaps you meant to be caught.”

“Now why would I do that?”

“Why indeed.” He continued his slow approach, his presence drawing the cold with him, causing gooseflesh to erupt along her exposed skin. “You aren’t like other young women. In fact, I’m quite certain you aren’t like anyone I’ve ever encountered before.”

She drew in a slow breath, channeling Ariana’s face in her mind for strength and resolve. “Are you certain of that?”

He came to a stop a few feet away, folding his hands behind his back as he began to dissect her with his eyes. “And what is it you think you know, my child?”

Her blood sizzled at the grating endearment. "I know who inspired your madness. Your perversity. The first victim of your cruelty."

He blinked, expression tensing for the space between heartbeats. She felt her spine lengthen, joyous to find the chink in his armor at last.

“Ariana,” she spoke aloud, knowing she struck gold as the name seemed to steamroll him entirely. The color faded from his complexion in a powerful rush, his body falling so still he hardly seemed to breathe.

Yet he still found the ability to speak, voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve been _very_ busy indeed.” He searched her gaze, his next words delivered at normal volume, laced with burgeoning aggression. “And you’ve obviously met Albus.”

She was helpless to mask her own reaction, body tilting away at the pronouncement in an attempt to evade his assessment. His eyes darkened with the movement. “So that’s where Tom took you. Interesting.”

She glanced away, desperate to escape the intensity of his eyes but helpless to avoid the rest of his analysis.

“Yes, I know who set the fire at the Lestrange estate. He managed to orchestrate a rescue mission in record time. I was deeply impressed.” He began to circle her with calm calculation, every strike of his heel sending a pulse of revulsion and fear through her stomach. “I underestimated his obsession with you. Foolish of me, knowing his predisposition for such weakness. It’s in his blood after all.”

Her unease was cast aside with stunning swiftness by the force of her rage. “You brainwashed his mother. She was only obsessed because _you_ conditioned her that way.”

He smirked, slowing to a stop at her side. “I wasn’t speaking of Merope.”

Her hands curled into claws, nails threatening to shred the fabric of her dress. “Thomas Riddle was as much of a monster as you.” Her words radiated such animosity she felt their vibrations all the way to her toes.

“You speak with great conviction for one so ignorant,” he replied calmly, frustratingly unaffected by her wrath. “But I suppose that is _your_ greatest weakness... the uncompromising curse of youth.”

She bristled. “I’ve seen Tom’s back, just as I’ve seen Ariana’s doctored medical files. I know _exactly_ what I speak of. Thomas was a monster lacking a conscience and soul, same as you.”

She expected more lilting mockery, so when his eyes flickered she felt her shoulders tense, braced for whatever madness was sure to follow.

“Albus told you I killed her.”

She blinked, unprepared for such an obvious statement. But she quickly found her footing, followed by her anger. “Are you implying you didn’t?”

His face transformed into something deeply disturbing, for in the morning light it appeared almost human.

“Ari was the purest soul to ever grace this godforsaken earth. A radiant light in the darkness. A beacon in the raging sea.” His voice was firm in its conviction, swelling with an emotion that caused her stomach to clench, unsettled by its impossible meaning. “In all my years, all my travels and endless encounters, I’ve never come across her equal. Not even close.” His gaze reflected the sun with unnatural brightness. “And I would have severed my own hands from my person before doing anything to diminish that light.”

She swallowed thickly, searching for her voice, finding it hidden beside her hatred and resentment. “You claim someone else is responsible for her death? Someone _else_ dumped her in the river like a pile of rubbish?”

His expression darkened. She fought back an indelicate scoff. “You really expect me to believe that?” She asked instead, turning to face him fully.

His chin lowered, leveling their gazes. “It doesn’t matter what you believe, my dear. Because soon enough your thoughts will cease to exist at all. _You_ will cease to exist. Your clever repartee and impassioned ideals will amount to nothing but a pile of ashes, mere dust in the wind, forgotten and erased.”

And then he reached forward with surprising speed and agility, grabbing her by the throat. She went rigid in his hold, too shocked to pull away, more unsettled by the gentleness of his touch than the gesture itself. He didn’t squeeze, merely laid his fingertips along her throbbing pulse and tilted her chin back with his thumb.

“I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he sees what’s become of his most precious possession,” he muttered as though to himself, inspecting her face with glittering eyes and clinical detachment, a terrifying combination.

“Haven't you done enough already?" She asked, swallowing past the constriction in her throat and feeling it work its way past his fingertips. "Destroying his mother, handing him over to his beast of a father? Why must you torture him so?"

He tilted his head, gaze latching onto hers with predatory swiftness, the corners of his mouth curving up to reveal a row of white gleaming teeth. “Dear girl… who said anything about Tom?”

She blinked, swaying in place as her mind reeled, held aloft only by his staying hand. “I don’t understand.”

He nodded slowly. “I know.” And then he released her, stepping back as the cold rushed in, the air so frigid she was certain she’d see her breath on the next exhale.

"And what a disappointment that is. For the briefest of moments, I thought you truly solved the puzzle. Saw the entire picture from your high pedestal.” A low sigh hissed past his lips. “But alas, you’re just another child attempting feats well beyond your capabilities or fortitude.” A beat. His eyes swept over her once more, calculating. “But perhaps you won’t be a total failure.”

He raised his hand, snapping his fingers. The door at their side swung open, the motion jolting her. The guards entered, poised for his command.

Yet the Dollmaker only had eyes for her.

“Perhaps you’ll manage to impress me after all.” His smile returned, sharp and hungry. “Let’s see if you can resist your second round of treatment.”

* * *

Tom leaned back in his seat, watching as the Commissioner dragged a hand over his face, expression taut with obvious exhaustion. The dining table between them bore the evidence of the bloody battle and subsequent surgery, though the body that once occupied the space was finally en route to Mungo’s, allowing Tom’s mind to focus entirely upon his current situation. He couldn’t dismiss the sick and dying assigned to his care no matter his personal difficulties, a frustrating trait instilled upon him through rigorous medical training and years of wading through desperate villages and war-torn regions.

But alas, all that existed in Tom's mind now was the man seated across from him, the unfortunate recipient of a migraine-inducing backstory. The sun rose high in the sky as Tom regaled his tale with skillful cunning, sharing enough to trigger the onset of investigation without incriminating himself or those lingering outside the door. He also withheld key details pertaining to the Dollmaker. Tom intended to kill the man by his own hand, the Yard would _not_ take that victory away from him.

But Bones was welcome to the rest of the organization. Tom couldn't care less about what happened to the employees and clients. This mission had always been a personal score against one man, the rest were merely an added bonus. But Tom never expected the privileged elite to fall with the criminal empire. He always assumed they’d simply cut ties and seek refuge in their gilded castles until the dust settled and their good names were restored.

But from this brief encounter, Tom garnered the strong impression Bones wasn’t easily undermined by the Peerage or swayed by their promises of wealth and fame. Nor did he possess a simmering resentment for their kind. Tom had never met a man who was truly neutral on the subject of the Aristocracy, but perhaps the one seated before him wasn’t solely motivated by those opinions.

Still, Tom was reluctant to trust anyone, little less someone he’d just met. Especially with _this_ … not when he was so close to finding the Bastard and ending his reign once and for all.

“So let me get this straight…” Bones began slowly, dropping his hands to the table. “A resident from the Home in which you’re employed was found murdered, prompting you to take it upon yourself to lead an illegal investigation to find her killer.” His eyes narrowed, glinting with canny perception. “Who you suspect to be affiliated with an underground trafficking-ring operating worldwide. The same organization which sent a small army of men to kill everyone here.” He arched a brow. “Did I get all that right?”

Tom’s expression remained decidedly blank, unchanging throughout his colorful recollection of the events leading up to the gruesome attack on Grimmauld. "Not quite. My investigation into Lavender Brown's homicide was hardly illegal."

His fingertips drummed idly atop his knee.

_Only my torture of Greyback and subsequent murder of Dolohov._

But those particular excursions were conducted while in the pursuit of Ms. Lovegood. So technically he wasn’t lying to the man’s face just yet. The good Commissioner didn’t need to be privy to _all_ the details.

Bones tipped his head, studying Tom's still form as though sensing the thread of his internal monologue. "Yes. I'm sure you did _everything_ by the book. But what I can’t possibly fathom is why you failed to bring this to the attention of authorities immediately following the girl’s death.”

“Murder.”

Bones leaned back. “Following her murder,” he repeated, tone measured.

Tom held his assessing gaze for another tense beat before responding. “I didn’t think the local authorities had the resources or desire to conduct a thorough investigation.”

“That’s our job.”

Tom tilted his head, turning the appraisal back onto the detective. “She was a penniless orphan found discarded in the river. Look me in the eye and tell me you would’ve devoted even a passing second to finding her killer.”

The detective blinked. Tom cracked his neck, silently cursing himself for his momentary lapse. He fought to hang the mask back into place, suddenly finding it ill-fitting and cumbersome. Fuck. At this rate, he was going to make himself the center of the investigation.

“I can see where this conversation is quickly heading,” he stated, carefully treading the line between deception and truth. “Rather than try to convince you further with my own account, perhaps you’d be interested in the witness testimony of someone who can attest to the monstrosities first hand.”

Bones drew back, his chair creaking with the movement. “You have a witness?”

“Technically I have three. But only Ms. Lovegood is able to articulate her experience at length.”

“And the other two?”

“ _Are_ the evidence.”

The Commissioner held his stare in the unwavering silence that followed. Tom fought the urge to succumb to the discomfort, recognizing the interrogation tactic at once. But he refused to relent on the matter. Until he knew without an ounce of doubt the man wasn’t yet another spy in the Dollmaker’s pocket, Hermione’s name would _not_ be going into any files.

“This is a lot to swallow,” Bones replied at length, crossing his arms over front. Tom sympathized with the sentiment, but before either man could utter another syllable the door flew open, a young woman charging in.

The detective reared back, eyes widening. “Susan, this is a private interview–”

“You have to believe him, Dad.”

His mouth opened and closed, seeming to process her words at half speed. “Susan, go outside–”

“He’s telling the truth.” She stepped closer to the table, hands twisting at her front. “I found evidence linking the organization’s past victims.”

Tom blinked, examining the girl more closely, absently taking note of the young man hovering in the hallway at her back, recognizing his flaming hair from the entry hall battle.

“Susan, what are you talking about?” Bones asked, leaning forward in his seat.

She swallowed heavily, swaying precariously as she spoke the words in a single breath. "I raided the records room for killings similar to Lavender and found at least a dozen all performed within the last few years."

Her father visibly paled. “You knew the murder victim?”

She shook her head. “Not personally.”

“Then why the hell are you going through records? How are you entangled in this?” His eyes narrowed. “How did you even know Grimmauld was under attack tonight?”

She pressed a hand to her middle as though bracing herself. “Because I was here when Greyback first arrived.”

The result was instantaneous.

“ _What_!”

Tom raised a brow as the man sprung from his chair with enough force to tip it over. She drew back, expression stricken. “Please don’t get distracted, Dad. I’m fine, but the other girls aren’t.”

“ _What_ other girls?” He strode toward her, voice rising with every step. “What were you even doing here? How do you know Lord Black?”

She opened her mouth but another’s voice filled the room, a new figure appearing in the doorway.

“She was here because of me,” Potter announced, stepping inside with a determined expression. “I’m her connection to this mess.”

The girl shook her head. “Harry–”

“And I’m the one who asked her to look through the records. I’m responsible for any laws that were broken.”

Bones glanced between them, realization dawning in his eyes. “You told Potter about Cormac,” he said to his daughter. “That’s how he was able to arrive at the morgue so quickly.”

She nodded slowly. “Yes.”

His gaze flashed. “You leaked confidential information regarding an active homicide investigation to a civilian.”

“Yes.”

“Are you dating?”

She and Potter reared back.

“What?” She shouted, eyes widening to comical proportions. “No!”

“Don’t lie to me. Are you running around with this boy?’

Tom rubbed his brow, suppressing a groan.

_Fucking hell._

“I’m not running around with him, Dad!”

The redhead stepped into the three-ring circus next, fists clenched at his sides. “She’s running around with me, Sir.”

The girl cringed, covering her face with both hands while the boy flushed brighter than his hair.

“That didn’t come out right,” he quickly added.

Tom burst out of his seat, prepared to strangle the next person who spoke with his bare hands. “As riveting as all these revelations are, there are a few more pressing matters to attend.”

Bones took a deep breath, seeming to fight the urge to throttle someone himself. “Agreed,” he uttered, eyes firmly affixed to his daughter. “But we _will_ discuss this later. In-depth."

She swallowed heavily, nodding. The Commissioner shifted his focus to the young man, expression turning lethal. “And I’ll be speaking to _you_ privately.”

The boy rocked back with the impact of the words. “Yes, Sir.”

After another tenuous beat Bones softened his stance, gazing upon the girl with more patience. “You think you found related cases?”

She blinked, awakening from her stupor as she recalled the original purpose of her abrupt entry. “Yes. I pulled them aside and locked them in my desk at the office.”

His jaw tensed, eyes taking on a calculative gleam Tom was beginning to recognize. “Get them. Bring them directly to me.” He turned to the young man again. The boy looked terrified for his life. “You go with her. And if she suffers so much as a broken nail before arriving back here I’ll make you rue the day you were born. You understand me, son?”

“Y-Yes, Sir.”

The detective nodded swiftly, stepping aside and releasing them from his thrall. “Take my marked carriage.”

She smiled softly, reaching out to squeeze her father’s arm in a tender gesture that compelled Tom to glance away. Within moments she disappeared through the doorway with the young man in tow, leaving Potter behind in the wreckage.

Bones turned a sardonic scowl upon the boy. “Seeing as the locks have been _shot off_ all the doors, I suppose there’s little hope of conducting these interviews in private.”

Potter shook his head, looking far more amused than intimidated. “None. And the locks were useless anyhow. We eavesdrop through the walls.”

Black’s disembodied voice filtered in from the adjoining room right on cue. “I’m doing it right now! Remind me to thank Ron for the thrilling entertainment!”

The Commissioner pinched the bridge of his nose. "Wonderful. In that case, you might as well take a seat beside the Doctor.”

Tom blinked, rapidly processing everything he’d gleaned over the last few minutes, watching Potter undergo a similar dazed reaction from his peripheral.

Bones moved back to his fallen chair, setting it right side up and glancing between their unmoving forms. “Well? What are you waiting for?” He sat down with a muffled groan, sweeping shards of glass from the table with a no-nonsense expression. “We have an organization to take down.”

* * *

Hermione locked her knees, standing rigid as a signpost in the center of the unassuming parlor. The guards flanked the doorway at her back, stone gargoyles defending their crypt.

“So.” A deep voice drew her attention forward. “Am I to be clued into the plan or will you surprise me with some grand reveal when I least expect it?” Grindelwald asked as he crossed the room to the opposite wall at a casual pace.

Her eyes narrowed. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

He chuckled lowly, stopping before a glass cabinet. “Surely you came marching boldly to my door with a clever scheme in mind. Some means to outsmart and overthrow my evil empire?”

She lifted her chin, fighting the urge to grind her teeth. “If I did I’d hardly be keen on sharing it.”

"Oh, how I _do_ love a good mystery." He opened one of the doors, the beveled glass casting tendrils of dancing light across the adjoining walls. "Perhaps you'll provide some much-needed entertainment after all."

She folded her arms, glancing to either side of the richly furnished space. “And what's _your_ plan, Doctor? This room seems rather ill-equipped for a water tank.”

He opened the lid of an onyx box situated on the middle shelf and grabbed something small and metallic from within, closing the cabinet door with a soft click. “I have something else in mind for today. A method far less cumbersome for us both, and hopefully much more effective.”

He strode to a wooden bar in the corner. Her heart skipped as he slid the small item into a metal plate in the center panel and twisted, causing the doors to part. She tilted her head and studied the contents, a miniature apothecary in place of wine or liquor. Fascination and fear warred within her. She didn’t recognize any of the labels, most of the text appearing foreign. His dexterous fingers selected a short and fat bottle filled with a clear blue concoction, holding it before the light before reaching for a crystal tumbler situated upon a lower shelf. He pulled the rubber stopper free from the bottle and poured a finger’s width pool of liquid into the glass.

“I’ll be forgoing the pill as well,” he stated simply, recorking the bottle. “This tonic is far more fast-acting and easier on the stomach.”

Her arms dropped to her sides. “How considerate.”

He smirked and then turned to face her with the glass in hand, gesturing to his men. They stepped forward as one, moving towards her in a straight line.

“There’s no need for restraint,” she said, holding out her palm. “I’ll take it.”

A wry grin distorted his features into a grotesque parody of amusement. “I find myself more intrigued by the moment.” He handed her the glass as the guards halted their tracks.

“Then you’re easily intrigued.” She held her breath and tossed the liquid back with a cringe, confident it would be unpleasant but non-lethal. The initial taste was bitter, the aftertaste distinctly sour, like swallowing a cup of vinegar. Her mouth tingled. She swept her tongue across the backs of her teeth, eager to dispel the sensation.

"Then again," she continued, meeting his eye, "I suppose it's rare for you to be in the company of a woman who isn't begging for her life or staring blankly at a wall."

“Indeed.” He took the empty glass into his possession once more and strode back to the bar. “You’re undoubtedly in rare form this morning, my dear. But I suggest taking a seat before delivering your next bold quip. The effects will set in with near immediacy.”

She watched him set the tumbler aside and lock the cabinet door. Her ears popped. She swallowed but the pressure remained. It grated her nerves to abide his commands, but as she turned her head to glance at the window she knew sitting down was undoubtedly in her best interest. The curtains swayed like a flowing river, the sunlight pulsing in time to her heartbeat. The colors in the room appeared more saturated, shadows darker, reflections brighter. She staggered to the couch at the center of the rug and collapsed in a graceless heap.

He tucked his hands into his trouser pockets and slowly approached. “Precisely.”

She could hear the smirk in his voice but was unable to make out his features as a beam of sunlight struck her directly across the eyes. She cringed back, turning her face away. The room around her swam, her stomach churning with it.

“Tell me,” she said tightly, pressing a hand to her middle. “How do you sleep at night?”

“Lying on my left side. An old injury prevents most other positions.”

She swallowed thickly, teeth pushing and pulling against her gums. “So I take it the drivel you spout about improving the lives of the brow-beaten and impoverished is just for show?”

He stepped closer, standing between a pair of armchairs facing the sofa. “The drivel is what allows my _customers_ to sleep at night. The ones still possessing a shred of decency, that is.”

She shook her head. “No one decent could possibly involve themselves in something so evil.”

Her eyes moved past him, staring at the wisps of colors appearing in the air, dancing in the sunlight like clouds of dust.

No, not dust…

Rainbows.

Hundreds of powdery rainbows cast across the room, emanating from the light reflecting off the curio cabinet.

"Mankind is excellent at twisting the limits of morality to justify behavior," he continued on. "Look at you, for example, using entrapment to kill Dolohov in his own home." He clicked his tongue. "You no longer have high ground to stand on, Ms. Granger." Her eyes flickered forward. He held her gaze fast. "Not that I judge you for such actions. I judge no one for their behavior. I merely ask that they are held accountable."

She choked back a bitter laugh, toxic acid bubbling in her throat, threatening to pour down her chin. “And do you apply that same logic to yourself? Profiting off the destruction of innocent lives?”

“None of us are innocent.”

She gripped the cushions beneath her, talons piercing through the fabric. “Not even Ariana?”

The result was instantaneous and intensely satisfying. His pale eyes darkened, pupils expanding outward in twin pools as his face flickered like a bunched film real.

“This has never been about financial gain. I couldn't care less about the money.”

Her heart skipped at his evasive response. She attempted to sit upright but succeeded only in tipping further sideways. "Then why?" She wet her lips, blinking rapidly as his gaze continued to darken until the sockets were gleaming vats of crude oil. "What's the purpose for all of this? The simple pleasure of hurting others?”

He smiled, slow and sinister, sharp teeth glinting as brightly as the colors in the air. “Warmer, Ms. Granger. But you’re still searching for answers down the wrong rabbit hole.” He tilted his head to the side, watching her sink deeper and deeper into the cushions. Black sludge poured from his eyes in rivulets, streaming across his high cheekbones and collecting upon the floor in undulating pools. “Care to wager another guess while you’re still in control of your rational mind?”

She braced her hands beneath her, pushing back to place her head against the armrest, prisms dancing before her eyes.

“ _Rational mind_ …” She laughed, high and delighted, edging on hysteria. “That’s funny.” She sank down deeper, the cushions filled with sand, swallowing her torso and limbs, holding her immobile. “I haven’t been in possession of that in a _very_ long time, Doctor." She smiled to herself, sudden weightlessness taking hold. "And I don't need to guess. She'll tell me everything I need to know soon enough.”

He blinked, black tar hitting the wood in viscous globs. “Who?” He asked, voice harsh and distant.

And then the couch swallowed her whole, taking the room with it and sending her into freefall.

“ _Who_ will tell you?”

She could barely hear him, barely see him as he gazed down at her from the circular opening in the floor. And then she lost sight of everything, darkness encasing her as she fell through the center of the earth.

* * *

Susan fished the keys from her skirt, glancing over her shoulder at Ron’s wide form hovering nearby. His entire body was strung taut, radiating a powerful tension as though awaiting an armed assailant to drop from the ceiling.

She smiled, fatigued by the effort. “We won’t be attacked at the Station, Ron. You can relax.”

He drew a hand over his face, releasing a long sigh. “After the night I’ve had I don’t think I’ll be able to relax ever again.”

She slid the key into her father’s office door, opening her mouth to respond when footsteps echoed down the hallway, cutting short her thoughts.

“Morning, Susan,” the approaching figure said with a bright grin. “Not used to seeing you here on the weekend.”

She stood straighter, forcing a smile. “Good morning, Lewis. I just came to grab a few things for Dad.”

He slowed to a stop before her. “Working a case on his day off?”

“Is that surprising?”

His smile widened, eyes roaming her face. “Not in the least.”

Ron cleared his throat. Lewis blinked, glancing sideways, seeming to take in his presence for the first time. “Oh. Hello, mate.”

Ron nodded his return greeting. Susan cringed, realizing he looked as though he’d just been fished out of the river. His jacket covered most of the blood stains marring his shirt but his face and hair remained filthy.

She shifted anxiously, eagerly drawing Lewis’s attention back to her. “Well I better grab the files, don’t want to keep the boss waiting for too long.”

The young man nodded, eyes gleaming as he gazed upon her again, seeming to dismiss Ron's presence without thought. “Of course. It was nice seeing you.” He wet his lips, shuffling back. “Have a great day.”

She nodded, waving amicably, hoping he didn’t notice the slight tremor in her hand. “You, too, Lewis.”

Ron scowled as he watched the man retreat around the corner. She sighed with relief, pushing open the office door and slipping inside.

“Who was that?” He asked, following at her heels.

She raised a brow, shutting the door at their backs. “Forget his name already?”

His shoulders drew back as he watched her make her way across the room. “Do most of the men here have a crush on you?”

She stopped before her desk, shrugging. “Probably.” She rolled her eyes as he crossed his arms. “Ask a foolish question, get a foolish answer,” she replied simply, searching the ring for the key she needed.

“We need to talk, Susan.”

Her heart skipped a painful beat, causing her to fumble the keys, the metal hitting the ground with a clink. She leaned over to pick them up, unable to meet his gaze. "I know," she said softly, clutching the metal tightly in her fist. "But not now."

She jammed the key into the lock and twisted with added force, watching him approach from the corner of her eye.

“I don’t think it can wait,” he said, voice edged with determination.

She swallowed, vision clouding with rising panic. “It has to. Lives are at stake, Ron. Our personal lives can hold.”

“Just answer me one question.”

She sighed, bracing her hands along the edge of the desk, studying the woodgrain. “Alright,” she relented, closing her eyes. “What?”

A heavy beat. The silence was suffocating.

“Did you love him?”

Her eyes snapped open as she tipped sideways, catching herself against the chair. “ _What_?”

“McLaggen.” His arms dropped to his sides, hands clenched tight. “Did you love him?”

“Of course not!”

“Then why keep it a secret? Why ask Harry to take you to the morgue instead of me?”

Her temples began to throb in time to her heart. “Ron…”

He advanced closer. “You said you were just friends, you heard about his death at the Station and needed to see his body for yourself… but why wouldn’t you come to me?”

She released a sharp breath, tears stinging behind her eyes. “I…” She felt dizzy. Sick. The urge to fill her lungs with bitter white smoke was overwhelming. Her shoulder ached from the recoil of the rifle. She would still see the men bleeding out on the grass, fallen by her bullets.

It was too much.

Ron closed the distance between them in another long stride. “If you were involved with him you can tell me. I won’t be upset.”

She gazed upon him in abject misery, devastated by the pain reflected back in his deep blue gaze. His tone was calm, placating, but his eyes spoke the truth. He was terrified her heart already belonged to another, a dead man no less. She stepped forward, intent on reassuring him of her affections, but something else slipped free. A dark and sinister truth longing to break free.

“I’m an addict.”

She swayed back at her own words, overcome by crippling fear and relief, unsure which caused her legs to go numb.

Ron merely blinked, clearly unprepared for such a response. “… what?”

She leaned into the desk for balance, hearing her voice as though from a great distance, floating above her body to watch the horror show play out. “I’m an addict, Ron.”

He shook his head, searching her face. “I don’t...”

She swallowed, glancing away, eyes weighed down by shame. He drew back, expression falling lax as he seemed to realize this wasn’t some failed attempt at a joke.

“Addicted to what?” He asked slowly.

Her entire body throbbed, terror seeping from her pores in a cold sweat as humiliation twisted her stomach to knots. “Opium,” she whispered, throat too tense to speak at normal volume.

He rocked back, only to drift forward. “For how long?”

She inhaled sharply, tears overspilling her bottom lashes. She wiped them away, speaking quickly to get it over with. Anything to put an end to this moment and the heartbreak that was certain to follow. “A couple years.” She closed her eyes, nodding in desolation. “I’ve never been able to admit it before now. But I’ve been addicted for years. No matter how much I tried to pretend otherwise.”

She heard him shift.

“How often are you smoking?”

Her nails pressed into the wood at her back, palms sweating. “I had to smoke every other day to keep the worst of withdrawals at bay. But for months I was at the den every afternoon like clockwork. As long as I beat Dad home it stayed a secret. As long as it stayed a secret I thought I was in control.” She bit her lip. “But I’ve been sober for a week now.” Her eyes snapped open, fastening to his. “I tried to stop once I met you. It took a few days to get it right but… I’m clean right now.”

Her entire body pulsed with the rapid pounding of her heart. The silence was crippling. She knew she was going to lose him, had been resigned to the sorrow from the moment they met, but facing the reality here and now was so much more painful than she ever envisioned.

_He’s going to leave now. I’ll never see him again. I never deserved him in the first place. Why did I pretend otherwise?_

_This_ is what she deserved. To be alone. Forever. Who could possibly want her? She was damaged, dirty, pathetic–

“What can I do to help?”

Her thoughts stuttered. She blinked, hands flattening atop the desk. Surely she imagined the question.

“What?” She asked, eyes wide.

His Adam’s apple bobbed high. “How can I help you through this? What do you need from me?”

She blinked again, a new wave of tears streaming down her face. She left them there, releasing a sharp peel of laughter instead, overwhelmed by the words and the emotional relief they inspired. She shook her head, struggling to regain control of her sanity. “I don’t need anything from you.”

He reached forward, gripping both her arms. “I don’t want you to face this alone. I want to help.”

She laughed again, but this time it quickly descended into a broken sob. He pulled her forward and she collapsed against him without hesitation, burrowing into his chest as he pressed his nose and mouth into her hair, taking a steadying breath she echoed with her own lungs.

“You already have,” she breathed out.

“What?”

She tilted her head back, meeting his eye. “You’ve already helped. You gave me a reason to want to get clean.”

He leaned down, kissing her forehead, lips lingering at her temple. She forged on, desperate to dispel all the toxins from her system.

“Cormac and I smoked together.”

His arms tensed at her back. She hastened to add, “We never slept together. I didn’t love him.” Her hands gripped his lapels. “But I cared about him, in a strange, twisted sort of way. He was an arse, but he didn’t deserve to be gunned down in an alley.”

Ron nodded slowly. “Harry knew about all this.”

“It’s my fault. I begged him not to say anything to you. He only agreed because I promised I’d tell you myself.” She shook her head, voice pleading. “Please don’t be upset with him. I’m responsible for all the secrecy.”

The corner of his lips turned up. “I’m not upset with him. I couldn’t be if I wanted. I’m pretty sure he’s saved my life at least three times after last night.”

She laughed, eyes misting over at the reminder. “When I returned to Grimmauld I didn't see you. I thought…” She trembled, expression rapidly sobering. “I thought I’d lost you.”

He drew her in once more. “I’m right here,” he gently assured, the deep cadence of his voice breaking open something inside her. She pressed her hands over his heart, feeling the steady pound against her palms.

“I’m sorry I lied,” she cried. “I’m sorry I’m like this. I wanted to be perfect for you. You deserve someone perfect. You deserve someone pure and–”

“Stop.” His arms released her waist to grip her shoulders tight, forcing her back just enough to meet the burning intensity of his gaze. “I don’t want perfection. I don’t want purity.”

She blinked.

He grinned with the full force of his boyish charm. “That all sounds boring as shite.”

Laughter bubbled from her throat, edged in sorrow. His smile faded but the light continued to dance in his eyes.

“I want a girl who’s brilliant and clever and not afraid to show it. Who puts me in my place when I deserve it and picks me up and dusts me off when I need it. I want someone who’s willing to ride into battle to protect me and the people I care about without hesitation or fear.”

She swallowed thickly, laughter dying beneath the weight of his declaration.

“I want you,” he continued, fingers tensing upon her. “Only you. Just as you are. With all your flaws. All your mess. All your beauty and brains and wits and chaos. I want it now and for the rest of my life.”

She drew in a sharp breath, his words circling through her head on an endless loop. “Did…” She blinked. And then blinked again. “Are you proposing?”

He stared at her in silence, seeming to replay the words in his own mind for a long beat.

And then he smiled.

“I think I am.” He lifted his chin. “No. I know I am.” His eyes glittered. “Yes, I definitely am.”

She opened and closed her mouth, heart swelling. “We’ve just had a deeply traumatic near-death experience. We aren’t thinking clearly.”

“I tend to do my best thinking following deeply traumatic near-death experiences. Hence my limited windows of intelligence.”

She laughed anew, reaching up and cupping his face with her hands. “Stop that! You’re brilliant.”

“Is that a yes?”

“We met eleven days ago.”

“Three times as long as Romeo and Juliet.”

Her brow furrowed. “How…”

“I might’ve looked it up in the event I decided to propose to you in the next few days.”

She tipped sideways with the onslaught of emotion. His arms captured her around the middle, steadying her against his frame.

“My father just found out we’re secretly dating, announcing our engagement on the same day might kill him.” She rested her hands atop his broad shoulders. “Or rather, he might kill you.”

“Is that a no then?”

She shook her head. “It’s a let’s-wait-until-all-this-chaos-blows-over-to-revisit-the-subject.”

“I’ll still feel the same.”

Her smile deepened. “Then waiting won’t matter.” She leaned upward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He didn’t push for more, seemingly content with the gentle reassurance as he rested his forehead against hers. “Let’s go,” she whispered.

He wasted no time taking her by the hand and turning for the door. She took a step forward before freezing in place, digging in her heels.

“Crap, the files!” she hissed.

He blinked, glancing over his shoulder. “Obviously my window of intelligence has closed.”

She let go of his hand and darted to her desk, pulling open the bottom drawer. “That’s why you have me.” She tossed him a cheeky wink and he awarded her with a handsome grin. Her heart soared.

And then she glanced down at the contents of the drawer.

Her heart dropped to the pits of her stomach.

She carefully grabbed the stack with both hands. The papers turned to stone in her grasp, the crimes they documented too horrific to think about. She started to pull away when she noticed one file lingering at the bottom of the cubby. The name typed across the front pulsed before her eyes, the bold lettering invoking images of the gruesome sketches contained within.

**THOMAS RIDDLE, M.D.**

She bit her lip, staring upon the cover for several moments until Ron’s voice drew her from the haunting stupor.

“Everything alright?”

She nodded quickly, leaning down and picking up the file, tucking it beneath her arm with the others. “Yeah.” She closed the drawer and reached for his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

* * *

Theo stopped in his tracks, blood running cold as he inspected the busted gate lying in tatters before him. The carriage he arrived in pulled back onto the main road as he edged forward, the lopsided mansion coming into full view.

He staggered forward several feet before taking off down the drive in a dead sprint, lungs pumping furiously. A young man in uniform appeared from behind the sea of carriages, holding up his hands at Theo’s rapid approach.

“Whoa, whoa, hold it–”

“What happened?” Theo shouted, skidding to a stop just before the entry, kicking up gravel in his wake.

“You can’t be here–”

“ _What_ happened?”

“You need to–”

“Is Harry alright?”

“Listen, you can’t–”

“ _Is Harry Potter alive_?” Theo practically screamed, surging forward, eyes wild.

“Please step back–”

“He’s alright,” a third voice announced.

Theo spun on his heel, spotting Black in the open doorway. The man nodded to the officer. “I can vouch for the kid, let him through.”

“I’m not supposed–”

Theo charged past the officer without a backward glance, his focus directed solely upon the figure at the entrance.

“Where is–”

“Inside,” Black responded without preamble, a smirk playing at his lips. “He’s fine, Nott.”

Theo swallowed heavily, shoulders dropping with the weight of his relief. “What the hell happened?”

The man’s expression rapidly sobered, eyes darkening. “Greyback.” He tipped his head to the interior. “Come on in, see the new layout.”

Theo followed him over the threshold, ignoring the sputtering protests of the officer at their backs. He made it two steps across the marble before grinding to a halt.

The first thing that registered in his mind was that the front door wasn’t open. Rather, it was lying on the ground in pieces, the frame busted to high hell. The windows on either side decorated the floor with as much gusto, jagged shards and bullet casings floating in pools of congealed blood, broken intermittently by the coal outline of bodies. An impressive crime-scene, to say the least.

Theo arched a dark brow, proceeding forward once more. “I see you hired a decorator.”

Black tossed a wink over his shoulder. “Please. I don’t even keep a butler on staff. I channeled my inner feng shui and went to town myself.”

Theo tipped his head back, spotting the deep fissure along the ceiling mural. “With dynamite.”

Black slowed to a stop, smiling outright. “You have an eye for demolition. Impressive.

“I help oversee construction for the Natural History Museum. We blew apart the entire block to set the foundation.”

The older man nodded, rubbing his chin as he pinned Theo with a contemplative look. “You’re just full of surprises.”

Theo tucked his hands inside his pockets to hide their tremor, unnerved at the obvious analysis taking place. “Where’s Harry?” He asked instead, knowing how damning the question was but craving the answer even more.

Black dropped his hand, gesturing to a closed door beside the archway. “Having a little sit down with the good Commissioner.”

Theo blinked. And then paled. “You left him _alone_ to speak with the head of police?”

Black tipped his head back and laughed, eyes glittering with mirth. “Of course not. We’d all be swimming in chains by now. Riddle is with him, likely fantasizing about killing the detective _and_ my godson while weaving a lovely little lie to cover all our arses.”

Theo gazed around the chaotic mess, watching strangers enter and exit with random items in hand. “Seems I missed quite the party.”

Black’s lingering silence drew his attention forward. The man’s face held an uncharacteristic somberness that was far more disturbing than the blood splatter decorating the walls.

“What is it?”

Black held his gaze, tone solemn. “Zabini was shot.”

Theo took a wide step back, glass crunching underfoot. Black raised a staying hand, continuing on.

“Riddle operated on him in time, got him stabilized. He was transferred to Mungo’s about an hour ago. My little cousin is keeping him company.”

“I need to check on him,” Theo said immediately.

Black nodded. “I’ll tell Harry you stopped by.”

Theo shook his head, thoughts hazy. “I need to see him first.” He didn’t realize he’d spoken the words aloud until it was too late.

Black eyed him speculatively. “Whatever makes you happy.” A beat. “I saw your name in the paper a few days ago.”

Theo’s hands curled inside his pockets. “Probably an article about the Museum.”

“No.” The Admiral shook his head, focus unwavering. “It was an engagement announcement.”

Theo’s jaw clenched. “Or that.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” he replied out of habit, caught by the man’s steadfast stare.

Black grinned, teeth gleaming proudly as he changed the topic with the delicacy of a mauling bear. "Care to join me for a drink while you wait?"

_Yes. Desperately._

Alas, the smell of most alcohol reminded Theo of his father as of late. His nerves were already spent, and there was the sizable concern of Black’s perceptive gaze to contend with. The Patriarch liked to play a lush in the public eye, but Theo knew better.

So he shook his head, forcing a smile of his own, face quaking with the effort. “I appreciate the offer, but it’s still a bit early in the day for me to partake.”

Black arched a dark brow, grin somehow tugging higher yet. “Good lad.” And then he winked for a second time. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

Theo watched him depart around the staircase and enter the adjoining hallway, disappearing from sight. He released a heavy breath, turning away.

And caught sight of another familiar face.

He tilted his head, questioning his sanity. “Longbottom?”

The man paused in the archway and glanced up. “Nott?”

“What are you doing here?” They both asked in unison.

Longbottom blinked, starting to approach. “When did you get here?”

“A few minutes ago. You?”

“I never left.”

It was Theo’s turn to blink. “You were here for all this?”

Longbottom swallowed, dragging a hand through his hair as he glanced at the wreckage strewn before them. “Yeah.”

Theo eyed the man with a new appreciation. “Good job.”

Longbottom drew his attention forward. “Doing what?”

“Staying alive.”

Longbottom flushed, and then smirked. “Thanks. It was pretty touch and go there for a while.”

“I can only imagine.” Theo felt his chest tighten. “I heard about Blaise.”

His companion paled, all trace of amusement melting away. “Riddle got the bullet out. He was unconscious when they loaded him in the carriage but his wound looked clean.”

Theo nodded, glancing around. “Where are the others?”

“Parvati and Hannah are upstairs with Padma, Luna and Malfoy headed to the hospital. I’m not sure where Susan or Ron went.”

Theo tried to sort out each girl’s name in his head according to the brief but loaded conversation he had with Harry over lunch a short millennia ago. "So it's just you wandering the halls?"

“And Sirius, wherever he is.”

Theo tipped his head towards the hallway on the opposite end of the room. “Raiding the bar.”

“Ah.”

“The police won’t let you leave?”

Longbottom shrugged, tucking his hands into his pockets. “They took my statement, told me I was free to head home.” A tense beat. “But…”

Theo lifted his chin, nodding slowly. “I understand.”

Better than he’d like to.

The door beside the archway flew open. Theo’s heart skipped, head turning and breath seizing in his lungs. A familiar figure appeared in the center of the frame. Their eyes met. An electrical current passed along his skin. And then...

“Theo?” Harry asked.

He rocked back on his heels, overcome by the sound of his voice, the proof of his survival.

Longbottom glanced between them, color rising high in his cheeks as he rubbed at his neck. “I’ll um…” He shuffled back, neither man paying him any attention. “Just go then.”

Theo didn’t register his departure, every part of his mind and body attuned to the man across from him. Harry stepped free of the dining hall and closed the door at his back. The sound awoke Theo from his daze, setting him into motion. He charged across the long stretch of marble. Harry met him halfway, both men stopping with only a foot of distance between them, swaying with the force of the magnetism.

Theo tore his focus away from the glinting emerald gaze to search Harry’s front for any sign of injury. “Are you hurt?” He asked, fists drawn taught to prevent himself from reaching out.

“No.”

“You weren’t shot?”

“No.”

“Or stabbed?”

Harry smirked. “Theo, I’m fine.”

“You weren’t injured in the blast?”

Harry lifted his arm without warning, placing a palm to Theo’s chest, directly over his heart.

“I’m _fine_.”

Theo wet his lips, body throbbing with the small gesture. “How do you always manage to escape death with nothing more than God awful hair?”

Harry’s smile deepened. “And this moment had such potential.”

Theo swallowed heavily, leaning into the touch. “The gate’s smashed to hell. I saw the house from the drive and…” His breath left him in a powerful rush, preventing the rest of his thought from being shared. Uttering the words aloud would give them power, and the possibility of losing him was too great to bear.

Harry’s gaze turned to smoke. “It’s okay. We got lucky.” His expression tensed as his hand fell away, leaving Theo bereft of its warmth. “Except…”

“Black and Longbottom told me about Blaise.”

Harry sighed. “I’m so sorry, Theo. I was downstairs when it happened. He was shot on the balcony.”

“Why are you apologizing? It wasn’t your fault.”

Harry searched his gaze, seeming to find what he was looking for within moments. “You want to see him.”

It wasn’t a question, but Theo answered it all the same. “Yes.” His jaw tensed of its own accord, as though fighting to keep the truth contained. “I just needed to see you first. With my own eyes.”

Harry smirked anew, devastatingly handsome even covered in blood, grime and soot. “Feast your heart out.”

Theo's lips twitched at last. And then his rational mind turned off, their surroundings falling away as he leaned forward. Harry followed suit, their gazes locked onto each other’s mouths–

The dining hall door opened again. They sprung apart, staggering back as two men exited the doorway. Theo recognized the Doctor but not his companion, the latter of which eyed Theo with equal parts surprise and annoyance.

“And who the hell are you?” The stranger demanded with enough confidence and authority to suggest he was the Commissioner that Black had mentioned.

Theo held up his hands, backing towards the exit. “Just leaving.”

The man scowled. “Bloody fantastic. I should start selling tickets to the crime scene.”

But the rest of his words fell on deaf ears as Theo strode across the entry hall, glancing over his shoulder one last time.

Harry met his eye.

They held each other’s gaze until the very last moment. And then Theo crossed the threshold, losing sight of him.

* * *

Draco carded a hand through his hair and leaned forward, propping his arms on his knees as he gazed upon the pale figure laid out before him. The staff had finally gotten Blaise settled into a private room following his transfusion, nurses stopping in at regular intervals to check on his condition and IV pump.

The door remained open, revealing the profile of the officer who escorted the trio to the hospital and took Draco and Luna’s statements. Now he stood guard duty, though whether his greater concern was keeping them contained or keeping others out was a mystery, one Draco hadn’t the mental fortitude to ponder.

Luna adjusted in her seat, the movement silent. Draco had nearly forgotten she was there, still and quiet as she was. She sat on the other side of the bed, just before the window. Sunlight streamed through in a blinding ray, illuminating her pale head in a halo of migraine-inducing glare. He rubbed his eyes, exhausted from the insanity of the night and subsequent surgery, unable to process most of it at the current moment.

“Would you like for me to wait in the hall?”

Draco jolted upright at the soft voice, glancing in her direction once more.

“I’m happy to give you privacy,” she continued gently. “I just came for Parvati’s sake. I know how torn she was about staying behind.”

He shook his head. “No. You could still be a target, you’re safer in the room.” And then he gazed to the bed once more. “Besides, I don't need privacy. His condition is the same.”

“The doctors seem hopeful about his recovery.”

He fought back a scowl, failing miserably. “Doctor’s toss around the term ‘hopeful’ to cover their arses when patients drop dead in the middle of the night.”

She tilted her head, seemingly unmoved by his scathing retort as she peered upon the cot with a serene expression. Something about her perpetually calm demeanor soothed and incensed him all at once. But what frustrated him the most was the damning silence saturating every surface of the room. The muffled sound of voices filtered in the from the hallway every few minutes, an occasion gurney wheeling past as the staff talked rapidly amongst themselves, but the moment they turned the corner he was left with nothing but Braise’s labored breathing and his own damning thoughts.

He took a deep breath, speaking to fill the void, to distract himself from the rising shadows in the room. “Blaise is a good man,” he began slowly, interlacing his hands between his knees, pressing his palms until the bones screamed in protest. “We give him a hard time.” His jaw worked from side to side, teeth grinding back and forth. “I’ve said things that…”

He swallowed heavily, Hermione’s face flashing before his eyes, superimposing Blaise’s image.

_“You never thought of me at all.”_

He shook his head, dispelling his own phantom voice in his mind. “I had no idea how easy it was to lose someone. How fast they can be ripped away,” he concluded solemnly.

She nodded slowly. “It’s a painful lesson to learn.”

The obvious grief in her voice drew his gaze. “You’ve lost someone,” he stated.

“My father.”

His eyes raked across her slight form, truly taking her in for the first time. He’d been too preoccupied during their first two encounters, just as she’d been busy with crawling through walls and falling from windows. But now there was nothing between them but despondency and time.

“That’s why you’re at the Home,” he surmised. She nodded once more. His eyes lifted to her face. “For how much longer?”

“I’ve just reached majority. It’s only a matter of time before I’m evicted.”

“What will you do after?”

She shrugged, eyes settling upon Blaise while her tone remained perfectly tranquil. “I don’t know. I’d love to work at Kew. I also considered following in my father’s footsteps, not that I have half the talent he did.”

Draco eased his shoulders back, embracing the conversation and the welcome distraction.

“What was his profession?”

She smiled, voice and movements becoming animated as she turned to face him. “Daddy was a journalist. He worked his way up to lead editor for the London Chronicle.”

He smirked at the obvious pride in her voice, suspecting this was a topic she enjoyed discussing but seldom found the opportunity. He also felt a deep irony in the subject matter.

She tilted her head, eyes sparkling. “You’ve heard of it?”

“Certainly. My father screams its name often.”

She blinked. He chuckled lightly.

“They’ve written some less than favorable pieces on the Gentry,” he explained. “One of the few papers that can’t be bribed into submission, much to the mutual loathing of the Peerage.”

She nodded, a soft smile playing at her lips. “They aren’t alone in their dislike. Daddy certainly received enough hate mail.” And then the smile faded. “A few death threats as well. Though the police suspected the latter were merely sent to mislead the investigation.”

“Investigation?”

“Hm?” A beat. “Oh. He was murdered.”

Draco sat straighter. “How?”

“He was shot in his office.”

His heart skipped painfully. “When was this?”

“Four–” She gasped, cutting off abruptly to press fingers to her temples, cringing.

He leaned forward, brow creased. “Are you alright?”

She released a shaky breath, nodding shortly as her hands lowered to her lap. “Yes. I’m fine.”

He wasn’t so convinced. “What…” but the rest of his words faded to the ether as his focus was pulled to the open doorway and the gurney wheeling past it.

He blinked, jaw hanging loose.

And then he leaped from his chair, racing across the pale tile and darting into the hall without a parting word. The officer standing guard snapped to attention, starting to speak, only to fall silent at Draco’s raised hand. His eyes remained fixed on the retreating figure ahead, laid out across the narrow cot as the nurse pushed her along the corridor. They slowed at the corner to change direction, her face coming into full view once more.

His heartbeat churned in his ears, body swaying in place as he spoke the name aloud.

“Dawn?”

But the girl remained comatose. And then he blinked and she was gone, the creaking wheels of her gurney echoing from the adjoining hall. He surged forward, intent on following, but the officer caught him around the arm.

“Sir, I’ve been instructed to–”

A sharp cry emitted from Blaise’s room. Both men turned to stone, gazing upon the doorway. Another sob followed, pained and broken. Draco spun on his heel and charged forward, the officer tight at his heels. He rounded the doorway and spotted Luna across the room, leaning over and clutching her head, pale hair obscuring her face. He ran to her side, hunching low and grasping her shoulders, helping steady her quivering form before she toppled to the floor.

“Luna? What’s wrong?”

She pushed the hair out of her face, visage twisted in acute agony as she tried to speak but only succeeded in emitting another keening cry.

Draco glanced sharply at the officer. “Get a nurse! Hurry!”

The man staggered back, blinking quickly as he came to his senses and took off down the hall. Draco gazed upon her again, at a loss for words. She continued to whimper, rocking back and forth with her eyes squeezed tight. Her lips parted once more, he braced himself for another sob, but instead she whispered something, so faint he could barely hear. He leaned in, shaking his head.

“What?”

She whispered it again, just as quietly, but he was prepared for it this time, hearing the name loud and clear.

“ _Hermione_.”

He nearly tipped sideways, clutching her tightly for balance, heart climbing steadily up his throat. “Luna, what’s happening?”

Her eyes peeled open, wet and clouded, pulling forth the distant memory of when the mysterious girl claimed to read his aura. He didn't take stock in such fantasy but couldn't bring himself to dismiss this particular occurrence. Not when she spoke the one word that unlocked every possible terror in his mind.

“Luna, why did you say Hermione’s name?”

She bit her lip until her teeth threatened to break the skin. “I saw her.”

His chest seized, searing pain lancing through his center. “What was she doing?”

The world tipped on its axis, the floor falling away at her next whisper.

“Falling through darkness.”

* * *

`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`  
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`  
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`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`  
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`.`.`.`.`.`.`  
`.`.`.`.`  
`.`.`  
`  
down

down

down

Her heart beat through her chest, eyes wide with terror as her body careened endlessly through open air, flailing limbs and flowing hair plummeting closer and closer to a black abyss, a tunnel cutting clear through the center of the earth, spilling out into endless space. Dirt, sediment and roots filled her vision, damp soil filled her lungs.

down

down

down

And then the mud and rock turned to wood, polished and gleaming, and the wood turned to books stacked neatly into rows along thousands of winding shelves. Fat books thin books old books new books red books blue books the pages fluttered and danced and chased her through the air like moths to a flame.

down

down

The books turned to knick-knacks and figurines and trinkets and baubles from all the lives she’d lived and all the people she’d met. Gold pens from her father’s desk and yarn needles her mother’s drawer and medals Sirius’s shelf and trophies from Harry’s bedroom and perfume bottles from Lavender’s dresser and buttons and stamps and glasses and newspapers and shoes and scissors and mallets and plates and candles and mirrors and ribbons and bells and eyeballs and laughter and tears and blood and nightmares and sunshine and snow—

down

The swirling vortex of her memory gave way to simple darkness, whole and absolute, alive and sentient, breathing upon her neck and running idle fingers through her hair and whispering sweet nothings in her ear and seizing her by the throat—

“Oof!”

She hit bottom.

Her body bounced atop a soft, plush surface, ripping a shocked gasp from her throat as her hair whipped across her face and filled her eyes and mouth. She coughed, pushing the strands aside and curling in on herself, palms pressing her chest, feeling the steady beat of her heart within.

_I’m alive?_

She panted desperately, tears dripping along the sharp plains and valleys of her face and soaking into the smooth fabric of the lumpy surface laid out beneath her.

_I’m alive._

And yet darkness remained.

_Open your eyes._

The voice jolted her, seeming to come from all sides and yet contained tightly within her own mind. She followed the command without question, lids peeling open to reveal a blinding light. She cried out, cringing back and burying her face in her palms.

_What…_

She felt strange. Or perhaps she always felt strange. Perhaps she felt normal.

Her hands slowly lowered, fingers pressing against her mouth as she carefully opened her eyes a second time, braced for the painful blast of white. She squinted against the beam, head throbbing with the strain, her discomfort fading to the far recesses of her mind as a fuzzy shape gradually came into view.

A small box.

Made of glass. With gold filigree at the seams and floral etchings along the sides. Her head swam as she placed her hands beneath her chest and pushed up so she could see it fully. The item was situated atop a small table to her side. Mechanical gears were housed within, small pins attached to a spindle connected to a wind-up lever at the back.

_A music box._

Her brow furrowed with the revelation, prompting her to glance down, taking in the mattress and bunched sheets beneath her huddled form. She gripped the edge of the quilt covering her lower half and pulled it to her face, inspecting the design.

The patterns were the same. Exactly as she remembered.

_Remembered? Remember what?_

She blinked slowly, dropping the fabric and sitting upright, muscles sore and stiff. She rubbed her shoulder as she took in the rest of her surroundings. They seemed to appear before her eyes in puffs of smoke, furniture taking shape as she called it into being until at last she sat in the center of her childhood bedroom, every item just as she left it.

_Left… where did I go?_

She ran a hand over her face, eyes narrowing as she tried to recall the thing she’d forgotten, grasp the thread she’d released, speak the words she’d never heard.

_What’s happening?_

A soft scratching drew her focus. Her eyes darted to the side, falling upon a large bay window and a tall oak tree hovering just beside it, overgrown branches tapping the pane as they swayed in the gentle summer breeze.

She pulled the covers from her bare legs and stumbled from the bed, swaying precariously on weak knees. She gripped the post for support, waiting for her vertigo to pass. Her pale nightgown fell into place, the lacy hem brushing her bony knees as she stepped forward, bracing the window frame at either side and peering out at the bright stretch of grass and sky. Birds chirped, clouds tumbled, her pulse slowed.

She pushed back and crossed tentatively to the dresser against the wall, running her fingertips over its surface and tracing the shape of books and bobby pins and barrettes. Movement caught her eye. She glanced up, rearing back at the sight of the face in the vanity mirror. She swallowed heavily, gripping the edge of the counter and leaning in, tempted to glance over her shoulder to search for the true owner of the face and body peering back at her.

_This isn’t me…_

_Of course it is._

She shook her head.

_No… it can’t be._

_Why not?_

_Because I… I’m not…_

She slowly reached up, touching the side of her face.

_A child?_

_Of course you are._

The voice was gentle, beckoning. She was far too exhausted to argue the matter. And then a soft knock sounded at her door, jolting her from her thoughts and leaving her mind stunningly clear of anything but fear. She gripped the lip of the dresser until her knuckles turned white.

“Hermione, are you awake?”

Her breath left her in a powerful rush as the voice met her ears, settling upon her thoughts in a dense cloud. She pushed forward, crossing the room in eager bounds.

“Dad!” She cried out, throwing the door open with such force it hit the opposite wall with a bang.

She gazed up with wide eyes. He peered down with equal surprise. And then she launched forward, grabbing him tightly around the middle, pressing her face into his stomach. His soft laughter vibrated through her arms and chest and into her ankles and toes.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he mused, rubbing gentle circles into her back.

She bit back a half-formed sob, overwhelmed by the onslaught of emotion, unsure of its origin or purpose. But one thing she knew for absolute certain.

“I’ve missed you so much.”

His smile widened, hazel eyes sparkling. "I missed you too, sweetling." But his expression quickly sobered as he took a quick inventory of her distress. "Did you have a bad dream?"

She blinked slowly. “A bad…” The fog in her mind thickened and spread, obscuring her thoughts and memories, everything tangible dissolving to smoke at the lightest touch. “Yes. I think so.” She wet her lips. “I dreamed something horrible.”

His expression tensed, hand stilling between her shoulder blades. “I’m sorry, darling, what was it about?”

She swallowed lightly, shaking her head. “I’m not sure.”

A sudden ticking filled the room, echoing loudly off the walls. She glanced over her shoulder, searching for a clock.

“Well you’ll feel better soon enough, you have an exciting day ahead of you.”

Her head snapped forward, the ticking dissipating along with her memory of it. “I do?”

He chuckled, the soothing cadence causing her muscles to loosen even as a deep ache broke open in her chest. “It’s Harry’s party, silly girl.”

“Harry’s party…” The words felt strange on her tongue, both familiar and foreign. “Yes, of course.”

He tilted his head, inspecting her with a medical eye. “Are you feeling alright, Hermione?”

She nodded quickly, ducking away as he placed a palm to her forehead. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure you–”

“I just need to get changed.”

He smirked, arm dropping to his side as she shuffled back.

“Alright, sweetling. Mum and I will meet you in the kitchen. She made your favorite.”

Her heart soared. “Poached eggs and grilled tomatoes?”

“With mushrooms.”

She bounced on the balls of her feet, a shriek of excitement tearing free. “I’ll be right down!”

Deep laughter surrounded her anew. “I thought that would cheer you up.” He backed into the hall with a wink. “I’ll see you soon, sweetling.”

Her smile stretched from ear to ear as she watched him depart. But then he turned the corner and her excitement disappeared with him, intense dread seizing her all at once, the overwhelming fear of never seeing him again.

She shook her head, forcing herself not to follow.

_Don’t be foolish, he’s just downstairs._

She glanced at her nightgown, gathering a handful of pale fabric.

_Change, and then you can see mum, too._

The notion motivated her to close her door and sprint to her closet, wrenching it open with the same enthusiasm as her bedroom door. She reached forward, intent on grabbing the first dress she touched–

Only to withdraw her hand with a sharp gasp, staggering back in bewildered shock. For her closet wasn't filled with garments and hat boxes. Instead, it opened to a vibrant green field and bright blue sky. She blinked slowly, clutching the doorknob until it indented her palm.

“… Dad!” she called over her shoulder, hoping he was still at the stairs.

Echoing laughter answered, distant and distinctly childish. Her mouth parted wide as a group of kids ran across the grass, shouting wildly as they brandished toy swords and pirate hats. But one of the children was without the latter, his unruly mop of black hair recognizable at any distance.

She inhaled deeply, leaning forward and screaming with the full force of her lungs.

“Harry!”

He skidded to a stop as the other children continued forward, disappearing over the side of the rolling hill. She watched him turn in a circle, emerald eyes searching. He spotted her within moments, a grin splitting his face wide as he waved his fencing sword overhead in greeting.

“Mione!” He beckoned her with his free hand. “Come play!”

She laughed, releasing the door and charging ahead without further rhyme or reason. As she tore across the field she became abstractly aware of the damp grass beneath her bare feet and the rapid morphing of her attire. Her thin nightgown transformed into a satin day dress, navy skirts and long hair flowing in her wake as she reached him at last. She left her momentum unchecked as she threw her arms around his neck and embraced him tightly. They staggered for balance, barely staying upright through their laughter. He stood two inches taller, limbs thin and frame awkward as he stood at the very cusp of puberty.

“When did you get here?” He asked, pulling back to meet her eye.

She blinked, wondering that herself. “I don’t know.”

His smile deepened, unfazed by her cryptic response. "Well, you're just in time, mum's frosting the cake."

The words pierced the heavy fog, settling in pieces over her psyche. And then she surged to life once more, squeezing him tight again.

“Happy birthday, Harry!”

“Oh, is that today?”

“Harry!” A new voice shouted, equally familiar to her ears. “You still playing or what?”

She and Harry glanced to the top of the hill and spotted Ron at its peak, red hair flaming against the blue sky at his back.

“Hey, Mione!” His smile revealed a bevy of missing and half-grown teeth. The sight pulled at her heart as she waved back, emotion choking her of words. “Oi!” He continued, eyes bright with elation. “Grab a sword and come over, our team needs another person!”

She nodded with just as much enthusiasm. “Alright!”

She peered around the grass, spotting nothing but green, then gazed over her shoulder, blinking slowly as images began to materialize like mirages in the desert. A table phased into existence, overflowing with food and party favors, a drink stand with pitchers and glasses followed, then a dangling banner announcing the happy occasion… but no sign of the door she emerged through.

_What door?_

"There are extras on the porch."

Harry’s voice drew her back to reality, finger pointing to an empty patch of field in the distance. She tilted her head, watching with dim fascination as a large two-story home appeared before her eyes brick by brick, each shingle falling from the clouds into perfect alignment, the chimney stacking higher and higher until a steady stream of smoke billowed from the top.

Her chest tightened as the Potter Estate came into full view at last. She spotted a pile of fencing swords lying on the porch and took off like a shot. She passed several adults as she went, their clothing colorful and heads featureless, each face nothing but a fleshy mask void of eyes and nose and mouth. She gazed at them idly, pondering the sight–

“Oof!”

Her shoulder collided with a solid mass, the jarring impact knocking her clear off her feet and onto the hard ground. Only… the ground wasn’t very hard. Rather, it was soft and warm and wriggling beneath her. She blinked rapidly, pushing the hair from her eyes. A flash of silver iris and platinum hair and flushed skin flitted before her eyes before her mind fully registered the identity of the person beneath her, limbs tangled with her own.

“Oh! Sorry!” She cried, desperately trying to extract herself from the boy.

“You should be! Get off me!”

She froze, the scathing voice cutting her to the bone, causing her stomach to knot and her skin to burn for reasons well beyond her comprehension.

“I said _get off_!” And then hands were gripping her waist, fingertips bruising her flesh as she was forcefully thrown aside.

She gasped as her hip made painful impact with the ground. “Excuse you!” She snapped, pushing up on her hands.

“Excuse _me_? It’s your fault!”

“You don’t have to be rude!”

“How dare–” He choked on his outrage, glancing down at his grass-stained trousers. “Great! These were brand new!”

She rolled her eyes and pushed unsteadily to her feet, batting grass and dirt from her skirts. “Serves you right. Where did you think you were going today? Parliament?”

He leaped to his feet in the next breath, fists clenched and teeth bared. "Maybe if you tied that rat's nest back you could actually _see_ where you were going!”

She gaped, utterly scandalized. “Pompous arse!”

His eyes widened, face flushing deeper. “Stupid cow!”

She reared back, black bile rising in her throat and expelling beyond her control. “I hate you, Draco Malfoy! I’ll hate you forever and ever until the day I die!”

His jaw clenched tight. “Good! I hate you too and I hope you die tomorrow!”

“Draco!” A woman shouted from several feet away, quickly approaching. “What is all this?”

They both spun on their heels, facing Mrs. Potter with shared panic. Something about the woman’s appearance gave Hermione pause, made her heart stutter and palms sweat, but she quickly pushed the feeling aside, desperate to prove her innocence.

“Draco said he wishes I was dead!” She pointed an accusatory finger at his head.

“She pushed me!” He pointed his right back.

“It was an accident!”

“Was not!”

“Was too!”

“Everyone calm down!” The woman demanded, reaching them at last. The other adults continued to mill about in the background, nursing drinks and small plates and faceless masks. But Lily’s visage was vivid in detail, beautiful and painfully comforting. She continued to glance between them, hands perched on her hips. She opened her mouth with a pinched expression, clearly about to deliver some measure of discipline. But then her emerald eyes lingered on Hermione’s arm and her countenance softened.

“Hermione, your elbow is bleeding.”

Hermione blinked, glancing down at the wound in question. Draco did the same, and then he peered down at himself. “Gross! You got blood on my shirt!” He shouted, wiping frantically at a pea-sized drop of red on his white placket.

Hermione snapped her attention forward, flames reigniting. “You’re such a–”

“That’s enough. Both of you,” Lily commanded, voice brokering no room for dissent. “Draco, go play with the boys on the hill. Hermione, come with me.”

Neither child made any motion to move, fully absorbed in their seething staring contest. Lily shook her head, reaching down and grabbing Hermione's hand, gently tugging her along until their heated gazes broke at last. Draco imparted her with one last meaningful look of simmering resentment before picking up his sword and sprinting for the children scattered along the field. But his message had been clear enough.

_This isn’t over._

Hermione scoffed in outrage, but any comment she might have made fell by the wayside as Lily escorted her across the porch and into the kitchen. Her eyes fell upon a three-tiered cake on the counter, half-iced and modestly decorated, the sight rendering her breathless with déjà-vu. And then they rounded the corner and entered the washroom. Lily directed Hermione to the narrow bench beside the basin as she closed the door at their backs and silently set about gathering supplies. She opened the cabinet beneath the sink and emerged with a bottle of clear liquid and a rag.

“Alright, sweetheart, this will sting for a moment.”

Hermione nodded, holding her arm aloft as the woman began cleaning it. “I know. Alcohol kills cells and as well as pathogens.”

Lily raised a brow, smiling. “I forgot I was speaking to a future doctor.”

Hermione felt a hot flush overtake her, followed by a low hiss as the compress was applied to her torn skin. Lily tilted her head sympathetically, taking care to be as quick and gentle as possible. Hermione lost herself to the motherly ministrations, feeling strangely deprived of such gestures, and nearly missed the next words.

“So, you pushed Malfoy?”

Hermione drew back, heart racing. “It was an accident.”

Lily gave a contemplative hum, arching an auburn brow. “Pity. That boy could use a little pushing around from time to time.”

Hermione blinked, caught between amusement and embarrassment, but then an ointment was applied to the scrape and her thoughts scattered with the stinging pain. Lily added a thin bandage and smiled at her handiwork. “Well, all things considered, I think you’ll keep the arm.”

Hermione smiled in return. “Thank you, Mrs. Potter.”

“Of course, darling. Now go have fun.”

She nodded with enthusiasm, standing from the bench and watching Lily gather the materials. Guilt seized her, the chronic desire to help, to be useful and needed.

“Do you need help with the cake or–”

“ _Hermione_.” Lily met her eye as she twisted the lid onto the bottle. “Go. Have. Fun.” Her emerald eyes cut to the core. “You won’t be a child forever. Enjoy it while you can.”

Hermione swallowed heavily, struck by a strange and overwhelming melancholy. She sprung forward without thought or warning, hugging the woman tight around the middle. Lily giggled softly, stroking Hermione’s voluminous curls.

“And what is this for?”

Hermione shrugged against her. “Just because.”

Lily’s nails gently raked across her scalp. “If James and I had ever been lucky enough to give Harry a sister, I would’ve wanted her to be just like you.”

Hermione pulled back, gazing up with tear-filled eyes, unable to escape the pressing weight on her chest. “You still might.”

Lily smiled softly, sadly, and ran her fingertips along Hermione’s jaw. “Go play, sweetheart.”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond but became distracted by sudden wetness at her feet. She blinked, glancing down. Water covered the bathroom tiles, cool and clear and steadily rising, soaking the hems of their dresses.

“Mrs. Potter…” She released the woman, stepping back slowly, the water rapidly swelling, covering her ankles, submerging her knees. “I think you left the faucet o–”

The rest of her thoughts were lost to a terrified scream as the floor disappeared beneath their feet, Lily’s solid form dissolving to water as the walls fell away and Hermione’s head was lost beneath the surface of the churning waves. Bubbles erupted from her mouth as she thrashed and kicked, arms pushing desperately against the current, a dim beam of light guiding her way to the top.

But her muscles screamed in protest, heavy fabric tangling around her legs, slowing her movements and causing her to sink deeper and deeper and–

A pale hand appeared from the murky abyss, gripping her wrist and yanking her upward. She broke through the surface with a sharp gasp, sputtering and coughing violently, chest vibrating with the force of her frantic pulse. Her limbs turned to dead weight as she continued to hack up a lung and cling desperately to her savior. He trod water and held her aloft with easy skill, boyish laughter filling her ears, revealing his identity before the water even cleared from her eyes.

“Sorry about that,” he said with deep amusement, undercutting the sincerity of his words.

“Harry!” She sputtered, pushing soaked hair from her face to meet his sparkling gaze. “I’m drowning!”

He laughed again, her body absorbing the sound. “You aren’t drowning.”

“I am!” She slapped his bare chest as his laughter deepened. “It isn’t funny!”

“It is from my angle.”

She growled, dragging a hand over her face as her lungs finally drew in a solid breath. “You said you wouldn’t let me go!”

“You were swimming on your own–”

“ _Clearly_ I wasn’t!”

“Alright, alright, I’ve got you now–”

“Take me back to shore!”

“We’ve barely–”

“ _Now_ , Harry!”

He sighed deeply, the arm at her waist tensing. “Fine.”

He began kicking with force, propelling them towards land with one arm. She held her breath, too overcome by her near-death experience to offer any real assistance. Moments later he was helping her stand from the water and cross the slick rocks to the pebbled beach.

“You’re going to have to learn to swim one of these days.”

"I don't see why," she snapped, releasing his arm at last. "Humans aren't meant to be in the water, otherwise we'd have gills and fins."

He rolled his eyes but let the matter drop, walking back a few paces before plopping down, resting his arms on his knees as he stared ahead at the endless expanse of grey sea. Hermione followed, standing at his side and wringing out her hair as her bathing suit dripped steadily down her legs. She’d long outgrown her first outfit and purchasing its replacement had been quite the chore. Her father had insisted on a ridiculous getup that covered her from neck to ankle like a circus performer. Her mother had finally got him to compromise on something that stopped at her knees and elbows, tersely reminding him that the only male to see their daughter in such attire would be Harry, the boy they’d long considered a son.

After a few more moments of twisting her hair she lowered beside him, the tide gently lapping at their toes.

“It was supposed to be sunny today,” she stated idly, gaze sweeping the pale and lifeless sky.

Harry picked up a rock, turning it over in his hands. “It’s never sunny here.”

“It used to be.”

“Hasn’t been in years,” he clipped, tossing the rock into the water with a swift flick, causing it to skip twice before sinking to the bottom.

She peered sideways at him. “What’s wrong?”

He picked up another rock, staring fixedly ahead. “Nothing.”

“Are you mad at me for almost drowning on your watch?”

He smirked, skipping the second stone with easy flourish. “You weren’t drowning, your head was barely under for a second.” He brushed his palms together. “Besides, I’d never let anything happen to you.”

She nodded slowly, studying his profile. “I know that. You’ve always taken care of me.”

He wet his lips, emerald gaze casting down to the water as his shoulders tensed. “I just want you to be okay on your own.” A beat. “In case I’m not around.”

She tilted her head. “Thinking of going somewhere?”

He picked up a third rock, studying it closely, lips pressed thin. She blinked, leaning forward. "Harry?"

“I plan to enlist.”

The words sounded foreign to her ears. She replayed them through twice to suss out their meaning.

“Enlist? In what?”

He raised a dark brow and glanced up at last, holding her bemused stare in silence. She paled, drawing back as realization took hold. “The military?”

“The Navy, yes.”

Her pulse stuttered. She felt light-headed. “That’s… ludicrous! You can’t enlist, you’re only seventeen!”

“For another month.”

She leaned in, grabbing his arm with both hands. “Harry, you can’t.”

“Why not?” He made no move to dispel her touch, continuing to speak with a steady calm that only served to rattle her further. “Dad and Sirius joined as soon as they reached majority.”

“That’s– that’s different.”

His eyes narrowed. “How?”

“Because you’re nothing like them!”

He blinked, arm tensing in her hold. She swallowed heavily, shaking her head. “I didn’t…” She sighed, releasing him and trying to slow her rapid-fire thoughts. “I only meant, you’re going to Oxford. You’re going to get an education and–”

“Hermione, I’m not made for Uni. I could barely get through tutoring.”

“Because you’re easily distracted, not because you have an inability to learn.”

She edged closer, pebbles cutting into her palms. “You can’t throw away your chance at an education, Harry. If you enlist now you’ll be stuck in the Navy for the rest of your career, unless you’re killed on the sea!”

“I know you had your heart set on me attending Oxford but I think we _both_ know it has less to do with me and more to do with you.”

She reared back, stricken by the words. “What does that mean?”

He took a deep breath. She braced for something awful. “I’m sorry girls can’t attend–”

“That has nothing to do with it!” Heat blossomed to life inside her chest, working steadily along her neck.

His eyes narrowed once more, effortlessly boring through her. “Doesn’t it?”

Her fists tightened, legs curling under as her spine straightened. “I’m not trying to live vicariously through you, Harry! I’m trying to keep you from getting your bloody head blown off by a cannon!”

“Mione, I’ve given this a lot of thought and I’ve made up my mind.” His expression hardened, taking on an eerily mature caricature. “Next month I’m heading to the enrollment office.” He wet his lips. “Ron is coming with me.”

She swayed in place, nearly losing her balance. “Ron…” The fire in her throat erupted in a plume of smoke. “He had _better_ be coming to provide you moral support!”

Harry rolled his eyes and glanced forward, the careless dismissal angering her as much as the revelation.

“You want to give Ron a gun?” She prompted, raising a challenging brow. “He’ll shoot himself in the leg in the first five minutes!”

“Sailors are trained on weaponry, Ron will be fine.”

She shook her head, gazing numbly at the rolling waves. “This… this is insanity…”

A hand gripped her shoulder.

“Mione, it’s going to be okay.”

She leaned away from his touch. "No, it isn't! You're both leaving me!"

Harry scooted closer. “We aren’t _leaving_ you–”

“You are!” She cried, vision blurred by tears.

He leaned into her side, placing a hand on her back. “We’ll come home between rotations, you’ll see more of us than if we actually attended University.”

“If you went to Oxford I could visit you! I could sleep at night knowing you were still alive!”

He sighed deeply, warm breath ghosting across her shoulder. “Hermione, please stop crying.”

She sniffled, wiping at her eyes and meeting his gaze miserably. “How can you join the Navy, Harry? You know how dangerous it is! Do you have a death wish?”

His fingertips pressed against her skin harder, a tremor seizing his hand. She swallowed thickly, lifting her chin. “That’s it isn’t it?”

He pulled his arm back, shoulders tight. “You’re being a _bit_ dramatic, yeah?”

“You’ve been utterly reckless since your parents died and now you intend to go out in some epic battle on the high seas.”

“Scratch that, you’re giving Shakespeare a run for his money.”

“Stop making light of this!”

He carded a hand through his wet hair, slicking it back. “It’s hard to take you seriously right now.”

She scowled, taking a deep breath to continue on, but Harry rounded on her so suddenly she was rendered mute.

“Mione, I know it’s difficult but stop thinking and just _listen_.” Her jaw clamped tight, teeth clenching as he continued without pause. “I’m not enlisting to punish you or myself or anyone else. I’m not suicidal, I’m not running away and I’m _not_ abandoning you.” His hands curled, pebbles and sand gathering in his fists. “I’m doing it because I _need_ this. I need to get away from London. From the Peerage. From the Potter and Black legacies. I need to figure out who the hell I am without all those things boring down on me. And in order to do that, I need to get far away from them." He searched her gaze, voice deepening with emotion. "Can you understand?"

She held his unwavering stare for several moments longer before swallowing heavily, nodding with what was left of her strength. “Yes,” she whispered.

He smiled gently, reaching out to dry her cheek. “Please don’t cry.”

“I want to go with you,” she announced without preamble. He blinked. “To the enrollment office” she explained. “I’ll provide the moral support. And make sure you both have your paperwork in order.”

His smiled deepened. “I’d appreciate that.”

She took the damp sea air into her lungs, tasting salt against the back of her tongue.

“Harry, I won’t be able to look out for you anymore either. I can’t be your voice of reason from across the globe. You’ll have to remember to stop and think before you act. And to keep an eye on Ron, you know how he wanders about.”

“I promise,” he said, then awarded her with his boyish grin. “But you’ll _always_ be my voice of reason, Mione. I’ll ask myself What Would Hermione Granger Do before making any major decision.”

She rolled her eyes, tensed muscles slowly uncoiling. “You’ll be discharged within the month.”

“Hardly. You’d make a great sailor. You’ve always wanted to travel and you’re the bravest girl I know.” He shook his head. “Who am I kidding, you’re braver than the blokes as well.”

“I thought you were taking this seriously.”

“I _am_ serious. You're just as tough as you are clever. You just tend to get lost in your head, forgetting there's an outside world going on." He peered ahead, gaze fixed upon a gull circling in the distance. "Promise me you won't close yourself off after I'm gone. You won't overthink things and forget to enjoy life."

Her pulse slowed, then sped up painfully. “You’re talking like I’m never going to see you again.”

He turned his head, meeting her gaze. “Just promise me.”

_… in case._

She read the last two words in his eyes. They sickened her, plagued her mind with darkness. But she forced herself to nod, tone solemn. “I promise.”

He wove his arm around her back a second time. “It’ll be alright.”

His words stole away the last of her resolve. She tipped sideways, leaning her head atop his shoulder and peering out at the gray horizon. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m not gone yet. Let’s enjoy what time we have left.”

They continued to watch the water in silence, content to simply enjoy each other’s presence. She became lost to her thoughts, the rest of the world blotting away bit by bit until only Harry remained in the swirling gray abyss. And then he spoke, pulling her from the endless melancholy of her mind.

“Wanna head back for some lunch?”

She shook her head, pulling away from his side. “I want you to teach me how to swim.”

He glanced at her in surprise. “It’s alright, Mione–”

“No.” She pushed slowly to her feet, holding out her hand. “I want to learn.”

He chuckled, accepting her offering and rising beside her. “You’re going to have to put your head under.”

Hermione nodded, tugging him to the water’s edge. “I’ll be okay. I know you’re beside me.”

He smiled, interlacing their fingers as they breached the tide, foam lapping around their ankles.

_That’s it._

Clouds swirled in the sky above, birds circling overhead.

_Good girl._

The water was at her hips when Harry released her hand, surging forward in a graceful dive and disappearing under the rolling waves.

_Show me all that you harbor dear._

She closed her eyes and inhaled sharply, dropping her weight and sinking beneath the surface.

_Give me everything._

* * *

Astoria tapped the side of her silver spoon along the lip of the porcelain, releasing a sigh of contentment as a warm breeze swept past, catching strands of her hair in its gentle current. She peered up, watching the azaleas sway back and forth as she brought the cup to her lips.

Happiness was an elusive bedfellow, one she’d learned to appreciate no matter the subtlety. The back garden had always been an oasis in the desert, a safe haven their father rarely ventured into. She and Daphne often sought refuge here, a bit of privacy they weren’t afforded within the walls of their childhood home.

Alas, her current vantage point gave her clear view of a driveway. She watched his carriage pull onto the main road, the servants closing the gates at its retreat. Her shoulders lowered, eyes flickering across the table.

“He’s gone.”

Daphne arched a pale brow, stirring another spoonful of sugar into her cup. “Freedom at last.”

Astoria smiled. “Any big plans for today?”

“And I was about to ask you that _very_ thing.”

She blinked, drawing back in her rod iron chair. “Me? I never have plans.”

“Is that so?” Daphne watched her steadily over the rim as she took a delicate sip. “What do you call sneaking off at all hours of the day and night then?”

Astoria nearly dropped her cup, setting it into the saucer with fumbling hands and sloshing tea across the table linen. “I don’t sneak off,” she supplied, focusing on the neutral tone of her voice. “I visit the publishing house.”

Daphne’s eyes narrowed. “At seven in the evening?”

Astoria swallowed thickly, a deep flush overtaking her face and neck. She forced her gaze upward, scrambling for a response. “Have you heard from Gregory?”

Her sister rolled her eyes. “For Christ’s sake. We have to work on your subversion skills, Tori. But seeing as you’re clearly on the verge of eating your cup I’ll allow you a brief reprieve.” She set her own cup down with effortless grace, aligning the handle to the notch in the saucer. “Yes, I received another letter yesterday. He’ll be home on Wednesday.”

Astoria twisted the napkin in her hands. “Are you nervous about asking him to elope?”

Daphne tilted her head, blinking innocently. “Asking him?” And then her lips parted wide, soft laughter bubbling forth. “I’m going to _tell_ him the time and place and that’ll be the end of it.”

Now it was Astoria’s turn to roll her eyes. “I’d nearly forgotten, Greg’s been madly in love with you his entire life.”

Her sister’s laughter faded abruptly. “What are you talking about? We fought like cats and dogs for years.”

“Because _you_ detested the match. He worked to hide his feelings by goading you.”

Daphne glanced away with dismissal, reaching for her cup. “Oh please.”

“It’s true. I saw the way he looked at you when your back was turned. It killed him that you didn’t want him the way he wanted you.”

Daphne looked up, hand hovering above the steaming cup. “I…” She leaned back, hand dropping, tea forgotten. “It wasn’t him. It was the arrangement itself. I was only nine when the contract was made. I resented being a helpless bystander to my own life.”

Astoria nodded. “I know. And so does Greg. And you’ve both moved past all that now and are stronger for it.” But it was too late for such sentiments. Their oasis had turned cold, the mood heavy and somber. Astoria took a steadying breath, continuing on. “Are you prepared to leave London if father tries to force an annulment?”

Her sister gazed forward, staring at a row of myrtle bushes. “I have some money set aside.”

Astoria’s palms flattened over her lap. “What?”

“A small nest egg, nothing extravagant.”

She searched Daphne’s face. “You’d just need enough to get by for a little while, until you get settled somewhere new. How long have you been saving?”

"Not long," the girl replied evasively.

Astoria’s brows creased. “You were able to gather money quickly? Did you skim from father’s accounts?”

Her sister laughed anew, but this round was saturated with bitterness. "Hardly. He manages his balance books with an iron fist." She picked up her spoon, idly stirring her tea once more. "I sold a few things."

Astoria inhaled slowly, sensing something far greater hidden beneath the simple statement. “Like what?”

Daphne shrugged one shoulder, setting the spoon aside. “Last season’s dresses, baubles and trinkets I had no use for, nothing of note.”

“You’ve been considering elopement since then?”

A heavy beat of silence.

“I was gathering money for you,” Daphne replied casually, taking another sip.

Astoria’s heart beat painfully against her ribs. “For me?”

“I knew father was scouting out your future husband. I had no idea what to expect, how bad it would be. I wanted you to have another option if the need arose.”

Astoria wet her lips, gripping the edge of the small table. “You were going to help me run away?”

“I would have gone with you.”

She studied her sister’s profile, mind spinning. “What about Greg?”

Daphne shrugged once more, gaze still averted forward, but her voice exuded a sharper edge than before. “He’d understand. I wasn’t going to stand idly by while you were sold to a man three times your age.”

Astoria eased back into her seat, overwhelmed and at a loss. “You don’t have to take care of me, Daphne. And you most _certainly_ don’t have to arrange your life around mine.”

Daphne met her eye at last. “Our bedrooms are twenty feet apart, Tori, I’m not rearranging anything.”

“You know what I mean.” Astoria tossed her napkin to the table. “How much of your stuff did you sell?”

“Hardly anything.”

Her eyes narrowed. Daphne released an exasperated huff. “I rose the majority of the funds at the track if you must know.”

Astoria opened and closed her mouth, the words slow to process. “The track? You mean the _horse_ track?”

“Hm.”

“You bet on horses? How do you even know how that works?”

“I don’t. I enlisted the help of a bookie.”

She paled, surging forward and nearly upturning the table in her haste. “ _What_?”

“Don’t give me that look, I was perfectly safe.”

“Daphne–”

“Relax, Tori. I assure you my foray into the gambling underground is long behind me. I got what I needed from the arrangement and I’m never setting foot in that godforsaken venue again.”

She settled back into her seat, pulse thrumming until she became dizzy with it. “What happened?”

Her sister scowled, tossing her own napkin into a pool of spilled tea. "The Cretan swindled me the first time. I lost nearly every pence. After a few days, I mopped up my tears and went back to demand the funds back."

“Are you insane? He could have–”

“He'd never risk harming a Peer’s daughter. Besides, I didn't have to speak a word. He practically pissed himself at the mere sight of me.”

Astoria blinked. “Why?”

"Apparently he saw Harry and me interacting the time before and thought we were together. Fletcher is terrified of Potter for some reason. Subsequently, he was more than happy to pay me back my original bet plus a hefty interest."

Astoria shook her head, barely knowing where to start. “You spoke with Harry?”

Daphne crossed her arms tightly over front. "Briefly. He caught me in quite the state. I looked as though I'd seen a murder and he was understandably concerned, however, I managed to extract a vow of secrecy before we parted ways."

“He won’t say anything,” Astoria said with conviction.

Her sister nodded. “I know.” And then lifted a manicured brow, eyeing her warily. “Are you… do you still…”

“I’m past my crush,” Astoria provided without shame, no longer embarrassed to tiptoe around the subject. “Though I still plan to admire him in his uniform.”

Daphne smirked. “Has anyone else caught your eye?”

And just like that, her momentary bravado shattered to pieces. Astoria leaned back, reaching for her napkin for the excuse to fold it into pieces, succeeding only in knocking over her cup. Tea shot across the table in a torrent, spoon flipping through the air in slow motion before landing in the grass at her feet. She gasped, leaning over to pick it up, stomach twisting at Daphne’s knowing sigh.

Her fingers gripped the silver, body starting to rise when she suddenly caught sight of dark boots treading between the privacy bushes at her sister's back. She blinked, jolting upright, clutching the spoon to her chest like a shield.

Daphne tilted her head. “Tori?”

But Astoria's eyes were fixed ahead, complexion paling as a man rounded the foliage. And then his face came into view… her shoulders drooped with relief. He smiled broadly, placing a finger to his lips as he crept forward. Daphne blinked, starting to turn in an effort to follow her sister's unwavering focus.

Astoria threw her spoon to the table with a clatter, causing Daphne to shriek and face forward, eyes wide.

“Tori, what are you–”

“The biscuits are a bit dry, aren’t they?”

Daphne drew back. “What biscuits?”

The newcomer stopped directly behind the blonde’s chair, leaning over to place his hands over her eyes. She shrieked again, nearly toppling out of her seat as he exploded into deep laughter.

“Guess who?” he asked, causing her gasp to turn into a squeal of delight. She sprang from her chair so quickly the table shook, knocking over her cup as well, the pale linen soaked through.

“Oh my god!” She shouted, launching upward to cling from his massive frame with both arms. He held her by the waist and spun her around, her powder blue dress fluttering in the summer air. Astoria smiled as she watched their reunion play out, heart aching at the sight.

“What are you doing here?” Daphne asked as they came to a stop, her feet still hovering high above the ground. “You told me you wouldn’t be home until next week!”

His smile stretched from end to end as he studied her face with slow precision, as though memorizing every line. “I wanted to surprise you.” He gently lowered her to the ground. “Are you happy to see me?”

She placed her hands on his broad shoulders, unable to quell her smile. “Not in the least. In fact, I was looking forward to a few more days without you.”

He hummed low in his throat, bending to press a kiss to her forehead. “Terribly sorry to disappoint.”

She bounced on the balls of her feet, jittery with excitement, and then gazed at his chest, taking in his uniform. “Have you been home yet?”

He raised a brow, gazing at her like she’d grown a second head. “Of course not. I always come to you first.”

She met his eye with a laugh, cupping his jaw. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered, the intimate tone causing Astoria to flush awkwardly, sensing what was to come.

“You’ve no idea, luv,” he replied with equal heat and longing, gripping her hips and drawing her into his body as they sought each other’s mouths.

Astoria bit her lip and glanced away, unsure what to do. She _really_ didn't want to be here for this but feared breaking the spell with her departure. She hadn't seen Daphne so happy in months and wasn't keen on cutting the moment short for her. So she did her best to block out the sounds of their passionate kiss by studying the silver birch several yards to her right. A nest sat upon a middle branch, a goldfinch hopping along its edge with a bundle of straw in its beak. Several seconds passed, or perhaps it was minutes before a voice called her attention forward.

“Hey, Tori.”

She jolted, head snapping around. The couple stood side by side, arms interlaced.

“Welcome home, Greg,” she said with a genuine smile, her own heart soaring with his return. She’d always liked her sister’s fiancé, thinking him a great match for Daphne’s strong-willed tenacity.

He tugged said fiancé deeper into his side, glancing between them. “What are you girls up to?”

Daphne rested her head against his chest. “Plotting and scheming.”

He laughed. “Exciting. Can I join in?”

Daphne smirked, sharing a loaded glance with Astoria before lifting her chin and meeting his gaze. “Actually, it’s funny you should ask...”

* * *

Tom flipped the page, eyes rapidly scanning the text. He’d blazed through six folders already, twice as many as the other three men in the room. Bones rubbed his eyes, setting a file aside and grabbing another, skimming over the pertinent details. His daughter had returned with the pile of documents hours ago. The Commissioner wasted no time sequestering himself in the dining room with Black, Potter and Tom to pour through the information.

Tom was lost to the horrors laid out before him, fifteen accounts of brutal assault and murder, young women beaten, mutilated and dumped in random hovels throughout the city. Most were Jane Does, the few who were successfully identified ascended from asylums and slums. His gaze narrowed, mind lost in an autopsy report as a carriage pulled along the front of the derelict manor. He didn't bother glancing up, assuming it yet another one of Bone's men coming or going.

But the pounding footsteps in the entry hall piqued his interest, primarily for their steady approach towards the open doorway. He glanced up at last, the flash of white blonde hair registering a full beat before the rest of the scowling face took root in his mind. Malfoy charged into the room, muscles tensed and eyes murderous. Tom calmly set the file aside as the others glanced up.

“Where is she?” The boy demanded, slamming his hands against the head of the table, gaze fastened to Tom.

Tom tilted his head, eyes sweeping over the man with insouciant disregard. “Safe,” he replied simply, annoyed at the interruption.

“That’s not an answer.”

Potter set his own file down, rising from his chair and crossing towards the blonde. “Draco, calm–”

“ _Where_ is she?” The boy all but growled, slamming his fists into the wood with enough force to vibrate the entire table.

Tom set his jaw, eyes narrowing. "The fewer people who know her whereabouts the safer she'll be."

“Where’s Dawn?”

He blinked, taken aback by the sudden change in topic, recovering in the next moment, fighting his own urge to stand. “Safe as well,” he replied instead, watching the flames explode to life in the silver gaze.

“She’s at Mungo’s you bloody bastard!” Malfoy shouted, pushing away from the table and leaping forward, swinging for Tom’s head. He leaned back, easily avoiding the fist as Potter seized the boy around the middle, hauling him away.

“Wait,” Black spoke, still seated calmly at the other end. “Dawn is at St. Mungo’s?”

“Yes!” Malfoy yelled, eyes flashing as he struggled in Potter’s hold. “In a _fucking_ coma!” He redirected his fury onto Tom, settling at last, though his words radiated with sinister threat. “So I’ll ask you this _one_ more time. Where is Hermione?” His eyes glinted manically. “Take me to her now.”

Potter glanced between them. “I’m going as well–”

“Me, too,” spoke a new voice, the gangly redhead entering the room, face tense.

“Wait just a goddamn minute!” Bones shouted, rising from his seat. “ _Who_ is Hermione?”

From beyond the doorway, Tom spotted the remaining residents peeking around the corner. The girls hovered at the landing, clearly drawn by the commotion. He pushed back from the table and stood as well, turning his focus to the Commissioner.

“The fourth witness.”

Bones drew back, eyes hardening. “I can’t help you if you refuse to work with me, Riddle.”

“Where is she?” Malfoy shouted again, stepping forward. This time Potter did nothing to deter him, looking more likely to join the attack.

Tom raised his chin, fists curling at his sides. “I’ll check on her.”

“Like hell!” The blonde surged forward once more. Potter finally sprung into action, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. “She’s only involved in this mess because of you!” Malfoy raged, slipping free of his hold. The redhead leaped forward next, helping Potter subdue him. “You lured her into your web of lies and death and evil and now the demented bastard has her!”

Tom stepped back, his craving for violence falling to the wayside at the dark words. Potter seemed equally perturbed.

“Draco, what are you talking about?” The boy demanded, struggling to keep the blonde pinned to the wood.

“Luna had a vision. Hermione is in trouble,” Malfoy bit out, teeth bared like an animal as he twisted and thrashed, breath fogging against the veneer.

The young man at Potter’s side shook his head. “A vision? What does that mean?”

“Luna has a gift,” Parvati said loudly, voice carrying across the entry hall as she clutched the railing, gazing through the open doorway at the chaos within. “Whether you choose to believe in it or not we need to check on Hermione.”

Bones rubbed the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “Christ. Alright, just give me a moment to–”

A knock sounded at the main entrance. Everyone turned to face the sound, blinking at the young man shifting awkwardly in the busted doorway.

Bones tipped his head back, glaring at the cracked ceiling. “Fucking hell, is there _no one_ posted outside?”

The boy glanced from their bemused expressions to the glass and blood littering the marble. “Er… good afternoon,” he hedged.

Parvati raised her brow, leaning forward on the balcony. “Colin?”

He glanced up, eyes widening. “Parvati?”

Harry released Draco, turning to face the entry hall. “What are you doing here, Creevey?”

The boy waved something in his hand, carefully stepping over the marked crime scene and entering the dining room. “I’ve got a special delivery.”

Harry blinked, holding out his hand, mindless of his war-torn appearance. Colin’s eyes fixed to the dried blood on his shirt as he shook his head.

“For the Doctor,” he spoke, eyes cutting to Tom.

“How did you find me?” Tom asked, stepping forward to accept the item.

“You weren’t at the Home so I asked around. A few of the residents said you were last seen with Hermione and she told me she’s been staying here.”

Malfoy scowled as the boy handed over the parcel. Tom turned it over in his hand. An envelope. Matte black and bound with a crimson ribbon. His heart leaped, dark energy radiating from the parchment into his skin, racing along his arm and centering in his chest, squeezing his lungs.

“When did you speak with Hermione?” He demanded, voice sharp.

The boy wet his lips, stepping back. “Last night.”

They all went rigid. Potter recovered first, surging forward. “ _Where_?”

Colin blinked rapidly, stepping back again. “Outside the Home.”

Malfoy rounded on Tom. “What did you do?”

Tom ignored him entirely, advancing on the delivery boy with predatory swiftness. “What did she say?”

Colin’s back hit the wall, eyes wide. “She just asked me to distract a couple random blokes while she slipped inside.”

Potter raked a hand through his hair, glancing to his godfather. Black drew a hand over his jaw, uttering a simple summary of their collective thoughts.

“Shite.”

Tom stopped just before the frightened boy, towering over his huddled form. “Distract _what_ men?”

“I-I don’t know. They were watching the front–”

“Did you see her leave?”

“Yeah. She went with them.”

Malfoy stepped to Tom’s side, anger taking a backseat in lieu of the newest revelation. “They took her?”

Colin shook his head frantically. “N-No, she left willingly. I watched her wait for them to pull their carriage round.”

The blonde glanced over his shoulder at Potter. “Why would she go with them?”

“Maybe she’s trying to lure the Dollmaker out of hiding,” Potter offered tentatively, shoulders tensed.

Tom stepped away from the wall and its terrified occupant, mind overtaken by a familiar voice. An echo of a time long ago.

_“It’s all real, Tom.”_

He scrubbed a hand over his face, pacing towards the table.

_“The Dollmaker’s victims have been reaching out to me, guiding me.”_

He braced his hands against the wood, staring at the sea of files covering its surface. “No,” he uttered lowly. He sensed the focus in the room shift, all eyes averting to him. He set his jaw, gaze darkening. “She’s not luring him out.” His eyes lifted, meeting the Commissioner’s analyzing gaze. “She intends to trap the spider in his own web.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Malfoy scathed.

Tom drew back, gazing down at the forgotten envelope in his hand. He tore the ribbon free, ripping open the top with agile skill, pulse thrumming a steady tempo in his ears as he slid the gilded cardstock free.

Potter edged closer. “What is it?” He asked, tilting his head to read the elegant silver script upside down.

“An invitation,” Tom stated without inflection, fingertips turning white against the onyx paper.

“To what?”

His eyes flashed, death saturating his tongue. “A private party at Lestrange Manor.”

* * *

Hermione paced quickly past the pink Ranunculus and violet Delphinium, sparing the multi-colored Alstroemeria a parting glance as she rounded the row. She slowed next to the scarlet Anemone, rising on her tiptoes to peer over the large blossom to its neighboring bloom.

Her heart soared with victory and delight.

“Here it is!” She called out, carefully leaning under hanging vines until her face hovered above her precious find. “The Chocolate Cosmos,” she whispered with bated breath, closing her eyes to inhale deeply. She smiled, slowly rising to her full height and peering over the stands. “It’s wonderful! Come over here, Ron, you must smell this one!”

He tossed his head back with a scoff. “Yeah right. I’m not falling for _that_ again.”

She rolled her eyes, failing to contain her smirk. “I warned you about the Corpse Flower.”

“How’s it even _possible_ for a flower to smell like a corpse? It goes against nature!”

She shook her head with a smile, gesturing to the vibrant bloom before her. “This will clear your olfactory.”

He arched a brow. “My _what_?”

“I’ll smell it, Hermione.”

She shrieked, the new voice sounding directly behind her. She collided with another body as she spun on her heel, pulse skipping in relief as her eyes settled on the familiar face.

“S-Sorry!” Neville stammered, hands raised in supplication.

She pressed a hand to her chest and laughed. “Don’t be, I didn’t hear you walk up is all.” Her smile deepened as she stepped aside and gestured to the potted beauty. “Go ahead.”

His flush spread down his neck in a feverish trail as he edged closer, awkwardly bending in half to smell the bloom. She heard his sharp intake of breath. “It smells like chocolate!” He uttered a moment later, rising with a beaming grin.

She nodded, matching his expression. "Hence its rather imaginative name. The species is native to Mexico but went extinct in its natural habitat. Now it can only be found in protected greenhouses. I can't believe Kew was able to obtain a specimen."

His eyes darted between hers. “You know so much about everything.”

She blinked, taken aback by the statement, skin heating despite knowing her friend meant it as a compliment. He seemed to notice her reaction, eyes going wide as he undoubtedly prepared another round of apology. But her attention was drawn to the side, priorities rapidly shifting.

“Ron! I told you not to touch anything!”

He dropped the Amaryllis in his hand with a pointed glare. “It’s a bloody garden, Mione! What the hell else am I supposed to do?”

“Admire its beauty with your _eyes_.”

He rolled said eyes, pacing back and shoving his hands in his pockets. “I think I’d rather admire the food court. Coming, Nev?”

Neville shuffled awkwardly, glancing quickly at Hermione and blushing deeper. “Er… no, I’ll hang back.”

Ron shrugged. "Suit yourself. If Harry and Gin circle round let 'em know where to find me."

“If they haven't already been kicked out,” she uttered with no small amount of annoyance.

Ron smirked. "In their defense, there was no sign that strictly _forbade_ swimming in the fountain.”

“There is now. I’ve never been so humiliated.”

He winked, walking back towards the path. "Love you, Mione."

She waved him off. “You love to torture me, now get out of here.”

His laughter followed him along the trail before melding with the layered voices of other visitors. Hermione turned to face her other friend.

“You don’t have to stay behind for my sake, Neville. Please, feel free to get some lunch.”

He swallowed heavily, throat bobbing high. “No, I’m interested in hearing more about the… erm, stuff.”

“Yes, you sound positively riveted,” she laughed without mirth.

“No, really! You make it all sound so interesting.”

Her laughter settled. “You’re the only one I don’t have to drag to Kew kicking and screaming.” She tilted her head, gazing upon the sea of vibrant petals laid out before them. “I should have let the boys pick where to go. I just thought…” She released a long sigh, studying the intricate patterns of a Hellebore. “I wanted our last outing together to be someplace meaningful.” She reached forward, palm hovering over the bloom. “But I realize now it holds more meaning to me than them.”

A long beat followed. Neville eyed her closely. “I’m sorry you’re losing them.”

She blinked, glancing up. “I’m not losing them. Or _you_ for that matter. You’re all embarking on new adventures while I… stay here. But you’ll be back to visit.”

_I hope._

She bit her lip, reaching for an easy transition. “Are you excited for Cambridge?”

He eagerly accepted the bait, smiling broadly. “Yes, I–”

He was cut short by a drop of water landing atop the center of his forehead, running down the bridge of his nose. They both blinked, peering up. Her gaze narrowed on the grey swirling sky. “Is that…” A drop hit her on the cheek.

“Rain,” Neville confirmed, grimacing as a drop landed in his eye.

She deflated in a rush. “Tosh. It wasn’t supposed to start until the evening.”

The milling visitors started to gasp and glance skyward, women opening their parasols and men removing their jackets, holding them overhead as a steady drizzle began. Hermione placed her hand atop her own head, cringing at the thought of her hair being subjected to the coming onslaught. Her pulse skipped as she spotted a familiar sight ahead, a glittering beacon in the storm.

“Let’s head to the Palm House,” she instructed, already walking briskly towards the glass enclosure. Neville nodded, and then lightning split the sky and thunder shook the earth. Hermione shrieked, as did several others standing nearby. The heavens parted wide and a torrential downpour began, rain falling in heavy sheets, rapidly pooling at their feet. She grabbed Neville's arm as they darted forward, taking off at a dead run. But a moment later Neville dug in his heels, head snapping to the side.

“Wait!” He shouted, barely audible over the monsoon. “I think I see Gin!” He pointed a finger to a spot in the distance. Hermione followed with her eyes, spotting the girl in question but neither of the boys.

She raised to her tiptoes, forming a megaphone with her hand and shouting as loud as she could. "Ginny!"

But alas, Ginny didn’t even glance in their direction. Neville grabbed Hermione by the elbow and shouted into her ear. “Go inside, I’ll grab her!”

She nodded quickly, squeezing his shoulder. “Thanks, Nev!”

He took off with a wet smile, both of them completely soaked through. She resumed her run to the Palm House, sliding on the wet stone and catching herself against the door, breathing a sigh of relief as she emerged into the warm and dry interior a moment later. Several others had taken shelter there as well, families and couples collecting along the glass walls to watch the storm play out. The manufactured jungle at the center of the massive structure went largely ignored except by a few children running between the rows. Hermione slipped away from the perimeter, emerging deep into the tropical paradise as she wrung out her hair with both hands. The pins had fallen loose during her sprint, the locks heavy and saturated.

She warmed her hands beside a heating lamp and gazed upon the bright orchids on display. Rain pounded the dome ceiling like hammers, the noise drowning out the conversation beyond the trees and approaching footsteps at her back.

“My my, look what the cat dragged in.”

Her spine went rigid, recognizing the cringe-inducing drawl at once. She didn’t bother turning around.

“Another drowned rat reference. How clever. Once again you astound me with your unparalleled wit and intellect, Malfoy.”

His eyes narrowed as he stepped beside her, earning her attention at last. He was equally drenched, charcoal suit appearing black in the dim light. His mercurial gaze roamed her rain-slicked face with slow precision, seeming to linger at her mouth. She flushed, self-conscious and paranoid. But his next words brought her back to familiar territory in no time.

“Wandering the Garden alone? Not surprising. You’re a walking encyclopedia filled with the world’s most boring facts. It’s a miracle your friends stuck around as long as they did.”

Her spine lengthened, set in place by a steel rod. “I see you’re also here alone. Not surprising, given the putrid cloud of cologne you emanate everywhere you go. It’s a miracle your friends haven’t dropped dead from toxic exposure.”

His eyes danced with dark merriment, hands artfully arranged in his trouser pockets as he took a step towards her. “I thought witches melted in water?”

Anticipation swelled within her chest, propelling her own feet forward. “An old wives tale. We hold up quite well, as you can see. Though nothing can compete with a barrel of pomade. Tell me, Malfoy, do you get nervous passing by open flame?”

“I heard the good news about Saint Potter and Weasel King. Congratulations.” He stopped just before her, barely a foot of space between them. “They’d rather have bullets fly at their heads than endure another minute of your delightful company. Impressive work, luv.” His gaze was unrelenting, boring down upon her with a crushing weight. “Ah, struck a nerve, did I?” The corner of his mouth lifted in sinister victory. “Rest assured, I merely jest. Weasley is _much_ more likely to drown than be shot.”

She swallowed thickly, struggling to keep her voice level. “Shut up.”

He searched her gaze, desperately pursuing the winning hand, always eager to inflict the greater wound. "I can picture it so clearly… the Weasel falling overboard while attempting to harpoon a whale with his salad fork, a true pirate of Penzance."

“I said shut up!” Her tone was higher than intended, edging on hysterics. Heat sizzled beneath her skin, hairs rising along the back of her neck.

“I chose to ignore the command the first time, Granger. Perhaps a new strategy is in order.”

She scowled, fists curling at her sides. “What are you even doing here, Malfoy? You have an entire Garden to terrorize, leave me alone!”

He shifted closer yet, the toe of his boot nudging hers as his eyes flickered to her mouth and back a second time. “I’d love nothing more, but until the rain lets up I’m just as trapped as you are.” He wet his lips, drawing her own gaze for the space of a stuttered beat. “But don’t worry, darling. I’ll abandon you at _first_ opportunity. Same as your beloved Dimwit Twins.”

The lashing heat broke free in a powerful rush. She reared up, pressing her chest into his as she released a month’s worth of pent aggression, all the simmering anger she’d felt since learning of her friends’ impending departure.

“I hate you, Draco Malfoy! I’ll hate you until the day I die!”

Lightning struck directly overhead, illuminated brilliantly against the glass ceiling, reflected perfectly in his gaze.

“Good,” he hissed across her mouth, voice barely above a growl.

Thunder crashed, shaking the walls. He surged forward in the same moment, grabbing her by the waist and pushing her backward with such force and speed she lost her footing, clutching his shoulders to stay upright. She gasped as her back collided with a tree, jarring her mind blank. Before her thoughts had the opportunity to resurface his body pressed along her front, driving the air from her lungs and the cold from her limbs. And then his mouth descended upon her and rationality was a long-faded memory.

His hands roamed her hard and rough and half-crazed, pulling her into his body to the point of suffocation. She clung to him just as desperately, needing to suppress her raging thoughts and fears and sadness. Anything to distract from the heartbreak of what was to come, anything to fill the impending void.

He pulled away after several minutes, panting heavily into her mouth, lips swollen and cheeks flush.

“Granger–”

“Shut up,” she demanded, running her hands through his perfect hair, taking great joy in mussing it up before clutching the back of his head and pulling him down to her awaiting mouth.

He smiled broadly, voice rumbling along her tongue. “Happily.”

The rain continued to hail down in heavy sheets of white, blocking out the meager sun and casting the Palm House and its inhabitants into a dark eclipse.

_Such precious memories. So bittersweet. I can see why you covet them so._

Draco moaned into her mouth, pressing his lower half against her.

_But these aren’t what I need..._

Her pulse stuttered wildly, vertigo seizing her in a heady rush, his body the only thing keeping her upright.

_Show me what you’ve hidden._

The glass ceiling cracked beneath the onslaught of rain, fracturing into a massive spider web. Dozens of arachnids scattered across the threads, red eyes glinting bright and fangs dripping golden venom. She pulled away from Draco, shocked and terrified beyond measure, pointing above to warn him–

The ceiling shattered into a million glittering shards, sharp and lethal and hurtling straight for them. The water followed in a powerful rush, cascading down in a waterfall. She screamed, clutching Draco’s shirt and glancing to him desperately.

Only to scream a second time.

For it wasn’t Draco standing before her, clutching her tightly.

The Monster grinned broadly, eyes cast red, sharp teeth oozing golden honey.

“That’s it, scream for me, luv.”

She beat his chest with her fists, thrashing wildly and pressing as far back as his claws would allow. Her spine dug into the tree, sharp and painful. She paid the discomfort no mind, overcome with adrenaline, numb to everything but horror. Deep laughter erupted from his mouth, as did thousands of tiny spiders, crawling over his lips and chin and down his neck, spilling across his chest in a river of undulating black, tiny legs scampering frantically, eager to get to her, hungry mouths chomping at the air, desperate for her flesh.

His laughter ceased as he leaned in and pressed his mouth to hers. She screamed against his gnashing lips, muffled and crazed, millions of little legs crawling over her flesh as the creatures leaped onto her dress. A massive army of spiders approached rapidly from across the floor, a dark puddle spreading towards them. She pushed against his chest with all her strength, wailing miserably as she felt his sharp claws grab hold of her skirt, pulling the heavy fabric up.

“I’ve been dreaming of this for so fucking long.”

Hands gripped her waist, squeezing painfully. Another grabbed her hair, tugging it back, another seized her throat, squeezing.

“I’ve fantasized about being inside of you for years,” he hissed against her neck, fangs scraping along her skin, leaving twin welts in their wake as his venom burned away her flesh like acid.

She screamed in horror, eyes wide as she gazed upon the eight massive spider legs towering above, bent inward and clutching her tight, holding her immobile. The churning river of spiders reached them at last, pouring across her boots and up her bare calves, millions of tiny mouths gnawing away her flesh to the bone. She clawed at his face, realizing in the same moment her arms were free.

She reached to either side desperately, fumbling for anything within reach as he kissed her again, chewing on her bottom lip until it bled. She blinked in shocked confusion, tears soaking her face as her fingers skimmed a flat hard surface. She wrenched her head back and glanced to the side, mouth hanging wide as she spotted his office desk situated beneath a banana leaf tree, covered in books and legal documents. Her eyes rapidly scanned the surface for the gleaming letter opener, her key to freedom. It was nowhere in sight.

But something _else_ was, aligned with the edge of the desk and pulsing a pale blue light. She gripped the wooden handle of the butcher knife as one of his spindle legs lifted, revealing a hooked talon at the end. The gleaming claw stroked along her jaw, tipping her face forward. She turned silent in horror as his beaming visage was revealed. His red eyes had multiplied, covering the top half of his face. They all blinked at the same time, her horrified reflection cast in the center of each gleaming orb.

“You keep what you kill, sweetling. Didn’t he tell you that?”

His legs tightened upon her. His soldiers crawled under her dress and across her bare midriff, beneath her camisole and over her chest, hungrily devouring everything in their wake, leaving behind merely a skeleton covered in shredded flesh and hanging skin. He leaned forward for another kiss, jaw unhinging grotesquely, revealing row after row of razor-sharp teeth.

Her legs went numb, or perhaps the spiders had eaten them all the way through. She paid the notion little mind, a fresh wave of terror washing overhead as he leaned in, gaping maw wider than her skull, ready to bite her head off. She inhaled sharply, holding it in her lungs as the spiders ascended her neck.

And slashed forward with the knife, striking him across the face in a diagonal line.

_“If you had used the same hand to slice his left side in a downward swing you would have easily ruptured the eye beyond repair.”_

The pulsing blade struck true, slicing through a row of red eyes, thick black ooze spilling from the bleeding sockets.

He screamed, talons cutting through her dress as his legs squeezed her with bone-breaking force. His gaping jaws gnashed the air in agonizing rage, golden spittle flying free. She cringed back, clutching the blade to her chest as the spiders overtook her chin–

And then they froze, stopping in their tracks and shriveling up, legs curling as they fell in dead heaps, tiny corpses piling at her feet. She blinked wildly, peering up as his death throes began. His skin turned black, charred, falling away from the bone. His massive legs followed suit, turning to ash and crumbling away. She staggered back with her hard-won freedom, gripping the hilt of the blade with all her strength as she watched Dolohov crumble away chunk by chuck, bit by bit, until only a charred skeleton remained, gleaming black sockets fixed upon her with startling intensity.

“I’ll be seeing you very soon, sweetling.”

And then his skull broke off his spine with a jarring snap, hitting the tile and breaking to pieces. His body followed suit, ribcage cracking apart and scattering across the floor, femurs caving in and pelvis breaking down the center.

She blinked, backing into the trees, headlessly shuffling over exotic shrubs and flowers until the manufactured Amazon embraced her fully and overtook her vision. She spun on her heel and ran towards the glittering walls of the Palm House, bursting through the trees at last, charging through the clusters of visitors without sparing them a glance, distantly aware of the flesh masks affixed to their watchful faces.

She reached the front door in a flurry of motion, dress shredded by claws and caked with ash and stained by venom, wrenching the barrier wide, sprinting over the threshold–

And emerging into a dark kitchen.

She spun around in shock, turning back to face the door she’d just came through. But it led to a large enclosed pantry. She shook her head, blade clutched tightly at her side. And then deep male voices sounded from the hallway, filtering in from the open doorway.

“Once I find her I’m going to strangle the bitch–”

“You’ll do no such thing. She’s mine.”

Stones filled her throat and dropped to the pit of her stomach. She staggered back, spine hitting the center island and jarring her from the dazed stupor. She darted towards the sink as large shadows appeared on the corridor wall, growing darker and denser as the voices drew closer and louder. She dropped to her knees and opened the cabinet, crawling inside and folding her legs up, shutting the door just as the figures entered the room, footsteps echoing across the tile.

She pressed a hand to her mouth, butcher knife trembling in her other fist.

The kitchen’s new occupants slowed.

And their voices changed.

“I hope you will find the room satisfactory.”

Hermione blinked, hand falling away from her pale lips.

 _No_.

“I appreciate your hospitality, Madam, especially at this hour.”

_Oh my god._

She braced her hands beside her, pushing back against the far wall of the cabinet as the steady tread of footsteps grew nearer and nearer, a shadow passing along the front of the door, blocking the light. Her knees drew up, calves bare beneath her thin nightgown and threadbare robe, shoulders pulling in as the cabinet door was pulled wide.

Tom appeared before her, dressed in pure pitch, tall frame and broad shoulders stretching to all four ends of the wardrobe, blocking out the sun and moon and casting her into darkness. His eye burned bright, twin torches in the night.

“My name is Doctor Riddle. And you are?”

His voice was a rumbling purr she fell vibrate through the shelf and into her core. “Hermione,” she whispered, hands flattening against the back of the wardrobe, desperate to travel through it.

He tilted his head, movements slow and measured. She recognized that look. The gleam in his grey eyes, sensing the violence to come like salt on the wind preceding a storm. She swallowed heavily, body throbbing in time to her pulse as the silence stretched on…

And then he reached out with lightning reflexes, grabbing her bare ankle and wrenching her forward. She screamed, nails raking across the smooth wood to no avail as her body was torn off the shelf. He caught her around the waist as her feet hit the ground, drawing her into his body.

“You’re afraid,” he stated simply, ducking his head low, lips grazing her temple. “Hermione…” he whispered, the sound rendering her loose and pliant in his hold. “I only mean to thank you.”

And then he was gripping her waist and spinning her around. She choked on a gasp as he threw her backward, sending her airborne. She flailed, bracing for impact with the hard ground, only to release a shocked breath as her body collided with a mattress. She bounced once, twice, hair falling across her face in a thick carpet. She frantically pushed it away. Tom paced to the edge of the bed, eyes glinting like metal.

“I don’t know what I’m most curious about, the contents of your right hand or your left.”

She peered down, expecting to see the butcher knife.

Instead, she saw a scalpel dripping blood, her hand and wist soaked red. She drew her gaze to her other hand, spotting a broken doll, hair matted and eyes and mouth crossed out with red charcoal.

She blinked. “Oh. I forgot I was holding it.” And looked to him once more. “I can set it down.”

Her heart thrummed a call to war as he perched a knee on the foot of the mattress. He held her gaze, drawing his other leg up and beginning a slow and agonizing crawl towards her.

“If you feel more comfortable wielding a blade in my presence then, by all means, continue to do so.”

She watched his mouth as he spoke, hypnotized. Half his face was cast in orange flickering light. She glanced beside them as his weight and heat settled upon her. Dolohov's Estate burned in a powerful blaze a hundred yards away, black smoke filling the night sky above. She swallowed heavily, glancing quickly to her other side, spotting a row of tombstones. The bed sat atop the overgrown weeds, centered beneath the stars.

And then her attention was drawn forward by a hand at her throat, tipping her chin up and forcing her gaze to follow. He held her eye with predatory focus, pupils blown wide, drawing her in with their gravitational force.

“Have I destroyed you, Hermione?”

Her pulse stuttered against his fingertips, chest pressing his with every labored breath. “Yes,” she whispered, tears overspilling her eyes and across her temples. “But I wanted you to.” She wet her lips, focusing upon his mouth. “Thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank me.” He leaned in. “We’re partners in this.”

Darkness exploded overhead, blocking out the stars. Shadows expanded like massive wings at his back, spreading wide and then folding in all around her, wrapping her in a deathly cold embrace as his lips collided with her own.

And then his weight disappeared, body dissolving away in a cloud of smoke. She inhaled sharply, breathing it in, choking on the toxic vapor. She coughed into her blood-stained fist, eyes tearing as a blinding light filled her vision. She glanced to either side in confusion. She was no longer atop a bed. She was on the floor. A wooden floor beneath a tall ceiling. Familiar furniture surrounded her. A familiar heat lashed at her flesh. Her breath caught in her throat, terror seizing her anew.

Flames.

Everywhere.

_No!_

She reared up, screaming as the crystal chandelier broke off the ceiling and crashed to the floor, exploding to shards and shaking the ground. She scrambled to her hands and knees, sweat dripping from her face.

_That’s it._

Glass cracked along the doors of the china cabinet, splintering out like grasping fingers, reaching desperately as she staggered past.

_This is the one._

Sweat and smoke burned her eyes, clouding her vision. She rubbed them futilely, smearing blood and soot across her face. The staircase stood just ahead. She had to reach the staircase. She could fix it all if she could just reach the staircase...

“Hermione!”

The voice clawed at her heart.

“Mum!” She screamed, dashing forward with renewed strength, only to stagger back as a beam collapsed overhead, crashing before her in an explosion of glowing embers.

“Mione!”

She swallowed heavily, sobs catching in her throat. “Dad! I’m coming!” She gathered her skirts, leaping over debris.

_Show me._

“Mum! Dad! I’m here!”

A row of fire burst to life before the bottom step, blocking her path with a wall of dancing flame. Faces appeared within the blaze, screaming desperately. She shook her head, doubling over and retching black bile onto the floor.

_No, please no…_

She wiped the saliva away with her palm, forcing her spine straight. “I’m here!” She croaked, voice weak. “I’m here.”

The flames snapped and sizzled, spreading towards her. She staggered back, narrowly missing their reach. The wallpaper melted and curled, wood and plaster blackening as fire spilled across the ceiling above.

“Please don’t leave me,” she cried, smoke billowing down and obscuring her vision. “Please don’t leave...”

The entire staircase erupted to life with flame. She collapsed to her knees, releasing a keening wail.

_Show me everything._

An arm gripped her waist, a body materializing from the smoke behind her, pulling her to her feet. She blinked in confusion, glancing over her shoulder and spotting a featureless face, another mask void of expression, of life. She shook her head, twisting in his strong grasp.

“No!”

He easily lifted her off her feet, tossing her over his broad shoulder. His fire brigade uniform came into view. She gasped with relief.

“Upstairs! Please! They’re upstairs!”

He strode for the exit, taking her further and further from the stairs. She thrashed wildly, clawing at his muscled back.

“No! They’re upstairs! You can save them!”

He quelled her struggles with ease, gripping her painfully as he continued to sidestep flames and rubble. She watched in horror as the staircase crumbled to pieces, collapsing in on itself until only a pile of splintered wood remained. The flames roared like a beast, a grinning face taking shape in the hellish inferno.

“No! Please!”

They turned the corner and the malevolent face disappeared, along with the final vestiges of her hope and sanity. They exited her childhood home a moment later, the entryway blackening before her eyes, turning to ash before the fire even reached it. Tears streamed down her face in a river, dripping off her jaw as they emerged into the dark night, smoke heavy in the air.

Her dark savior crossed the gravel drive and laid her onto the grass, walking away without a parting glance. Then again, he didn't have eyes. She blinked numbly, watching her home burn. A deafening snap filled the night, followed by a long groan. Plumes of flame shot upward as the second-story caved in, crashing to the foundation. Her mouth hung wide, breath leaving her entirely. Her lungs screamed in protest. She ignored their cry, eyes slowly drifting upward to follow the smoke's steady ascent, wondering if her parents' ashes were contained within.

Only to blink, attention caught by the sky above.

For beyond the dense cloud of black she spotted a sea of swirling color, tendrils of green, blue and violet dancing in undulating ropes. She wet her lips, pushing upright in the grass.

_“Do you see it, Hermione?”_

She nodded in response to the phantom voice. “Yes,” she whispered, throat raw and parched, lips dry and cracked. “Is it heaven?”

_“No, my sweetling, it’s called-”_

"An Aurora," she finished, heart skipping.

Her shoulders drew back, chin tipping up as she watched the colors bleed across the black backdrop, the majestic imagery providing a strange and distant sort of comfort to her decaying heart.

 _Hermione_.

Movement from the corner of her eye drew her focus. She glanced over her shoulder. A fire trolley approached from the main road, faceless neighbors milling around the perimeter, pointing at the fire, placing hands to the place where their mouths should be, miming shock and dismay.

Actors in a play.

_Hermione, focus._

Something moved in the grass. She turned her head once more, spotting a flash of orange, gasping as the mound leaped forward, landing deftly at her side. She blinked, mouth opening and closing at the sight of the bushy feline, bottlebrush tail flicking side to side as it rubbed against her, its back arching high as it released a rumbling purr.

_Tell me what you see._

Hermione tilted her head.

_I see…_

_Yes?_

The furry creature mewled, amber eyes flashing red, reflecting the flames dancing before them. She reached out slowly, running her fingers through its fur. The result was instantaneous. The cat sidled closer, purring rhythmically as it eagerly kneaded her thigh through her charred dress, claws prickling the fabric.

Hermione smiled, scratching behind its ears and beneath its chin.

“Hello, Cat.”

There was another loud snap. The porch caved in. She paid it no mind, leaning forward to card her fingers through the thick fur.

_Ignore the cat, Hermione. Focus on the Fire._

She wet her lips, shaking her head. “I don’t think I will.”

The cat stepped back, tail swishing with gusto as it held her gaze. Hermione read the message contained within, pushing slowly to her feet, bits of glass and plaster falling from her dress as she swayed in place.

And then the cat turned, sprinting across the grass with agile speed, stopping at the treeline to glance at her.

Her fists tightened at her sides.

_Hermione, stay where you are._

Her eyes narrowed, the smoke dissipating along with the dense fog in her mind. She surged forward, kicking off her heels and gathering her heavy skirts as she tore across the grass.

_Hermione!_

She reached the treeline in several bounds, panting heavily as she stared down at her watchful companion.

“Let’s go.”

The cat seemed to grin, tail flicking with flourish once more before it bound forward again, cutting a quick path through the darkened, petrified woods. Hermione followed gracelessly, stumbling with every other step, shoulders clipping trees and skirts snagging jagged branches. Rocks cut into her soles, tearing at her bare ankles.

But her greater concern was the small army at her back.

The faceless neighbors charged after her, flaming torches materializing in their grasp as they gave chase. She bit her lip to stifle a pained gasp as she tripped, falling to her knees and scraping the heel of her palm against a log. Dead leaves crunched loudly at her back, the search party splitting into groups, dutifully scouting the terrain.

_You can’t escape me, foolish girl._

She crawled forward, trying to stay low as a faceless woman passed by her left, turning her head from side to side as though able to see in the dark with perfect clarity. Hermione pressed her hand to her mouth, waiting for the grotesque spectre to pass before searching for the Cat.

She spotted a flash of orange fur in the distance and swallowed her fear, leaping to her feet and charging headlong after it. One of her pursuers spotted the movement, giving chase and drawing the attention of the others. They barreled after her in a stampede, breaking through branches and darting around trees with unnerving skill and strength.

_No one ever escapes me._

She dug deep, reaching desperately for her final reserves of strength as she burst through the treeline and emerged into a large clearing.

The sight before her was staggering. She wanted to stop and gawk at the obscene image but knew such a folly would most certainly spell her doom. Her pursuers were right behind, close enough to tackle her. One even tried, but she dodged to the side just in time, his body hitting the grass with a dull thud. He leaped to his feet with inhuman dexterity, giving chase anew.

She continued to sprint ahead with all she had left, gaze fixed with steely determination on the three-story home at the center of the clearing.

The mirror image of the Dollhouse in the attic.

The Cat darted up the steps, the front door swinging wide of its own accord, revealing a solid black interior. Her heart soared with hope and terror, the pounding of footsteps deafening at her back, rapidly gaining speed–

She reached the porch steps with a desperate wail, tearing across them so quickly she lost her balance, tripping forward and catching herself against the slats. She cringed, a fresh wave of tears blooming to life as she braced for hands to grab her, to wrench her back and drag her kicking and screaming to the fire...

But the touch never came.

She blinked in confusion, glancing past the leaves in her hair to peer over her shoulder. Her army of pursuers surrounded the perimeter of the home, fists clenched tight and torches held aloft as they formed a perfect circle around the property, chests heaving.

She pushed to her feet, stepping higher along the steps until she stood on the porch. More and more faceless apparitions appeared from the treeline, running to join their comrades and pile along the invisible barrier. She swallowed heavily, forcing her attention away in order to cross over the threshold, submerging herself in blessed darkness.

The door slammed shut at her back and the shadows lifted, revealing a moonlit interior. The home now mimicked the Dollhouse in Ariana’s room, filled with the same decorations and furniture, each piece enlarged to human scale. She paced further inside, adrenaline slowly ebbing and giving way to rational thought.

_Hermione!_

The booming voice no longer emanated from within her head. Instead, it echoed from outside, muffled by the walls of the toy home. Unable to reach her.

A soft thump drew her focus to the staircase. Her orange companion sat picturesque on the bottom step, thick tail curled around its legs. Hermione smiled, stopping just before the astute creature.

“Hello, Lavender.”

Her pulse stuttered as the animal morphed in a rapid burst of movement and light, the girl unfurling before her eyes, golden hair cascading over her shoulders as she tossed her head back with a tinkling laugh.

“Hello, Mione,” she winked, amber eyes fading to warm brown. “Told you I’d be back.”

Hermione released a cry of joy and overwhelming relief, surging forward to embrace the girl tightly, nearly knocking them both sideways. Lavender hugged her back, stroking a hand over her hair.

“That was a close call,” Hermione whispered, drawing back to meet her eye.

Lavender smirked, gaze dancing with a cunning mischief Hermione recognized well and missed terribly. “I knew you’d be able to give Him the slip. Cocky bastard’s been underestimating you from day one.”

Hermione released her at last, stepping away to peer around the shadowed interior of their asylum. “Where’s Ariana?”

A heavy pause.

Hermione glanced forward, stomach twisting at the tense expression that overcame her friend’s pretty features.

“I’m going to bring you to her,” Lavender said, tone frightfully measured.

Hermione raised a brow, dread rising. “Bring me to her? Why can’t she come to us? We’re safe in here.”

“She can’t leave the Castle.”

Hermione blinked, replaying the words twice but unable to grasp their meaning. “Castle?”

“ _And_ it’s on the other damn side.” Her friend sighed heavily, drawing an idle hand through her hair as her eyes took on an introspective gleam. “Christ, getting there is _such_ a pain in the arse. I need to get you some hiking boots. And an axe."

Hermione shook her head, stepping forward. “On the other side of _what_ , Lavender?”

The blonde withdrew from her thoughts with a blink, studying Hermione's face for several agonizing seconds before her coy grin spread to life quick as flame. Hermione swayed back, unnerved by the sight. Knowing her former roommate's proclivity towards trouble she could only imagine what lied ahead.

“Follow me,” Lavender instructed, tossing her hair with dramatic flourish and spinning on her heel. She led Hermione around the stairs and into a narrow corridor. The hall was adorned with fake portraits painted directly onto the walls. They emerged inside a play kitchen, fully equipped with mock appliances. But Hermione’s attention was focused squarely ahead, on a solid red door with radiant light spilling in from gaps along the frame.

Lavender stopped just before the ominous barrier, turning to face her with glinting amber eyes.

“Hermione Granger,” she announced, gripping the knob and turning it swiftly. She pulled the door wide, revealing the staggering landscape beyond. “Welcome to Wonderland.”


	29. Wonderland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> … wtf did I just write?

_I know their pain._  
_I would assist._  
_But is sanity required for the job?_  
.   .   .

Hermione’s arms dropped to her sides, limp and lifeless, jaw hanging loose as she took in the sight before her. Lavender perched her hip against the frame, watching silently as Hermione struggled to gain her bearings. After several moments more her senses returned. She took a tentative step forward, crossing the threshold and submerging herself in radiant light.

Her bare feet made contact with smooth stone, pulse reverberating through every limb as she took in the strange and glorious setting with unabated awe. For what laid before them was unlike any dreamscape she’d ever encountered, a world beyond the measure of her imagination.

Hermione had always been an ardent student of science and medicine, law and reason. Frivolous fantasy never blossomed to life within her mind, even as a child. Which meant their current surroundings couldn’t be a hallucination or fever dream born from her own psyche. And yet such a place couldn’t possibly exist… so what did that leave? _Where_ did that leave? Was there a plane between dream and reality? Fiction and fact? Illusion and invention?

Her mind reeled with the notion, the overwhelming implication it entailed, causing her toes to curl against the cool rock. She stood atop a circular stepping stone as wide as she was tall. Several others were laid across the vibrant grass, creating a path leading from the back door to the treeline fifty yards ahead. But the terrain didn’t match the landscape she traversed to get here. There was also no sign of the faceless henchmen that circled the property moments ago.

She glanced upward, blinking twice.

It was daytime now, the sky a pale violet covered by an iridescent sheen. The effect was magical and yet appeared commonplace beside the mesmerizing sun. Or rather, _twin_ suns blazing brightly overhead.

She gaped at the magnificent sight, then released a shocked yelp as a massive dragonfly flitted past, silver wings glinting like metal, tips sharp as knives. She followed the insect’s path with her eyes until it disappeared into the brush. The trees were dense, their canopy thick and vibrant, the imagery reminiscent of the Palm House but on a _much_ larger scale. For the terrain before her was a real-life jungle. Real being the relative term of the day.

Her heartbeat settled at long last, allowing the sounds of nature to swell all around her. She registered the distant churn and crash of water, drawing her focus to a narrow waterfall a couple miles off. It cascaded down the side of a steep and jagged cliff, a double rainbow rising high and vibrant from the mist. She stared upon it for several seconds before raking her gaze over the remaining landscape. Her pulse stuttered at the familiar outline of Tower Bridge to the left, its bottom half lost to dense fog, the upper portion crumbled and decayed, overrun by climbing weeds and vines, colorful birds perched along its rusted cables.

But the most staggering image of all lied directly ahead, at the impressive summit of a massive hillside.

A blood red Castle, gleaming proud and sinister beneath the dual stars.

Hermione swayed at the sight, finding her voice at last. “ _That’s_ where Ariana is?”

Lavender exited the Dollhouse, hopping onto the stone Hermione stood upon before prancing to the next with feline agility. “Yep.” She tossed her golden hair back and placed her hands on her hips, watching the jungle with narrowed eyes.

“This place is incredible,” Hermione whispered, transfixed by the narrow towers jutting from the heart of the Castle, their rooftops hidden in the wispy clouds.

Lavender tipped her head, sighing heavily. “It’s something alright.”

Hermione’s attention snapped to the girl, drawn by the edge in her voice. But before she could formulate a question a thunderous roar erupted from the dense treeline, shaking the trunks and vibrating the ground. Hermione staggered back, arms held aloft for balance.

“What–”

“Quiet!” Lavender hissed, leaping onto her stone and grabbing her wrist. She pulled Hermione towards the open doorway, dragging her into the toy kitchen and slamming the door at their backs.

Hermione gaped at the red barrier, panting heavily as the bone-chilling sound rapidly faded into the distance. “Lavender, what the hell was that?”

The blonde continued to brace the wood with both hands, as though prepared for something to burst through. Her nails lengthened to lethal points, pressing tiny grooves along the surface as she glanced over her shoulder, eyes glinting.

"Before we set out, there are a few things you should know."

* * *

Tom watched the Commissioner pace a tight path before the shattered windows, boots crunching glass with every step. The man’s eyes darted aimlessly across the floor as his mind undoubtedly ran through a lion’s share of information, rapidly processing the day’s many revelations.

“You’re certain this party is being hosted by the crime ring?” The detective asked without bothering to lift his gaze.

Tom traced a fingertip along the sharp edge of the black cardstock, his own body held in absolute stillness from his position behind the table. “Positive.”

“And why the hell were _you_ sent an invitation?”

Tom lifted his chin, undeterred by the warning edge in the investigator’s voice. “I have an inside connection to the organization.”

Bones scrubbed a hand over his face, jaw tensing as he came to an abrupt halt, glancing up at last. “Another fact you conveniently forgot to mention.”

The statement required no response, but Tom wasn’t afforded the option of making one either way as the young aristocrat at their side surged forward, pale eyes reflecting the late afternoon sun like twin flames.

“Who the hell is your connection?” Malfoy demanded.

Yet another rhetorical question Tom had no time to entertain. He glanced away, setting the blonde into motion once more. The boy threw a chair aside, toppling it to the floor, whether in anger or performance art Tom had little interest in discerning.

“I _know_ Bella’s handwriting,” Malfoy continued, tone dripping with derision.

Tom overcame the urge to roll his eyes but was unable to quell the annoyance in his tone. “Then you also know the answer to your question and have wasted both our time in asking.”

Malfoy scowled, color rising high along his cheekbones. “You son of a–”

“Enough!” Potter shouted, arms tightly crossed. His eyes darted to Tom. “Do you think Hermione will be there?”

Tom dug the pad of his thumb into the invitation until it sliced through the skin, the flash of pain satisfying and grounding. “I don’t know,” he replied lowly, though deep down he did know.

“Of course she’ll be there!” Malfoy shouted, tossing his hands up. “Brainwashed and sold to the highest bigger!” He shook his head, eyes glinting. “Screw this. I’m going there _now_. I’ll tear their fucking house apart if I have to.”

He turned on his heel, progressing towards the door. Tom glanced down at his hand, watching the blood bead to the surface. “If you prevent the party from taking place, you’ll be sealing the fate of every other young woman awaiting auction.” He sensed the reaction his words had upon the room without raising his head. “You found Luna in a holding cell. There are countless others suffering that same fate as we speak.”

A tense beat. Malfoy stood still as stone, shoulders tensed. Tom set the invitation aside, the onyx finish stained darker with his blood. He looked up, meeting the Commissioner’s gaze. “They’ll be brought to the party,” he continued, letting the detective suss out the rest.

The man did so immediately, nodding tersely. “We can do a clean sweep. Get the girls and arrest the clients.”

The blonde exploded to life anew. “You’re saying we wait until tomorrow night to act? What the hell about right _now_? We have to find Hermione!”

Potter drew a hand over his mouth, eyes hard-set as he stared into the distance unseeing. “Riddle is right.”

Malfoy blinked, head snapping around. “ _What_?”

Potter drew back, dropping his arms to brace the back of a dining chair. “This is a golden opportunity to save the others. Hermione wouldn’t want us to let it slip away.”

“Just because she has a sick obsession with playing the bloody martyr doesn't mean we _let_ her," the blonde scathed, fists balled tight.

“We have no leads to go on, Draco. Nothing but this party. If there’s even a possibility she’ll be there we have to allow it to happen.”

“This is bollocks,” Malfoy scoffed, acid dripping from his tongue. “ _You_ of all people are siding with him?”

Potter held his gaze with unwavering calm and determination. “This isn’t about sides. This is about maximizing our chances of finding Mione and helping his other victims.”

A heavy cloak of silence encased the room, weighing heavily upon all their shoulders. The Malfoy heir shook his head at last, voice lacking the heat and anger of moments before, but his eyes flashed with the same lethal intent. “I care about the other girls. I do. But not as much as I care about her.” He took a measured step towards the doorway. “I’m not sitting on my arse until tomorrow night.”

And then he turned on his heel once more.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Bones stated, causing the boy to halt in his tracks a second time. “Until I come to a decision about how to proceed, you are not to reveal your knowledge of the party to your aunt or uncle. If you violate this order I will have you arrested under obstruction of justice, regardless of your father’s wrath or reach. Do you understand?”

The blonde tipped his head back to glare at the ceiling mural, refusing to face the detective. “Perfectly, Commissioner. I also understand I’m the only one trying to save Hermione.” And then his silver gaze cut to Potter. “You have fun playing the hero. Meanwhile, _I’m_ going to find her. Fuck the greater good.”

He stormed from the room in a puff of smoke and righteous fury. The Commissioner sighed, stepping towards the door, only to draw up short as Potter raised a staying hand. “I’ll talk to him,” the young man stated, pushing back from the table and following the snarling dragon from the room.

Tom rubbed his brow, biting back a sigh.

Children. The lot of them. Terribly ill-equipped to deal with the final battle ahead. For the next phase wasn't to be won with guns and knives and fists. It was a war of the mind, of cunning strategy and systematic gameplay. An exercise in self-control.

Then again, Tom wasn't exactly the expert on that either. Not as of late.

“Well? Anything else you failed to mention during our previous discussion?”

Tom’s dropped his hand, attention drawn forward by the detective’s withering drawl. “I wasn’t certain you could be trusted,” he responded without hesitation, holding the officer’s gaze.

“Well isn’t that ironic, because I’m experiencing the very same reservations as we speak. I could have you arrested for purposely withholding information pertinent to an active investigation.”

Tom’s expression remained fixed. “You could, but you won't. You need my invitation to gain access to the party.”

The Commissioner ground his teeth, the sound echoing off the bullet-ridden walls. “I can find another way in.”

Tom arched a challenging brow. “And risk the entire operation for the simple pleasure of seeing me behind bars?”

“There’s nothing simple about it. You’re _really_ starting to piss me off.”

Tom nodded, the corner of his mouth curving up at the unexpected admission. “I’ve heard that many times before. And I’ll provide you with the same response I offered the others. I couldn’t care less about your opinion of me.” His visage sobered, shadows seeping into the hard-set lines of his face. “I only care about stopping this evil at its source. You’re welcome to arrest me afterward.”

The detective drew back, steel gaze carefully combing Tom’s face and person before he lifted his chin and straightened his coat. “I have to speak to my men, get them up to speed. I’ll be back at first light.”

Tom reached for the invitation lying on the table between them. “I’ll be waiting.”

“I know you will,” Bones said with a confidence that twisted Tom’s stomach. He watched the detective lean over to collect the Jane Doe files. Tom tucked the invitation into his jacket lining and departed the room without another word or glance. His mind was already concocting the next step of his rapidly evolving plan, but his focus was broken as he entered the entry hall, the sound and sight of two young idiots arguing in the center of the demolished room too distracting to ignore.

Malfoy wrenched free of Potter’s restraining hand, a snarl permanently ingrained across his pointed features. “I’m not going to let that bastard torture her for another day on the _off chance_ we see her at the party!”

“Draco, just listen–”

“I’m through listening! She could be dying!”

"He won't kill her," Tom interrupted from his watchful post across the floor.

The men sprang apart, rounding to face him, faces adorned with vastly different expressions.

“She’s only valuable to him alive,” he added calmly, speaking the words as much for his own benefit as theirs.

“What does he want?” Potter asked, edging closer.

Tom lifted his chin, shoulders squaring. “Me.”

Malfoy rocked back on his heels with the simple declaration, only to rear forward with furious momentum. “He took her because of _you_?”

Tom’s chest tightened at the words, even as he dismissed them in the next breath. “He wanted her because of me, yes. But she went to him for the sake of the other girls. The ones we’re going to liberate tomorrow evening.”

Malfoy started to stalk forward, bloodlust simmering in his eyes. Tom held his position, tracking the boy’s steady advance without trepidation. “You are welcome to blame me,” he continued. “But it brings us no closer to finding her. So if you were serious about _not sitting on your arse_ , there’s something you can do.”

Malfoy hesitated. Potter surged ahead. “What?”

“Find the leak,” Tom instructed. Both young men blinked, glancing at each other in bewilderment. Tom rubbed the bridge of his nose, silently praying for patience. “Greyback knew Hermione and I would be at Grimmauld. He also knew Parvati and her sister would be here. Which means you have a spy among your ranks.”

The color rapidly drained from Potter’s tanned complexion, leaving him a ghostly apparition hovering above the blood-stained marble. “That’s not possible.”

Tom arched a dark brow, glancing to the blonde. “Isn’t it?” They held each other’s gaze for an endless beat before Tom steadily pushed on. “The only two people I know without a shred of doubt would never betray her safety are you and Mr. Potter.” He straightened his shirt cuffs beneath his jacket. “Find your leak, find your lead.”

And then he started for the door.

Malfoy took a step forward, sneer replaced by disorientation and anger. “Where the hell are you going?”

Tom stepped deftly over the remnants of the busted door and then the threshold, bloodlust blossoming to life within his own gaze. “To tie up a loose end.”

* * *

Hermione held her breath as she carefully progressed down the steep ravine, leaning back in a futile effort to keep her head above her feet. She scowled as Lavender pranced down the slick grass on the balls of her feet like a prima ballerina, seemingly weightless in each graceful movement, before landing beside the water with a tinkling laugh. Meanwhile, Hermione lost her balance, skidding down the hillside on her arse and skinning the heels of her palms.

Her friend helped pull her up with a wide grin. Hermione grimaced, brushing the grass and debris from her skirts with a huff. She was wearing the same dress she'd traveled to Grindelwald's home in, simple day attire, along with a pair of striking knee-high boots Lavender had somehow procured from one of the Dollhouse's many closets. Silver buckles traveled the lengths of her calves, glinting in the sunlight. She was grateful for the protection, the terrain unapologetically unforgiving.

When they’d first started their hike through the wild Hermione had found herself distracted by every snapping branch and swaying leaf, unable to walk more than a few feet before stopping in her tracks to gape at one magical anomaly or another.

The first item to draw her fascination was a flower. It stood taller than Lavender, each vibrant petal larger than a human head. Its thick stem was covered in red-tipped thorns, razor sharp and gleaming, the sight so sinister she was able to overcome her curiosity and remain a safe distance away.

The second oddity to draw her undivided attention was a small creature that began to follow them through the jungle, leaping from branch to branch with blurring speed. When she’d first heard its movements from above she’d been terrified senseless, hiding behind Lavender as the girl inspected the treetops with her feline vision. Then the blonde laughed, spotting the voyeur atop a palm tree, half hidden behind a massive frond. Wide yellow eyes were framed by a green furry face, body camouflaged against the leaves.

“What the hell is it?” Hermione had whispered frantically, still unable to see anything more than a pair of hellish glowing eyes.

“A monkey,” Lavender replied breezily, leaning over to pick a squirming beetle out of the mud. Hermione shrieked and staggered back, prompting Lavender to laugh heartily as she presented her gleaming bounty to the air. “Come on, luv, I have a nice little snack for you,” she prompted gently, amber gaze fading to brown.

Hermione gaped, there was nothing _little_ about the black insect. But her dismay was quelled as the tiny green creature began to rapidly descend, ricocheting between trunks with grasping paws. As it approached the girls more details came to light. Its head was abnormally large for its tiny body, which could undoubtedly fit in the palms of Hermione’s hands. And its eyes were abnormally large for its _head_ , giving it the doe-eyed caricature of a cartoon pet. But the most astounding detail of all was the tiny outfit it wore, comprised entirely of woven leaves. Like Mowgli.

Hermione blinked as the creature pounced onto the ground, long green tail curling like a question mark and flat nostrils sniffing at the air. Its yellow eyes flickered rapidly between them, pupils dilating as they focused upon Hermione. She swallowed heavily, shocked into stillness as Lavender stepped forward and extended the beetle.

The creature scampered back, releasing a distressed keen that pierced her through the heart. The longer she stared upon the animal the cuter it appeared. Or rather, the longer she spent in this strange place the further she descended into madness, for surely she had to be _completely_ out of her gourd to do what she did next.

Which was to step beside the blonde and hold her palm aloft, speaking words she never dreamed of uttering in her lifetime.

“Give me the beetle.”

Lavender blinked, glancing sideways. “ _Really_?”

Hermione nodded, never taking her gaze from the trembling ball of green fur huddled before them. Her friend shrugged and held out the insect. Hermione took a steadying breath, carefully gripping it along the back casing, copying her friend’s hold until she had it firmly in hand. And then she lowered to her haunches, leather boots groaning as she carefully lowered to her knees, smiling softly and extending her offering.

“Hello there. Are you hungry?”

The creature blinked twice, pupils expanding wide as it sniffed the air a second time, gaze flitting between the bug and Hermione in such rapid succession she was amazed it didn’t tip sideways.

“It’s alright, there’s no need to be frightened.”

Her heart swelled with victory as the animal slowly padded closer, long toes curling into the grass as it carefully approached. The insect sensed its rapidly encroaching doom, legs pedaling wildly as the leaves softly crunched under the animal's paws.

At last the tiny creature stood just before her, rising swiftly onto its hind legs to put itself eye-level with its meal. Hermione smiled as she took in its little loincloth and shoulder strap, wondering who took the time to sew the attire and wrangle the furry creature into it. And then she yelped as the beetle was snatched out of her grasp, his arm moving so quickly she barely registered the movement.

The monkey hopped back, biting off the beetle’s head in a single chomp and chewing loudly, cheeks swelling like a chipmunk as it held Hermione’s gaze.

“Well aren’t you a handsome fellow,” she cooed, hands curling at her sides to prevent from reaching forward. As adorable as the wide-eyed creature appeared in its leafy little outfit, she harbored no doubt it could still take a bite out of her and she fancied leaving Wonderland with all of her fingers attached.

Lavender shifted at her back. “Well, now that we’ve got _that_ out of the way, we should keep going.”

Hermione blinked, glancing over her shoulder. “Got what out of the way?”

Her friend smirked, eyes darting to the animal. “Go scout ahead, alert us to any unwanted visitors.”

Hermione reared back as the monkey pounced forward, hopping onto her lap and using it as a springboard to launch high into the trees, disappearing from sight in a flurry of motion. She continued to gape, sprawled across the jungle floor as Lavender laughed anew.

“He likes you,” the blonde winked, offering her hand.

Fast forward an hour and what felt like a lifetime of marching uphill, here they stood, submerged in the very heart of the jungle.

Lavender stepped back and started leading the way around a wide shimmering pool. They were beside the waterfall now, the sight even more splendid up close.

Hermione slowed to a halt as she gazed upon it, attention caught by the glinting gemstones embedded in the side of the cliff, sparkling bright and casting their multi-colored hues atop the water until it shimmered every color of the rainbow. Bubbles frothed along the surface, dense and foamy. But what drew her eye most of all were the bubbles floating high into the air, popping softly with a burst of color.

She blinked, stepping closer to the edge of the water and gazing down. “Is that… soap?”

“Hm?” Lavender gazed over her shoulder, slowing her trek. “Oh. No. It’s bubble water.” She changed direction, heading towards the fall. “And I’m almost out, thanks for reminding me.”

Hermione wiped the sweat from her brow, muscles throbbing with fatigue as she watched her friend extract a small flask from her skirt and kneel beside the lake to dip it under, filling the chamber and screwing the cap into place before rising swiftly.

“Here, you hang onto it,” Lavender said, holding out the container.

Hermione nodded gratefully, throat parched. “Thanks, I need some now.” She began to open it.

“No!” Lavender surged forward, hands raised. “Don’t drink it yet.”

Hermione blinked, freezing in place.

“We’ll come across a normal brook soon,” the blonde continued, settling back as though nothing were amiss. “Save that for when you need it.”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, gazing upon the flask with great apprehension.

And all at once, she came to a terrifying realization…

Her endless stores of logic were useless here. Her mind had always been her greatest asset, her most formidable weapon. But the laws of physics and nature didn’t seem to apply in Wonderland, leaving her utterly defenseless.

She sighed heavily, tucking the flask away and gazing at the endless stretch of trees ahead. “Remind me where we’re headed.”

“I told you, to get weapons.” Lavender began cutting a path around the water’s edge.

Hermione’s gaze narrowed as she trudged forward, heels sinking into the mud. “Weapons,” she deadpanned.

Lavender leaped gracefully over a moss-covered log. "I would've brought some to the Dollhouse but I can’t exactly carry an axe in my paws.”

Hermione tried to crawl over the same log, awkwardly straddling the bark as she struggled to gather her skirts and find her footing, barely able to process the bizarre sentence.

This was all madness. Complete and utter insanity. And most frightening of all, it was beginning to seem normal.

“And _why_ do we need weapons?” She prompted, standing free from the rotted trunk at last.

“The Dollmaker will send more of his arse-for-face minions. Anything to stop you from getting to the Castle.”

Hermione tripped over a shrub, catching herself against the side of a tree, clipping her shoulder. The pain was an afterthought, overruled by shock.

“He knows about Ariana?”

Lavender moved aside a hanging vine. “Of course.”

Hermione shook her head, pushing forward. “But he didn’t seem to…” she trailed off, not seeing the point in arguing the matter. “So, the Dollmaker controls Wonderland?” She asked instead, hoping to fill in the gaps herself.

"Not all of it," the blonde explained, sidestepping a patch of vibrant orchids. "The Castle belongs to Ari. It's a refuge to a lot of residents, myself included. She pulled me in as soon as I got here."

Hermione watched as a bright blue orchid closed upon an insect like a venus fly trap. The sight was unnerving, prompting her to give the flower wide berth.

“The jungle is neutral territory for the most part,” Lavender continued, seemingly at ease in the heart of the forest. “It’s too wild and dense for his followers to lay domain over. Most of the plants are sentient. Most are lethal as well.”

Hermione paled, staggering away from what appeared to be a cacao tree. Its pods were unsettling, the shells throbbing like individual heartbeats along the side of the trunk. “Please tell me you can identify the latter,” she croaked, jogging ahead to catch up to her friend’s long stride.

Lavender tossed her hair and laughed. “Don’t worry, they only attack in self-defense.”

Hermione released a sharp breath, picturing the massive thorned flower she spotted upon first breaching the jungle. “That’s hardly comforting. I’d like to know if the grass is going to stab me for treading on it.”

“You’ll be fine, Mione.” Lavender slowed her gait so they could walk side by side. “Just stick with me. And whatever you do, don’t eat _any_ of the mushrooms, no matter what they say.”

Hermione glanced sideways at her, mouth agape. “I’ll try to resist.”

Lavender winked. “Good girl. Come on, we gotta keep moving.” And then she lengthened her stride once more, effortlessly taking up the reins of navigator.

Hermione tilted her head, watching the girl traverse the wild landscape with effortless poise and skill. She’d never considered Lavender the outdoorsy type, though she supposed that was mostly based on rigid stereotyping on her part. Her former roommate had always taken care to style her hair and sweep rouge atop her cheeks and dab perfume along her wrists, so, therefore, she couldn't _possibly_ possess a rugged survival aptitude...

But the more Hermione reflected on the matter, the more the girl’s current proclivities made sense. Lavender had been crawling the walls of the Home from the very moment Hermine breached its stone walls. The blonde was always looking for a chance to break free, to explore the city with or without a male companion in tow. She introduced Hermione to all of the Home’s hidden escape routes, the only resident astute enough to memorize all of Filch’s inspection rounds and avoid detection nine times out of ten.

Perhaps she had always been a Jungle Princess, confined to a life that simply couldn't contain her.

The thought struck Hermione in the chest like an arrow. With how vibrant Lavender appeared before her, it was easy to forget the devastating fact that she was still very much dead.

A haunting image flitted before her eyes. Lavender’s corpse on the cold metal slab. Bloated and bruised. Her throat…

Hermione shook her head, forcing the memory back down into the murky depths of her mind. She took a steadying breath, forcing her gaze up and her thoughts back to the here and now.

“You said he doesn't control _all_ of Wonderland,” she prompted, watching her friend’s golden waves sway to and fro with every step. “That means parts of it belong to him.”

Lavender stepped over a row of spiky red heliconia, one of the pointed petals catching the hem of her dress and effortlessly slicing through the fabric.

“The City.”

Hermione jolted, forcing her eyes back up as she carefully avoided the wicked plant. “The City?”

“That’s what we call it. Mostly derelict buildings and ruins. It’s fallen apart during his reign.”

Hermione wet her lips, mouth barren as a desert even are her temples dripped with sweat. “And where is this City?”

“On the outskirts. Beneath the red sky.”

She rubbed her eyes. Well, that sounded inviting. "Alright. So we avoid the City at all costs."

“Actually, we’re heading there now.”

Hermione stopped in her tracks, eyes snapping wide. “ _What_?”

Her friend continued forward without missing a beat. “It’s the only place to get a decent weapon. Tree branches aren’t going to cut it.”

“Lavender, you _just_ said his evil minions will be hunting for us, why on _Earth_ would we go into their territory?”

The blonde slowed at last, spinning on her heel and causing her dirt-caked skirts to flutter around her. The tear in the fabric created a deep slit that revealed her tanned leg to mid-thigh. Hermione’s brows drew in as she caught sight of a black garter and something gleaming strapped beneath. But her attention was quickly pulled upward as the girl continued on, tone uncharacteristically stern.

“Because we’re sitting ducks out here. But more importantly, they _know_ where we’re headed. If we don’t encounter them in the jungle we’ll most definitely meet them at the hillside.”

“I don’t think–”

“Hermione.” Lavender stepped forward, placing a hand atop her shoulder. “I know what I’m doing. I haven’t been here long but I’ve been here longer than you. Please, trust me.” She held her gaze with brimming intensity, irises taking on their feline gleam. “We want to be armed when we come face to face with his creations.” Something about her phrasing made Hermione’s stomach tighten. “Trust me when I say their lack of sight does _nothing_ to slow them down.”

Hermione’s pulse quickened as she recalled her harrowing dash through the woods before seeking shelter in the Dollhouse.

“They can’t see at all?”

Lavender twirled a lock of golden hair around her finger before releasing it, the spiral bouncing once before falling flat to her side. “No. But they can hear. Everything. Which is why we need to keep moving.”

Hermione swallowed heavily and nodded, allowing the girl to resume their winding path through the endless maze of towering trees and terrifying plants.

After a few more minutes of traveling in relative silence, she heard the telltale pitter-patter of paws across fronds. She glanced up, catching sight of yellow eyes as their furry companion leaped from one tree to the next with blinding speed. His presence filled her with a strange sort of comfort, such a jarring contrast to the fear she felt upon first encountering him. Hermione wondered what other creatures dwelled within this unearthly rainforest, and how strange it was they had yet to encounter anything else beyond insects and birds.

Which inevitably led her thoughts to one memory in particular. The silence dissolved in a rush as her curiosity took unrelenting control of her mind. “At the Dollhouse you said I need to take cover when I hear the roar,” she began, watching in fascination as Lavender’s spine turned rigid. “Why?”

A heavy beat followed. The chatty girl’s sudden avoidance couldn’t possibly bode well.

“It means He’s nearby,” her friend spoke at last, tearing through a vine in her path with surprising strength.

Hermione trotted closer, only to get tangled in a neighboring vine. “But what causes that sound?” She struggled to duck beneath it. “An animal?” She huffed in annoyance as her hair got wrapped around it instead. “A wild beast?” Her eyes narrowed upon the dangling tendril, hands fumbling as she fought to break it in half.

Lavender came to her rescue, slicing through the plant with gleaming claws that quickly retracted.

“It’s a train.”

Hermione nearly toppled over. “A train?” She repeated slowly, as though learning a foreign word for the first time. She stood straighter, stepping over the shredded vine. “In the jungle?”

“The sooner you stop thinking of this place as Home the better off you’ll be, Mione.”

Hermione lifted her chin, preparing to argue the matter further, only to realize it was probably the best advice she’d ever been given in her entire life.

“Alright,” she relented. “But what–”

Her thoughts and steps slowed as they rounded a cluster of trees, a massive structure appearing before her eyes, the image staggering.

"Is that…" Her head tipped back, following the curving architecture and pointed towers to the very top, their roofs level with the forest canopy. "Westminster Abbey?" She concluded lowly, voice wispy with awe.

Lavender hummed, stopping beside her and twirling her hair again. “More or less.” A beat. “Mostly less.”

Hermione gazed at the familiar structure in voiceless wonderment, overwhelmed by the juxtaposition of the gothic design against the exotic backdrop. At last her thoughts calmed, the most simple question bobbing to the top. “What’s it doing out _here_?”

Lavender raised a pale brow, eyeing her with amusement. Hermione shook her head, drawing a hand through her hair and pushing the sweat dampened locks from her face. “I mean, shouldn't it be in the City?”

“Technically it _is_ in the City.” Lavender perched her hands on her hips, eyeing the church with a mix of emotions Hermione was unable to discern. “It’s a conduit; a shortcut between Territories. Like the Dollhouse. It’ll spit us out where we need to be.”

And then she set forward, gathering her torn skirts as she stepped onto the stone pathway leading to the front doors of the church. Hermione followed at her side, holding her breath as her friend held the barrier open, allowing her to enter first. She started to cross the threshold–

Only to stagger back with a gasp as a blur of green emerged from the trees above, dropping at her feet. She placed a hand to her chest, heart thrumming against her palm as she gazed down at their yellow-eyed companion. “Are you coming with us?” she asked, feeling like an idiot for talking to an animal. He gazed upon her with quirked brows as though she truly was an idiot and then darted between the gap in the doors, disappearing once more. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Lavender smirked, pulling the barrier wide and following at her heels as they submerged in the shadowed interior.

Hermione was braced for another round of madness. Something wild and extravagant, breathtakingly mesmerizing and terrifyingly abnormal. So when she gazed upon the layout her mind reeled. For everything appeared just as it should. From the staggering pillars and curved ceiling to the checkered tiles and endless pews, the Abbey was still… the Abbey.

And yet there _was_ an unnerving sight to behold, beyond the structure itself.

The church was filled with dozens of patrons. Men and women milling about, speaking softly to one another or sitting silently in prayer. She tilted her head, taken aback by their appearances. They were all dressed so radically different. Some sported modern suits and gowns while others adorned detailed period-costumes dating centuries back. But the most peculiar similarity they all possessed were faces.

“It’s alright. They aren’t His,” Lavender whispered at her side, causing Hermione to release a heavy sigh.

They edged further inside, slowly crossing the center aisle and gaining more than a few cursory glances along the way. “Who are they?” Hermione asked.

“Residents, trying to find refuge.”

Her hands tightened at her sides, sinister energy settling upon her skin, turning her stomach inside out. A truly disturbing notion began to take root within her mind, still too young to blossom through the surface of her awareness. “Are they… like you?”

Lavender shook her head, their footsteps echoing off the tile. “Some of them are alive on the outside. Some aren’t. This place is a catch-all for minds and spirits alike.”

Hermione’s eyes fell upon a young boy playing with toy logs in the corner. The monkey watched him as well, perched atop the back of a nearby pew. He waited for the boy to look away before darting forward and snatching a wooden spindle in his tail, dashing up one of the towering pillars to examine his stolen prize with gleaming eyes.

The little boy glanced up, scowling at the troublesome creature before his pale face lowered, gaze locking with Hermione’s. Something about his presence reminded her of Ariana, as though she were staring upon another ghostly apparition. But the child appeared solid, real. She forced her eyes to Lavender, dark tendrils seeping deeper and deeper into her psyche.

“So it’s not only a place for his victims?”

The blonde continued to gaze ahead, focused upon a door on the other side of the church situated behind a raised dais. “Wonderland has been around a lot longer than the Dollmaker.” She drummed her fingertips atop the marble as they rounded the structure. “It’s a bit over my head. Padma could probably tell you more.”

Hermione jolted, tripping over her own feet and listing into the side of the platform. “Padma? She’s here?”

Lavender met her gaze, expression unchanging. “She’s in the Library.”

Hermione surged forward, heart soaring with the word. “There’s a library?” She imagined the endless rows of books lining the dark tunnel that led her to this place. “What is she doing there?”

Lavender slowed, bracing her hands along the edge of the dais. “She works in Record Keeping.”

At this point, such a statement was practically commonplace, barely registering in Hermione's mind. "She's alright then?" she asked instead. The pause that followed was deafening. Hermione leaned in, enthusiasm rapidly waning. “Lavender. Tell me.”

Her friend’s amber gaze drifted up. “The Library is in the City.”

The simple declaration provided all the explanation Hermione needed. She stepped back, shoulders pulling wide as her fists clenched. “We have to get her out. We can take her to the Castle with us.”

Lavender sighed, crossing her arms. “I was told to bring you _straight_ to Ariana. Any non-related pit stops are a _strict_ violation of orders.”

Hermione blinked as Lavender continued to hold her gaze with unyielding austerity.

And then the blonde squealed, hands flying high as her hair as she bounced in place with a delighted grin. “Let’s do it!”

Hermione drew back with a laugh, followed by a deep flush as the surrounding patrons glanced upon the commotion with stern expressions. She offered a wave of apology before sidling closer to her friend. “I’ve missed you, Lav.”

The girl practically radiated spastic energy, teeth gleaming as she tossed her hair with dramatic flourish. “Just _wait_ until you see me swing an axe, luv.”

Hermione shook her head, face still etched with amusement. “What is this obsession you have with axes?”

“What can I say?” Lavender shrugged. “I’ve found my calling in the afterlife.”

Hermione paled, lightness dimming as stones sank to the pit of her stomach. All the haunting images she’d fought so hard to suppress came rushing back with crippling swiftness, overtaking her mind until the radiant girl before her was cast in grey and black hues, limbs waxen and throat slit. Hermione pressed a hand to her middle, fighting to regain her bearings. “Lavender, I–”

“It’s alright, Mione.” Lavender reached out, gripping both her arms and squeezing, seeming to sense the source of her sudden melancholy. “We can talk about my awesome poltergeist skills after we rescue the damsel and kill some _real_ ugly bastards.”

Hermione couldn't help but smirk, pain lessening. “Sounds like a fairytale come true.”

Lavender released her with another signature wink and hair toss before crossing the remaining tile to the back wall, stopping before an ornately carved door with red light emanating from beneath the gap. “Ready?” She asked, reaching for the iron handle.

Hermione inhaled slowly, deeply, holding the breath in her lungs until they pulsed with raw flame. “Always.”

Lavender nodded, opening the barrier and charging through without pause. Hermione lifted her skirts and followed suit, adrenaline surging.

Only to stagger to an immediate halt, instantly overcome by her surroundings, one simple thought able to surface before her mind went stunningly blank.

“Holy _shite_.”

* * *

Tom clenched and unclenched his hand, tongue pressing the roof of his mouth as his swollen knuckles screamed in protest, skin broken and bloodied. He gripped his wrist tight, thumb tracing the narrow scrap of satin wrapping his palm.

He'd managed to round the corner outside of Grimmauld's busted gates before the Red overtook his vision. Heat surged through his veins like molten steel, the urge to inflict pain and damage overwhelming his senses. He’d been perfectly content to unleash both dark compulsions upon himself, promptly punching a hole through a fence post stationed along the roadside. He’d flagged down the carriage once the bleeding had slowed and his blistering temper was once more contained.

He didn’t remember taking the ribbon from his pocket, wrapping it around his hand. But alas, there it was, cutting into his circulation with every heavy throb of his pulse.

He’d since mopped up the blood and inspected the injury as a means of distraction, knowing full well nothing was broken. But his mind was once more submerged in swirling shadows before the horses even pulled onto the main thoroughfare.

He wet his lips, eyes gleaming as he flexed his hand again, studying his blood-caked palm.

 _Hermione_.

His knuckles cracked loudly as he curled his fist, ribbon cutting deeper into his flesh, threatening to snap the fabric.

_What were you thinking?_

He loosened his grip, unwilling to destroy the narrow length of satin, this last tangible piece of her.

His pulse skipped with the notion.

He would find her. Of _that_ , there was no question. No possible doubt. And when he did, he was going to strangle her.

He closed his eyes, picturing it in stunning clarity. His broken and bloodied hands wrapping around her pale and slender throat, squeezing until her eyes teared and her lips parted and her nails clawed…

He surged forward, driving his battered fist into the wall of the carriage with a feral growl, smearing red across the velvet upholstery.

Alright. Perhaps his anger wasn’t as contained as he first thought.

Because he would strangle her alright. As soon as he had her within his grasps. As soon as he could feel her between his hands, warm and breathing and _alive_.

The Dollmaker wouldn’t take anything else from him. The Monster wouldn’t get the upper hand. Not again. Not with her. _No_. He _wouldn’t_ win this battle. This was Tom’s victory. And it was so close he could fucking _taste_ it.

But Hermione threatened to ruin it all with this little stunt, this self-sacrificing insanity, single-handedly turning his carefully measured plan inside out yet again.

 _Don’t you dare blame her. This is_ your _fault._ You _pulled her into this._

He had been weak, succumbed to his desires like a pathetic schoolboy, and now countless more would suffer for it. And suffer they would. Because he was _going_ to get her back. No matter the cost. No matter the collateral damage. Even if it meant abandoning the other girls to the Dollmaker's clutches. Hermione could riot against him all she wanted, beat his chest and call him a heartless bastard, a hypocrite and a heathen. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except finding her and killing the Dollmaker.

He just hoped neither was mutually exclusive.

His eyes flashed red, a film of blood overtaking his vision for a second time. He forced his head back onto the seat, taking regulated breaths to rein in his bloodlust. He’d depleted every last ounce of self-control at the mansion, needing to continue playing the part for the frustratingly astute Commissioner. But now, free from the prying eyes of the law, there was no hope for it. It had been many years since he’d suffered such a devastating loss of control. He’d sworn to never again succumb to his dark impulses, gone to _great_ lengths to ensure it would be so… and it was all crumbling to ashes before him.

_Breathe. Just breathe._

He needed to harness his rage, save it. Going on a homicidal rampage in the street wouldn’t bring her or the Dollmaker any closer. If Tom stood any chance of finding them he needed to keep a level head. There was a time and place for everything, and now was a time for strategy.

 _Think_.

Hermione was clever. Terribly so. Her mind led her to danger’s door as often as her heart.

_She went to Him for a reason._

_She figured something out… something I missed._

That had to be it. _Had_ to. She went to the Devil with a plan in mind. Something she felt the need to harbor alone.

Something worth risking her life for.

_“I’ve broken promises before. Promises I never intended to keep and shouldn’t have made in the first place.”_

His heart seized, thudding hard and painful against his ribcage.

_“But this is a promise I’ll die to keep.”_

He sat straight, glancing forward.

_“We have to find a cure, Tom. For Padma, for Dawn, for all of them.”_

The pieces were all there, waiting to be snapped into place, but he couldn't see the overarching picture.

All he saw was Red, gleaming bright, glinting in the sun…

 _Stop_.

He released a sharp breath through his nose and carded both hands through his hair, palms pressing his skull as his brain tumbled in lazy circles, spent and useless. His previous night’s rest was depleted, exhaustion heavy upon his limbs, making them as sluggish as his thoughts.

And then the carriage slowed to a stop and his mind went blessedly dark. He leaped out and paid the driver, movements automatic, emotion rising to the surface only when he turned to face the home that haunted his dreams and waking nightmares since his troubled youth. The place he had come to know as Sanctuary and Prison in equal measure, the man within becoming his Savior and Jailor and a source of endless vexation.

And now Tom was finally going to kill him.

He took the steps two at a time, banging a fist against the door without pause, blood smearing the glossy white paint, her ribbon wrapping the torn and bruised appendage tight. Tom fixated upon the sight, vibrating out of his skin, simmering rage barely tamped.

The door opened.

He surged forward, thoughts grinding to a halt as he looked upon the bastard at long last. Tom blinked, realizing he’d crossed the entry and thrown the elderly man against the opposite wall without registering his own movements. He continued to clutch the finely crafted jacket by the handfuls, smoke billowing from his lips as he bared his teeth, beyond speech. They stood at eye level. Tom was no longer forced to look up to the man. In any sense of the word.

Dumbledore held his gaze with aneurysm-inducing calm, brow flat and heavy as he made no attempt to dispel Tom’s grip. Several moments passed in oppressive silence. And then Dumbledore spoke, tension mounting higher.

“Words cannot convey–”

“Cut the sanctimonious _bullshite_ ,” Tom seethed, leaning in close to hiss into his face. “You had one responsibility. _One_.” His knuckles turned white against the Admiral’s jacket, the same attire from the day before. “Keep the girls here. And within mere _hours_ you’ve cast them both to the wolves.”

“Tom–”

“How is it the Queen herself has entrusted you with overseeing three dozen war vessels but you can’t keep two young women underfoot? One of which is as docile as a fucking kitten!”

Dumbledore lifted his chin, eyes flickering with their signature gleam. “Because the _other_ young woman you brought to my door has the constitution of four dozen war vessels, as you well know.”

Tom released him and took a wide step back, face twisted with ire. “You were out-maneuvered by a nineteen-year-old?”

“I was predisposed with saving the life of another young woman.”

Tom scoffed, pacing away to prevent himself from lunging forward again. “ _That’s_ your grand excuse?”

“I don’t make excuses, Tom.” The Senior Officer straightened his collar. “I find solutions. I made a grave error in leaving Ms. Granger unattended. I take full responsibility for her disappearance and would now like to help rectify that mistake.”

Tom drew to a halt, bitter laughter erupting beyond his control. “Yes, of course you would.” His expression turned lethal. “But I don’t want your help. I never have. It was I who made the grave error. In coming here. In thinking I could _actually_ depend on you to–” He shook his head, thoughts stuttering alongside his pulse. "I was such a bloody fool. I should have never brought them to you." He carded a hand through his hair, eyes flickering across the wood grain. "This is my doing."

“Tom–”

“Stop saying my name!”

Dumbledore raised his palms, slowly stepping away from the wall with a measured pace, poised as though approaching a wild animal. “Alright. Dr. Riddle. Please, allow me to help–”

“I’m _done_ with your help!” Tom shouted, the ribbon biting into his flesh as he balled his fists. Emotion nipped at his resolve, turning him into an aggrieved teenager once more, engaged in a rudimentary screaming match as his guardian caught him trying to run away into the dark night yet again. “I’m done with you.”

“Then why did you come here? To look me in the eye and tell me one last time how much you hate me? What an utter failure I’ve been to you?” Dumbledore lowered his hands. “I already know these things, Tom, I assure you. And I’d give anything to go back and fix the past. _Anything_. But alas, I am stuck upon this mortal coil the same as you, trying my utmost to learn from past mistakes and forge ahead upon a better path, a _right_ path.” His eyes gleamed with eerie brightness, holding Tom still in their trance. “But I see now just how subjective such terms are. And at long last, I've accepted that our paths are not the same. Nor will they ever be.” He inhaled slowly. “And it was wrong of me to attempt to drag you onto mine. I am sorry.”

Tom swallowed thickly, stepping back. “I don’t want your apology.”

His former guardian and benefactor was undeterred. “You have it anyway. I am sorry, Tom. For not looking after her more closely. For not being there when she needed me the most. When _you_ needed me the most.”

Tom paled, staggering back and knocking into a decorative table centered in the entry, rocking a ship figurine onto its side. “This isn’t about her.”

Dumbledore tilted his head, stopping his advance. “It’s always been about her. And it always will be for you. And me. The dead haunt us always, mind and soul.” He set his jaw, eyes hardening to diamond points. “But I will _not_ be responsible for another young woman’s demise. Please, allow me to help.”

Tom raised his chin, grasping the reins of his anger and resentment once more, feeling a dark comfort embrace him as he steeped in the toxic mixture. “Keep your men posted outside Dawn’s room.” He presented his back, striding for the door. “I’ll deal with the rest. Same as always.”

He reached for the handle, pulling the barrier wide.

“She went to him willingly, Tom.”

He paused with one foot hovering over the threshold. Dumbledore continued on, unabated. “My home showed no sign of break-in or altercation. She sent me away so she could go to him.”

A beat. Tom’s spine straightened, hands bracing the door and frame. “I know.” He glanced over his shoulder, eyes reflecting the evening sun in a hellish blaze. “And if he harms her, I _will_ kill you.”

Dumbledore held his unwavering stare for several seconds more before nodding. “I know.”

Tom pushed away from the frame and proceeded forward, exiting the home amidst the same raging storm he arrived with.

* * *

Hermione staggered across the cobblestone, knees quaking beneath the sight of the sinister red sky. Crimson clouds churned before twin stars, fiery orbs ascended over Hell. Her gaze tracked lower, taking in the City beneath.

London.

Parts of it, at least.

The buildings lining the road stood derelict, abandoned, windows busted and boarded over, rooftops darkened by ash and caved by neglect. The skyline ahead was in tatters, smoke billowing high from several spots, tinging the air in a toxic haze.

Their furry companion darted ahead, tail grazing the side of a rusted tin can, sending it rolling along the curb. His green body stood in stark contrast against the gray background, everything covered by a thick layer of soot. The street itself appeared empty, but a distant thump sounded from an indiscernible location, prompting Lavender to grab Hermione’s hand and pull her into a narrow alley across from the Church.

“Alright,” the blonde whispered, leaning in. “We’re heading to the Armory, we can find plenty of toys there.”

Hermione nodded, careful to avoid the crumbling brick at her back. “What about Padma?”

“The Library sits in the same building, we’ll swing by after.”

Hermione harbored a sneaking suspicion they applied grossly different meanings to the term _swing by_. “Okay. How do we get to the Armory?”

“Follow me.” Lavender stepped forward, glancing in either direction down the darkened street. “Stick to the shadows. I’d like to delay the inevitable for as long as possible.”

Hermione swallowed, twisting handfuls of her skirt. “Lav… the faceless soldiers are fast and strong, I don’t think I stand a chance at overpowering them.”

Her friend leaned back into the alley, turning to face her with a stern expression. “The Dollmaker underestimated you, Mione. Don’t give him the satisfaction of doing the same.”

The words inspired a surge of confidence. Hermione drew her shoulders back, nodding once more. “Let’s go.”

Lavender led the way around the corner and into the adjoining alley. They continued to weave their way through the abandoned streets and darkened crevices with bated breath, spotting a faceless resident at long last. The man was shoveling coal into the back of a wagon, sweat heavy on his browless visage. They ducked behind a dumpster, monkey huddled between them, silently communicating a route around the man without detection.

They crept along the sidewalk on tiptoes, mindful of every step, every piece of debris obstructing their path and pausing whenever he tensed or glanced up, as though able to hear their very heartbeats. But they made it to the end of the street without accident or injury, continuing their slow and steady journey through the remnants of London for another several minutes before rounding the corner onto the main thoroughfare, only to turn rigid with shock, rocking back on their heels.

“Shite,” Lavender hissed, grabbing Hermione’s arm and pulling her behind a fallen Apothecary sign. They peaked around the chipped brick, watching faceless men and women move along the bustling street.

“We can’t get through that many,” Hermione whispered, pulse thrumming.

Lavender set her jaw, gaze narrowing as she glanced around, eyes casting upward, glinting amber. A slow smile spread across her face, deeply disconcerting. “Then we go _over_ them.”

Hermione followed her friend’s stare, hands clenching at her sides as she spotted the recipient of the girl’s unwavering focus.

Disconcerting indeed.

They scaled the rickety fire escape in a slow procession, Lavender leading the way and Hermione closing out the rear, the monkey effortless prancing from rung to rung between them. Halfway up Hermione paused for breath, clinging to the metal bars with all her strength, limbs trembling as she gazed at the twenty-foot drop beneath her. She hated heights.

Lavender stepped free of the last bar and swung atop the roof with feline grace, disappearing from sight. Their green companion leaped over the edge by his tail, yellow eyes peeking over the wall a moment later, continuing to watch Hermione’s slow progression as his tail twitched anxiously. His concern touched her heart, further proof her mind was rapidly slipping into insanity, and fueled her with enough motivation to power through the second half of her climb.

She scrambled over the last rung and onto the roof a few moments later, smiling down with a sigh of relief. “I’m alright.”

He circled her feet and then dashed after Lavender. The girl stood at the other end of the roof, inspecting the neighboring building. It sat at equal height, the gap between walls a few meters across. Hermione started towards her, only to stagger to a halt as the blonde leaped off the edge, transforming into a cat mid-air and landing atop the neighboring roof in a deft pounce.

“Lav!” Hermione hissed, scowling as the cat became a woman once more. “I can’t do that!”

Lavender straightened her skirts, glancing up. “Drink the bubble water.”

Hermione blinked. “What?”

“Trust me.” The blonde paced to the edge of the roof, glancing over the side at the crowded street below. “Hurry!” She whispered, eyes gleaming.

Hermione arched a brow and did as bade, withdrawing the flask from her pocket and unscrewing the cap. She took a steadying breath before filling her mouth with a tentative sip, the water cool and refreshing against her tongue. She swallowed it quickly, desperate for more, but resisted the urge, quickly twisting the cap back on and tucking the bottle into place.

Nothing happened.

Hermione glanced to Lavender, preparing to speak, but became distracted as her ears popped. She swallowed, flexing her jaw, and then gasped as her center of gravity shifted, body tipping sideways— But impact with the rooftop never came.

Instead, she began to levitate.

Her feet dangled beneath her swaying legs as she slowly rose, limbs feeling strange, weightless, as if her very bones were hollowed out. Hermione blinked, mouth agape.

And then panicked, clawing at the open air, desperate to find purchase against something, anything. Alas, she continued to rise higher and higher, rapidly gaining momentum in her upward ascent.

“Bollocks!” Lavender cursed, watching Hermione have a mental breakdown fifty feet above the earth. “Swim towards me!”

The instruction was bizarre enough to penetrate the thick fog of hysteria encasing Hermione’s mind. She fought to regain control of her mounting hysteria, reining in the terror enough to remember the movements Harry had taught her a lifetime ago. She began imitating the underwater strokes, pushing against the air current and directing her body forward, across the alley.

Meanwhile, Lavender doubled over with muffled laughter, eyes tearing at the corners. Hermione scowled, hovering above the correct roof at last.

“This _isn't_ funny!”

“I beg to differ.” The blonde leaped up, grabbing hold of her ankle. The monkey did the same, latching onto her skirts as they pulled her down to the surface. The wave of vertigo dissipated the moment her heels made contact with the brink. She swayed in place, rounding on her still-laughing companion with a huff.

“You could have warned me!”

“Shh!” Lavender hissed, all trace of amusement gone as the air pressure turned dense, the street below falling eerily silent. “Get down!” she gasped, pulling Hermione low.

They crawled to the edge of the roof and peered over the edge, watching faceless men and women of all shapes and sizes scurry in every direction as the ground beneath them shook. The building they were perched upon trembled, jagged rock cutting into Hermione’s palms as she braced herself for a stampede.

And then a familiar scream tore through the air, shrill and inhuman. But she no longer mistook it for an animal. Now she recognized it for what it truly was.

A steam whistle.

She clamped a hand to her mouth as a massive black train barrelled through the stone wall of a bank, chunks of rock exploding outward as dust rose high into the air, pedestrians running for the lives, many crushed by falling debris.

The Train raced across the streets in a diagonal line, tearing through any and everything in its path and leaving a trail of wreckage and gore in its wake. Red flames filled every window of the locomotive, black smoke billowing out in large clouds, marking its journey through the City.

And then it rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, leaving behind copious amounts of smoke, destruction and terror. The Train was a deeply sinister sight to behold. Its lapping flames reminded Hermione of the Fire that stole her life away, a cruel taunt meant for her alone. Lavender squeezed her shoulder, drawing her focus back to the rooftop.

“We’re almost there,” she whispered, pointing to a massive building across the way.

Hermione squinted, the black smoke slowly dissipating to reveal the sprawling structure ahead. Her heart skipped, mind reeling anew.

“Parliament?” She glanced sideways, eyes going wide. “We’re heading to _Parliament_?”

“You’ve heard of it?”

Hermione blinked, and then smirked, unease cracking down the center. “Hilarious.”

“That’s what they tell me. Come on.”

They scaled down the fire escape, hovering in the trash-filled alley as Lavender inspected the destruction beyond. Despite the wreckage and bodies littering the cobblestone, the faceless men and women continued to stroll about business as usual, casually side-stepping rubble and corpses.

“We need to get you a disguise,” the blonde stated without preamble.

Hermione’s brows creased, gaze lifting from the deep rivets in the cement marking the path of the Train. “Why? I thought they couldn’t see?”

Lavender sighed. “ _They_ can't, but there are other things to worry about inside."

Hermione pushed her hair from her face, dread sinking to the pit of her stomach. “Fantastic.” She edged closer to the mouth of the alley, studying the men pacing along the steps of Parliament. They were adorned in customary robes and wigs, carrying briefcases and gesturing to each other as though holding a conversation. Yet the only sound they made was the tread of their boots and the swishing of fabric. “Are they…” She shook her head. In all this madness, her curiosity seemed a moot point. “Nevermind.”

Lavender turned in place, bending over and snapping upright, flipping her golden tresses in an impressive flourish. And then she placed her hands beneath her bosom, pushing her cleavage higher. Hermione blinked, opening her mouth but unable to articulate the proper question.

The blonde shrugged. “Habit.”

Hermione nodded as though that made perfect sense. And then a memory struck. All the times she’d seen the girl perform the same maneuver before sneaking out of their room to meet Cormac. The image inspired dark revulsion, realization setting in. She didn’t bother asking what the girl intended, and her friend didn’t offer up an explanation. Instead she merely glanced over her shoulder, imparting one last sentiment before disappearing around the corner.

“I’ll be back.”

Hermione pressed against the brick, inhaling leftover smoke. Her gaze lifted to the red sky, twin suns lost to the rolling clouds. And then something brushed against the side of her boot, drawing her focus down. Yellow eyes blinked. She bit her lip, too nervous to smile.

“Go to the roof, keep an eye on her for me.”

He took off in a shot of green, silently scaling the drainpipe. Several minutes passed before Hermione heard the steady tread of footfalls pacing towards the entrance of the alley. She drew back, frantically searching for a weapon, spotting only trash and debris. She ducked behind the dumpster, bracing her hands against the metal as her heartbeat raced along her limbs, trapped behind her knees. But soon after she saw the familiar flash of golden blonde and her pulse settled.

Only to hammer against her ribcage as a faceless man appeared at her friend’s back, dressed in dark robes and a powdered wig. He held Lavender’s hand, allowing her to lead him into the alley. But his passive countenance soon changed as the shadows encased them.

He grasped her by the waist and threw her into the wall, pressing his body along her front as she gasped. Hermione started to rise, meeting her gaze over his shoulder. The blonde shook her head, holding up a staying hand as he grinded against her skirts, nuzzling her neck as though kissing it. Lavender keened in feigned pleasure, writhing in place, holding Hermione’s bewildered stare for another stuttered beat before winking and kneeing him in the groin.

He staggered back, hunched over and grasping between his thighs. Lavender punched him in the jaw, driving him into the opposite wall and knocking his wig loose. She sprang forward with feline grace, grabbing his head and driving her knee into it, sending him sprawling onto his back. She transformed into a cat, landing atop his chest and scratching at his face with gleaming claws, drawing forth a patchwork of blood.

But he soon regained his bearings, grabbing her orange fur by the handful and wrenching her claws free of his robes, throwing her across the alley with his sizable strength. She hit the side of the dumpster with a bang, rolling deftly to her feet and sprinting after him once more, aiming for his throat. Their green companion leaped down from the roof, landing atop the man’s bald head and clamoring for purchase, paws clinging to the empty spot where his mouth should be.

Hermione sprang to her feet, gripping the edge of the dumpster and peering inside, eyes frantic. She dug through mounds of useless garbage, tossing aside food containers and rotten newspapers, desperate for anything solid or sharp. And then her fingers grazed a wooden plank, warped and splitting down the middle, bearing two bent nails at one end. She pulled the weapon free, struggling beneath its weight as she raced along the alley.

The faceless man spun in circles, both animals hanging onto his head and robes for dear life. He managed to grab hold of a green tail, throwing the creature into the wall where it fell in a motionless heap. Hermione released a feral snarl and swung the plank with all her strength, cracking the man across the back of the knees, heart jolting at the sound of rusted nails puncturing his thigh.

He dropped like a ton of bricks, head tipping back as though releasing a blood-curdling scream to the smoke-filled sky. But he regained his senses with disheartening speed once again, grabbing the plank and ripping it free from his flesh, tossing it aside and grabbing Hermione's skirt in the same movement. He ripped her forward, knocking her off balance and onto the ground before him.

Lavender transformed into a human, her weight tipping him back as she straddled his chest and reached for the discarded wood, gripping it with both hands and driving the blunt edge into his skull. He thrashed as though in the midst of a seizure. She struck him again, and again, and again, until Hermione heard the deafening crunch of a skull cracking and the wet squelch of brains seeping out.

She shuddered, pushing upright on the damp pavement as the blonde tossed the bloodied plank aside, panting heavily. Hermione rose slowly, edging closer, careful to avoid looking directly upon the gruesome mess.

“Lavender.”

The girl sprang to her feet, movements so fast and fluid Hermione stumbled back to avoid a collision. And then she remembered their third companion, spinning on her heel— but the brick wall sat empty.

“Where…”

Hermione shrieked as something landed atop her shoulder from the rooftop above. She covered her mouth to muffle the sound, eyes wide as she gazed at the small creature on her shoulder, yellow eyes bright and clear. She released a delighted laugh, petting his head without hesitation. He leaned into her touch like a cat. The notion drew her attention back to Lavender. The girl was casually stripping the mangled body of its outer robes, appearing entirely unphased by the harrowing events of the last few minutes.

“Lav… are you alright?”

The blonde nodded, stepping over the body to extract an arm from its sleeve. “Never better. Grab the wig, would you?”

Hermione paced closer, stroking the animal’s paw as his long tail coiled around her neck. “Are you sure you’re not hurt? He threw you hard.”

“Cats are mostly water. I’m fine.” Lavender pulled the robe out from beneath his dead weight, shaking it free of debris. “The wig.”

Hermione nodded, leaning down to pick it up, knocking soot and pebbles from the tousled ringlets while the monkey leaped onto the edge of the dumpster, watching them work. Hermione bit her lip, glancing to her friend once more. “Was he really trying to have sex with you?”

Lavender arched a brow, folding the robe over her arm. “He certainly wasn't trying to sell me an encyclopedia set.”

Hermione’s jaw slowly unhinged, the words coming to her in pieces. “But... he doesn’t… have a face.”

Her friend smirked, stepping over the body to stand before her. “Still a virgin I take it?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, clutching the wig tight. “You know what I mean. He doesn’t have a bloody _nose_ , why on earth would he have a… a…” She felt her cheeks and neck heat. “It’s ridiculous.”

“I don’t disagree. But considering he was designed by a _man_ , I’m also not surprised.”

Hermione tilted her head. “Good point.” She accepted the robes Lavender held aloft. “Thanks.” She began pulling them over her dress, shaking the sleeves loose. “Do you need one?”

Lavender gazed up from her task of dragging the corpse behind the dumpster. “No,” she grunted, fighting to maintain her hold on his ankles. “I’ll be wearing fur.”

Hermione nodded. “Right.” She tucked her hair into the back of the robe and placed the wig over top, doing her best to straighten it without the benefit of a mirror. “How do I look?”

Lavender dropped his legs with a huff, unfolding to her full height and smirking. “Like an uptight knob. You’ll fit right in.”

Hermione smiled, rolling up the cuffs so she could free her hands. “Mission accomplished.” She turned to face the mouth of the alley but couldn’t convince her feet to proceed.

“Mione.”

She bit her lip, glancing over her shoulder. Lavender paced in front of the dumpster, watching her with steady intensity. “Remember, you’re heading in the front door because you belong there. Walk with confidence. They’ll hear the fear in your footsteps otherwise.” Her eyes lightened to burnt gold. “And most importantly, _don’t_ speak.”

Hermione swallowed heavily, spine pulling taut and shoulders drawing back, nodding once before proceeding out of the alley and onto the war-torn street. Lavender trotted alongside in feline form, tail swishing against Hermione’s skirts with every step, a comforting gesture she suspected was intentional. Their green companion ran ahead, darting around legs with agile speed until he was swallowed by the crowd, disappearing from sight.

Hermione focused on placing one foot in front of the other, heart beating through her chest, the surge of her blood deafening. As she carefully side-stepped broken bodies she was certain the milling pedestrians could hear her pulse. More than one head turned in her direction. The urge to run became overwhelming. But she managed to somehow keep her pace steady, mimicking Lavender’s calm pace at her side.

Her vision swam as they crossed the remaining stretch of road, stepping onto the pavement in front of the steps of Parliament. She pulled her robes higher, mindful of every movement, every click of her heel, halfway up when a surge of adrenaline seized her.

_Fucking hell. I’m actually doing this…_

But her newfound confidence soon wavered as a faceless man in uniform opened the door for her, tipping his head in deference. Her hands clenched at her sides, tongue pressing the roof of her mouth as the automatic urge to offer gratitude hovered in her throat. She stared pointedly ahead, crossing the threshold with measured steps and steady breath. Lavender weaved a path around her legs, trotting across the tiles while Hermione gaped at the staggering architecture within. She’d never set foot inside the institution before, if she could even consider this a true visitation, and Draco’s descriptions of the famed building certainly didn’t do it any justice.

The domed entry hall was massive, red light spilling in from the tall windows lining the side walls, illuminating everything in a hellish glow. The lobby was filled with dozens of men in varying states of legal garb, the room itself containing a surprising amount of noise considering its occupants couldn't speak. But every minute movement echoed tenfold off the high ceiling, creating a chorus of sound that enveloped her whole.

Lavender led a path through the center of the room towards a wide corridor when a strange flapping caught Hermione’s attention, drawing her gaze upward. She blinked, steps faltering at the flash of vibrant color darting from one rafter to the next. It took her eyes a moment to adjust and her mind to process, lips parting in silent shock.

Parrots.

And then, as if on cue, they released high and maniacal laughter, so reminiscent of a human it sent chills along her spine. They flew in lazy circles, black eyes tracking across the floor below, as though searching for something. She gazed forward, concealing her face and quickening her step.

A sharp sigh of relief escaped her as they entered the hallway, free from the colorful birds’ watchful gazes. Lavender navigated her along a winding journey deep into the heart of the wasp's nest. The crowd slowly thinned until at last, the corridors ran empty, the tension easing in her shoulders and neck. They turned the corner once more, entering a hallway that led to a single door.

Lavender shifted back to human form, spinning in tight circles with a tinkling laugh, twirling her skirt and revealing a flash of black garter before the torn fabric settled around her legs. She skipped the rest of the way down the corridor, imparting a cheeky grin over her shoulder.

“See? Easy peasy.”

Hermione wet her lips, focusing on not blacking out. “I never doubted you for a moment. You’re sure this is it?”

“That sounded suspiciously like a moment of doubt.” The blonde stopped before the door, folding her hands behind her back and falling uncharacteristically still.

Hermione moved beside her. “Problem?”

“Locked.”

Hermione blinked, edging closer to the barrier. “How do you know?”

“Me and locked doors go way back. Try it if you don’t believe me.”

Hermione did just that. The knob refused to budge. Lavender smirked, quirking a brow.

“I believed you.” Hermione glared without malice. “I just like to be thorough.”

Lavender laughed once more. “Trust me, _I know_. I still have flashbacks to the time you organized my wardrobe according to fabric density.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, ignoring the quip and preparing to ask what the hell they were supposed to do now, only to gasp as a flash of movement bound down the hallway, sending her reeling into the wall.

The monkey stopped before the door, glancing between them. Hermione gaped, stepping forward. “How did–”

“Move back, let him work,” Lavender instructed.

Hermione stepped away, blinking rapidly as the creature burst into an explosion of vibrant green leaves, each one softly floating to the stone floor and sliding towards the door, piling along the bottom seam and sliding one by one beneath the narrow gap.

“Bloody hell,” she whispered, glancing up at Lavender. A soft thump sounded behind the barrier, followed by clanking metal and a loud click. Hermione and Lavender shared a smile before bounding forward, pushing the door wide.

Hermione stopped at the threshold, heart thrumming as her knees locked in place. Lavender sighed, grabbing her hand and hauling her forward, closing the door at their backs. The monkey did a little flip of celebration before taking off down the center aisle, but Hermione paid him no mind, distracted by the endless rows of hanging rifles.

Her head swiveled from side to side, overwhelmed by the sight. Surely there were enough firearms on display to stock the entire English Navy and then some.

“I know, it’s a sight, huh?” Lavender spoke from behind her, pacing forward with her hands on her hips, visage cast half in darkness and half in flickering light. The room bore no windows, illuminated only by sconces along the walls, their dancing flame creating hypnotic patterns along the stone walls. “I can’t abide guns, personally, but feel free to take one if you like.”

Hermione slowly shuffled forward, tearing the cumbersome wig from her head and dropping it at her feet. “I can’t abide them either.”

Her companion nodded. “I didn’t think so.” And then glanced back, eyes gleaming. “You prefer knives.”

Hermione’s blood ran cold at the knowing smirk that curved her friend’s lips. “That wasn’t…” She swallowed lightly, shifting awkwardly. “It was all I had at the time.”

Lavender began to skip along the aisle, golden hair swaying side to side. "You made good use of it," she called back and then beckoned Hermione forward with a wave. "Come on, there's something here I think you'll like."

Somehow Hermione really doubted that. But she followed without argument, pulse skipping in time to their clicking heels, row after row of firearms filling her peripheral until she was lost in a sea of gleaming metal and glossy walnut grips. The long-range weapons eventually gave way to cases of revolvers and finally, and perhaps most alarmingly, sealed barrels of gunpowder. She caught flashes of green in between gaps in the shelves, flame reflecting off yellow eyes.

Lavender stopped at last, revealing an impressive display of glinting blades of all shapes and sizes. Cleavers and sickles, daggers and paring knives, curved and serrated metal, a treasure trove of death. Hermione's mouth ran dry, this selection somehow far more unsettling than the hundreds of firearms at their backs.

Lavender led her further down, their destination made clear as a faint pulse of blue emitted from a spot on the wall, a shining beacon in the darkness. Hermione edged closer, fingers twitching, already anticipating what was to come. Her breath hitched as the blonde stood aside, revealing the weapon at last.

A gleaming butcher knife.

The shape was the same, the handle unchanged, but the blade appeared different. Etched in flowers and leaves, swirling patterns and fluttering dragonflies. Beautiful. Ethereal. A bead of blue light rolled along the razor-sharp edge, reminding Hermione just how lethal pretty things were.

She stepped forward, gripping the handle with confidence, smiling at the feel of it in her palm. The wooden base molded perfectly to her touch, nearly weightless. “Hello, old friend,” she whispered. The knife pulsed bright, a tremor of energy racing along her arm as a phantom breeze blew past, charged air swirling all around, tugging the hem of her skirt and lifting the ends of her hair, the sudden rush dissipating with the next breath.

And then Lavender’s delighted laughter drew her gaze forward. “I’ll let you two get reacquainted.” She winked before spinning on her heel and skipping to the adjoining wall, adorned in an impressive selection of hatchets and battle axes. The blonde tapped a fingertip against her chin, eyes narrowed. “Hm…” She reached forward, grabbing a large silver axe from its holder and twirling it with impressive skill. The lethal tip whistled through the air, blowing strands of her hair back. “Too heavy,” she concluded with a mournful sigh, setting it back into place.

She took up a smaller axe next, blade painted red, swinging a figure eight in quick circles before shaking her head. “Too light.” She snapped it back into place and progressed further, fingertips skimming a few more options before coming to a stop, smile cracking wide. She lifted the third axe off the wall, solid gold from base to glinting tip, gripping it in both hands and testing its weight. Her eyes flashed brightly. "Just right," she sighed with content, shoulders going lax. And then her gaze darted up, sparkling with mischief. "Now for the fun stuff."

She rested the golden handle against the front of her shoulder and skipped past, rounding the corner in a flourish of fluttering hair and skirts. Hermione followed along tentatively, gripping her own blade tight, energy continuing to pulse along her limb. Their third companion appeared at last, trotting behind Hermione's heels, eyes fastened to the glinting knife at her side. Then she rounded the same corner and came to an abrupt halt, transfixed by the glittering row of glass cases lining the wall.

She tilted her head, slowly stepping forward to study the strange assortment of items within, each hovering above their velvet cushions and emitting a faint glow. A china teapot, a rabbit clock, a wooden pepper grinder, a painted umbrella, a croquet mallet...

She stopped beside Lavender, gazing at the item that held her friend’s undivided attention.

A deck of cards, pulsing violet.

Before Hermione could think to ask what the object was the blonde gripped the handle of her axe and drove the hilt into the center of the glass, shattering it in a single blow. She reached into the case and grabbed the deck, tossing the sealed stack through the air to Hermione.

Hermione gasped, leaping forward and fumbling to catch it with her free hand, barely gripping the edge before the pile clattered to the floor.

“Lavender!”

“Relax, Mione. They’re cards, not a bomb.” The blonde pointed her axe to a case several feet away. “The rabbit’s a bomb.”

Hermione blinked.

Lavender continued on to the next case, shattering the glass with another swing, glittering shards raining down and covering the floor in a shimmering carpet. She reached in and grabbed a pair of glowing green dice from mid-air.

Hermione crunched over the fallen debris, cringing as the blonde smashed through a third case, picking up a hammer pulsing with orange light. And then Lavender moved onto a fifth case, breaking it with another graceful swing. But this time she made no move for the item hovering within.

Hermione edged closer, exhaling slowly as the atmosphere changed, turning dense. Charged. Alive.

Lavender shifted back, revealing a leather whip radiating a sinister red light, each pulse of energy licking the air like tendrils of flame.

“What is it?” Hermione whispered, crimson reflected in her irises.

Lavender stepped further back, voice low and tinged with veneration. “Fire Whip.”

Hermione swallowed thickly, tasting phantom smoke on her tongue.

“You take it,” the blonde instructed. “It’ll respond better to you.”

Hermione shook her head, chest aching. “I can’t.” The blade hummed in her hand, absorbing her anxiety like a sponge. “Not fire.”

Lavender glanced sideways, brows furrowed. “But Hermione…” A sweltering beat. Time seemed to slow. “You _are_ the fire.”

Hermione blinked, unsure what to say, but her thoughts were abruptly cut short as the doors across the room crashed open with a deafening bang.

“Shite!” Lavender hissed, spinning on her heel and stuffing the hammer into her boot. “Quick, grab the whip!”

Hermione did as bade, adrenaline overtaking her fear as her hand encased the braided leather, a powerful jolt of energy sizzling through her arm and into her spine, racing down to her toes and suffusing her entire body with a heady flood of warmth. She barely had time to process the sensation before Lavender grabbed her wrist and dragged her into the gun racks for cover.

Her friend pressed a finger to her lips, signaling silence. Hermione nodded ardently, hunching low as she waited for the sound of footsteps to follow. But instead of charging guards, they were met with flapping wings and bright plumes of color, parrots darting into the room and circling high above like vultures. Her heart thundered uncontrollably, there was nowhere to go, no place to hide from the birds’ prying eyes. One parrot flew to the broken cases along the wall, another flew directly over their heads, blowing strands of her hair with its trajectory.

“Intruder!” It screamed shrilly, wings pumping hard as is rose high into the air, its manic call echoing off the ceiling. “Intruder!”

The other birds soon joined in, a chorus of cringe-inducing voices uttering the same word on an endless loop.

“Run!” Lavender yelled, springing forward.

Hermione didn’t need to be told twice. She leaped up with her weapons clutched tightly in both hands, cards hitting her thigh with every heavy step as they bounced in her pocket.

They were almost to the door when a parrot dive-bombed their heads, its rapidly approaching shadow and shrill voice their only warning before its glinting beak made contact with the backs of their skulls. Its claws reached out, talon-tipped and fully extended. Hermione screamed, dropping low as Lavender swung her axe, grazing its tail and shaving off a row of bright blue feathers. They twirled softly to the ground as the bird cawed in outrage, prompting its companions to charge after them with murderous screams.

Another parrot flew for Hermione’s head. She slashed out with her blade, but the bird changed course at the last moment, narrowly missing a lethal collision.

The monkey appeared from the corner of her eye, perched atop a gun rack. She blinked and he was leaping into the air, a flash of green, landing atop the back of a passing bird and gripping it by the neck, toppling it to the floor in a tangle of rumpled feathers and tangled limbs.

“Come on!” Lavender screamed, pulling Hermione upright. They burst through the doorway and into the corridor, skidding to a halt halfway down. Two faceless men in uniform rounded the corner, blocking their exit and charging forward without pause. “Get ready!” Her friend hissed, raising her axe.

Hermione braced herself, heart galloping out of her chest and down the hall in unbridled terror while her feet remained firmly rooted.

A guard reached Lavender first. She swung her axe, the golden tip of her blade wedging firmly in the side of his neck. Hermione staggered back as blood spurted from the wide gash in his throat, cringing as Lavender withdrew the axe. A wet squelch filled the corridor, blood gushing in a torrent as his spinal cord was exposed. He crumpled in a heap, landing in a puddle glistening red, the dark ink filling the tile grout and rapidly spreading outward.

And then the second guard was upon Hermione, barreling into her body with enough force to send her crashing against the wall, barely able to maintain hold of the knife. Her shoulder screamed with the impact, throbbing with every labored breath. He continued forward, reaching for her throat. She screamed, stabbing out with her blade, driven by pure survival instinct. She jolted at the powerful surge of energy that sparked across her skin as the metal sliced effortlessly through his flesh, cutting a clean path through his stomach and chest as though he were comprised of jelly, stopping only at the obstruction of his ribs.

The guard reared back, gazing down as his innards spilled free in a glistening avalanche of organs and intestines. He scrambled to catch them, hands saturated red as his liver fell from his grasp. He peered up, and though he lacked eyes Hermione could _feel_ his stare upon her, ants crawling over her skin. He toppled backward a rapid heartbeat later, landing in a slow sprawl across blood and guts and glossy tile, right foot continuing to twitch in a death spasm.

Hermione pushed away from the wall and retched, bending in half as her stomach somersaulted, empty but for the acid burning her throat and nostrils. She dry-heaved for several moments more, unable to breathe or see through the blinding haze of tears.

Wind blew past her face, parrots flying free of the Armory at high speeds, screaming all the while. “Intruders! Intruders!”

Lavender wiped her axe clean on the first guard's coat, leaping over his bloodless corpse and landing at Hermione’s side. “We have to go.”

Hermione dried her eyes with the back of a trembling hand, pulling to her full height and inhaling deeply. "I… I didn't mean to…" She peered down at her bloodstained robe, bits of gore dripping off the hem. She scrambled to tear it off, thrashing in her haste. Lavender helped extract her arms, watching silently as Hermione threw the useless disguise to the ground. “That was horrific,” Hermione whispered, pressing a hand to her mouth as the urge to vomit returned with force.

Her friend sighed, gripping her shoulder and squeezing. “Mione, he wasn’t real.”

Hermione lowered her hand, closing her eyes.

“ _None_ of this is real,” Lavender continued, releasing her and stepping back. “But you can still get trapped here, same as us. So we _have_ to keep going.”

Hermione took a steadying breath, the wretched smell of human entrails thick upon the air. She opened her eyes, nodding slowly. “Let’s get Padma.”

Lavender smirked, gripping her axe with both hands and darting forward. “This way.”

They rounded the corner at full speed, hair and skirts flying behind, the corridor filled by their rapid footfalls. And then the exit ahead was overcome by a sea of approaching shadows, a stampede of boots overwhelming even Hermione’s deafening pulse. They skidded to a stop as a small army of guards appeared, charging straight for them.

“Other way!” Lavender shouted, spinning gracefully while Hermione stumbled in place, quickly following the girl in the opposite direction.

This side of the hall ended with double doors. Hermione prayed they weren’t locked, she had no idea where the monkey had gone to and they certainly didn’t have time for him to pick the lock.

Both girls threw their bodies into the barrier, gasping with shared relief when it parted beneath their combined efforts, doors swinging wide. Neither glanced at their surroundings, far more concerned with shutting the doors at the backs. They pressed the barrier closed, frantically searching for a lock.

“Shite!” Lavender hissed, and then gazed down at her axe. “Move!”

Hermione stepped aside as the girl jammed its golden body between the brass handles, effectively barricading the doors. She stepped back, jolting as the crowd on the other side collided with the barrier, pounding wildly against the wood. The noise was immense, but the axe didn’t budge.

They both leaned over, spent with relief and exhaustion, turning around at last.

Hermione’s heart skipped painfully, blood turning to ice as her spine snapped straight.

They stood at the bottom of a massive auditorium, rows and rows of benches lining the circular room from floor to ceiling.

Each filled with men in robes, their faceless heads fixed upon the girls.

Hermione’s eyes flickered to the center of the floor, movement drawing her focus as her vision tunneled in and out. A man in wig stood behind a large podium, gavel held tight, arm frozen mid-air.

Lavender shifted at her side, releasing her breath in a powerful rush. “Whoopsie daisy.”

* * *

Harry crossed his arms tightly over front, eyes narrowed as they scanned the entry hall. “This is ridiculous. There’s no way anyone here betrayed us.” He watched Neville and Hannah pass beneath the archway, lost to hushed conversation and low laughter. “The girls were all targets, I trust Neville and Ron with my life. I won’t consider it.”

"Agreed," Draco spoke from beside him. "Riddle is full of shite, as I've said all along. Clearly, he's trying to distract us like a pair of errant toddlers.” He shifted restlessly. “We’re wasting time. We need to look for Hermione.”

Harry shook his head, eyes still pinned to the retreating figures ahead. “He wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t mean it.”

Draco scowled, teeth grinding. “Why the hell do you have so much faith in him? He’s a manipulative bastard and the entire reason she’s missing in the first place!”

Harry sighed, slowly turning to meet his gaze. “I know you hate him, Draco. I know _why_ you hate him.” The blonde turned to cold marble before his eyes. Harry forged on, diving headfirst into the raging sea. “And I understand. I’m sorry we have to work with him to get her back. But that’s what we have to do. Work _with_ him. He’s the only one with a grasp on what’s going on, how this organization operates. And if she isn’t at the party he’s our _only_ key to getting her back.” He held Draco’s glacial stare. “You have to put aside your anger and hatred. For her.”

Silence fell upon the room for several agonizing moments before Malfoy relented, drawing back and raising his chin, eyes glinting. “I don’t trust anything he says.”

Harry dropped his arms and raised a dark brow. “Do you at least trust that he wants to get her back?”

Draco scowled, turning to face the hallway. Harry nodded. “That’s all that matters,” he concluded, sensing the tension rolling off the man in waves.

“So you think one of your friends betrayed us to the organization?” Malfoy asked with cutting mockery.

“Of course not. But someone _did_. We just have to figure out who.”

“Fine. Who did you run your gaping mouth to?”

“No one,” Harry scowled, rounding on him. “Who did _you_ run your _uppity_ mouth to?”

"Nott. But to my utter astonishment, he already knew all about the Dollmaker. He even accompanied you to Bath. Fancy that."

Harry’s heart skipped, expression seizing. “I…”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Obviously Theo didn’t betray us. But my point _is_ – people outside of this home were privy to Hermione’s whereabouts.”

Harry released a weighted sigh, shaking his head and staring blankly at the floor, thoughts surging. “One of the others may have said something, without malice,” he spoke aloud, running through various possibilities in his mind and coming up empty.

Draco crossed his arms, face permanently frozen in a sneer of acute derision. “I still think this is a huge waste of valuable time.”

Harry nodded, glancing up. “I know. But you’re going to help me anyway. For Hermione’s sake. Then you can go on a warpath and get yourself arrested.”

The blonde scoffed dramatically, dropping his arms and pacing towards the stairs. “I’ll start with Parvati.”

“I’ll meet you back here,” Harry replied, watching the man progress to the landing.

As soon as the blonde rounded the corner Harry turned for the hall, intent on getting Neville alone for a few minutes. But the moment he faced the archway he gasped, staggering back as a figure appeared directly before him with barely an inch to spare.

“Susan–”

“I need to talk to you,” she said sharply, face etched with anxiety as she glanced around the empty room, shoulders drawn. “In private.”

Harry blinked, and then his gaze flickered to the item clutched tightly in her arms. A file. It looked like one of the Jane Doe folders but the front was pressed to her chest, hiding the label.

“Alright,” he replied slowly, eyeing her carefully before stepping into the adjoining corridor. “Half the study is still standing.”

He led her inside the demolished space, turning around and watching as she attempted to close the door at their backs. It fell off its hinges and hit the floor with a crash, cracking down the middle and raising a plume of dust and debris in its wake.

“The doors keep doing that,” he explained simply.

“Fantastic.” She carefully sidestepped the rubble, stopping just before him and falling into tense silence.

He arched a brow, watching her closely. “What is it?” His body tensed in anticipation as she lifted the file.

“I found this in the records room. I was going to show my father but…” She shook her head, extending the folder. “I thought I’d leave the decision up to you.”

Harry took it slowly, expecting to find another homicide case within. But then the name came into view, typed in bold black letters, and his spine straightened.

“Riddle?”

She linked her hands atop her rumpled skirts, holding his gaze. “Open it.”

He did as bade, reading the top page, eyes affixed to the date written in messy cursive at the top. And suddenly Slughorn’s voice filled his mind, the memory hitting him with staggering force and clarity.

_“I always referred to him by Tom, most everyone did. I suppose he wanted to distance himself from any association.”_

_“Association? With who?”_

Harry’s pulse thrummed as he flipped to the next page. An autopsy report. He skimmed the highlighted text, mouth running dry.

_“His father.”_

He turned to the next document. Crime scene sketches. Harry gripped the file tighter, knuckles turning white. "This…" He turned to the next drawing. A close-up view. His stomach twisted to knots, acid stinging his throat. He glanced up, searching her gaze. "Why are you showing me this?”

She leaned in, flipping through the pages until arriving at one near the back, tapping it gently and meeting his eye.

Harry glanced down, reading the report. And then his lungs deflated, breath ghosting across the page and the horrible story it contained.

“Fuck.”

* * *

The men started leaping over the stands in droves, landing on the main floor and charging the doors. Lavender leaned over, grabbing the hammer from her boot before pushing Hermione aside.

“Get back!”

Hermione staggered to the wall, holding her knife aloft with a trembling hand and gasping as a barrage of faceless men leaped for her friend. Lavender swung her hammer, the ground trembling as a visible shockwave of orange pulsed outward from the point of impact, sending her attackers flying across the room into in a motionless heap.

But one man managed to escape the explosion of energy, darting for Hermione with an outreached hand. She slashed with her knife, cutting cleanly through his fingers, each narrow appendage hitting the ground with a soft thump. Adrenaline pushed her forward as more men leaped from the stands in a flurry of limbs, spiders scurrying out of their web.

“Use the cards!” Lavender screamed above the fray, sending more men flying in every direction with an orange blast.

“How?” Hermione yelled back, slashing wildly as men surrounded her on all sides. She glanced up, watching in horror as a robed man grabbed her friend from behind, restraining her arms and dragging her into a pile of faceless bodies. “Lavender!”

Hermione lost sight of the girl within moments, pulse thrumming as a man grabbed her own arm, wrenching her off her feet. She released her whip to the ground but refused to relinquish hold of the blade as she searched out the deck in her pocket. She pulled it free with a triumphant squeal, then gasped as the blade was torn from her grasp by a large hand. Hermione held the cards aloft, dodging a fist to the head as she fumbled with the top flap, tearing the case in her haste.

The cards burst free in an explosion of fluttering paper, folding into origami cranes and flying in a tight circle overhead. Their necks twisted in either direction, as though taking in the lay of the land, before dive bombing the men restraining Hermione. Her attackers released her at once, swatting at the cranes as they pecked relentlessly at their flesh, beaks stained red with blood.

Hermione reclaimed her whip and knife from the ground and pushed her way through the wall of bodies, slashing blinding as she went, hardly aware of her movements. Blood streaked her face and dress as she chanted the same mantra over and over in her mind.

_None of this is real none of this is real…_

She reached her friend at last, stabbing a man in the thigh to get him to release the girl’s throat. Hermione pulled Lavender to her feet, inspecting her front for gruesome injury, relieved to find her in one piece.

“There’s too many of them!” Hermione shouted.

The blonde nodded, rubbing her bruised neck. “Use the whip!”

Hermione was terrified of the prospect but unwinded the coiled leather from her arm all the same, gripping the handle tight and letting the leather tail fall to her feet. A small flame erupted from the tip, licking hungrily at the air, desperate to be unleashed.

She set her jaw, drawing her arm back and swinging quickly forward, screaming as a wall of flame exploded to life in the direction of the thong. The leather snapped back, slashing at her dress and tearing a long slit in the fabric.

“Shite!”

Lavender pressed in close as the flames shot higher. “That was hot. Pun intended.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, watching as the girl retook her hammer and swung it with a feral growl, knocking three approaching men off their feet.

“Move!” Hermione shouted, switching places with her friend and snapping the whip a second time. But she was prepared for the recoil, dodging aside to avoid the sizzling tip. Red flames hissed and groaned, rapidly spreading across the tile to merge with the first wall of flame, creating a barrier of fire between them and their faceless audience.

The girls pressed back to back as the flames continued to move along the floor, encasing them on all sides. One man attempted to leap through, only for the fire to engulf him in a mighty blaze, charring his flesh black as he fell in a silent, thrashing heap.

“We’re trapped!” Lavender screamed, chest heaving.

Hermione’s gaze narrowed.

She _refused_ to be bested by flames again.

Her eyes flickered up, the only direction left to go. A skylight stood fifty feet above. Her heart soared.

“No. We aren’t.”

She tied the whip around her waist and tucked the blade into her boot, reaching into her pocket and withdrawing the flask. She met Lavender's eye with a wry grin. “I hope cats can swim.”

Her friend laughed, high and delighted. “I can do anything I set my mind to. You go first.”

Hermione nodded, unscrewing the cap and taking a shallow swig, wanting to avoid a repeat of last time. She quickly handed the flask over, watching Lavender take a small gulp. Her ears popped a moment before her heels lifted off the ground. She pushed against the air in a graceful breaststroke, directing her ascent towards the skylight as they ascended higher and higher.

Smoke from the fire rose even faster, choking them both. Hermione coughed into her fist, eyes stinging with soot and blood and tears, focusing all of her will power on the red sky above. She hit the ceiling at last, spine pressing flat as her body continued to try and rise. They both gazed down, watching as the fire twisted along the floor like undulating tentacles, engulfing the faceless men one after the other. The smell of burning flesh was overwhelming, knotting Hermione’s stomach.

But her attention was drawn back to the ceiling as Lavender shattered the skylight with her hammer, glass raining between them, quickly swallowed by the snapping flames. They crawled through the opening, holding tight to the frame as their weight slowly settled atop the roof, the effects of the bubble water wearing off as their feet touched the stone.

An explosion followed.

They gazed into the auditorium. The doors had finally given way, torn clear off their hinges as men from the corridor piled in, only to stagger back in horror, desperate to evade the hellish inferno. But the flames were sentient, starving, and caught the fleeing men by the throats and ankles, dragging them into the room and swallowing them whole.

Hermione reared back as something flew past her face, fluttering around her head.

The cranes. Stained red and burnt through at the corners.

She took a steadying breath, holding out her palm and grinning as they flattened back into cards and settled in a perfect stack atop her hand.

Neat.

She tucked them into her pocket and glanced up, staring at Lavender’s smoke-smudged profile.

“Sorry about your axe.”

Her friend shrugged. “It’s alright. I think I like this better anyhow.” She twirled her hammer with deft skill, tiny pulses of energy dancing across their skin from the movement.

Hermione smiled once more, eyes glinting red beneath the blazing sky. “Let’s get Padma.”

* * *

The sun dipped low on the horizon, spilling pools of orange and violet paint across the sky and casting Parvati’s face into shadow. But her eyes continued to burn bright, sparking like flint as steam billowed from her mouth.

“You’re asking if I shared our location with some _random_ stranger, endangering the lives of my sister, my friends and myself?”

Draco ran a hand over his face, glancing away as she raged on, leaning closer with every heated word until she hovered above her sister’s prone form on the bed.

“Of course not, Malfoy. Because I’m _not_ a bloody idiot. But I’m seriously starting to question whether you are.”

“Don’t shoot the messenger.”

Her gaze narrowed to gleaming slits. "And who ordered you to act like a flea on a bull's arse?"

His jaw tensed, hand tightening upon his knee.

“Riddle then,” she concluded with a smirk, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair.

Draco barely suppressed a scowl, eye twitching with the Herculean effort. Bloody hell. He was _sick_ and tired of hearing the Bastard’s name. The Megalomaniac wasn’t even on the grounds and his influence could still be felt in every room, his dark presence thick on the air like a toxic cloud, poisoning them with every breath.

“He’s trying to help,” she continued, watching him closely.

He lost the battle at last, self-restraint snapping with an audible crack as he rounded on her, hell flame licking across his sharp features. "You're a member of his fan club, too, now? Fucking fantastic."

She remained unmoved, posture calm and poised. “He saved Blaise’s life,” she stated simply.

Draco deflated in his chair, her words puncturing his lungs.

She raised her chin, fingertips idly drumming her narrow biceps. “Is he a good person?” She asked rhetorically, lifting one shoulder. “I can’t answer that. About him or anyone else, myself included. However, I can say this with absolute certainty: that man will do _any_ and _everything_ to get to Hermione. Same as you.” She arched a brow, eyes piercing him to the core. “But you already know that. It’s why you hate him.”

Draco blinked. And then glanced away, desperate for a reprieve. Several moments passed in silence before she leaned in to take her sister’s hand in her own. The gentle gesture broke the tension, allowing his lungs to expand once more, the sudden infusion of oxygen making him light-headed, weightless.

“Did she…” He closed his eyes, the question lodging in his throat, pulsing in time to his heart. He shook his head, drawing back. “Nevermind.”

He stood swiftly, heading for the door with a determined step.

“No.”

He stopped halfway to his destination, freedom in sight, but her voice wrapped him in chains, forcing him still and captive to his own perverse curiosity. He swayed in place, glancing over his shoulder with slow resignation.

“She never told me she loved him,” she continued softly, dark eyes filled with smoke. “She never talked about him at all.”

The sun set at her back, shadows crawling through the broken windows and saturating the room, darkness seeping into his vision and dulling his remaining senses until all he could hear was Padma’s rhythmic breath and his own rampant heartbeat.

He nodded slowly, stepping back on numb legs. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

A crease appeared between her brows, her sharp features marred by genuine empathy. “I’m sorry, Malfoy.”

He saw sadness in her eyes, but no trace of pity. For that he was grateful.

“I’m going to get her back,” he declared, voice low and steady, chest burning with a kindling flame. “Regardless of the rest.”

Her eyes swept over his face, stuttering on the way back up as though finding what they sought. “You really love her.”

He glanced away, intent on leaving, but his attention was diverted by Padma’s slumbering form. He stared at the comatose girl for several beats, pain sharpening with every breath until he at last found the strength to pull away from the room entirely, striding into the hall without a parting word. He made it across the landing and halfway down the stairs before he was violently pulled from the raging ocean in his mind.

He stopped mid-step, hands frozen halfway to his pockets as took in the sight of the busted entryway and the man centered beneath the twisted frame.

“Nott?”

Theo glanced up, crunching over glass as he paced inside. “ _There_ you are. I thought you were at Mungo’s?”

Draco blinked, descending the remaining steps in a graceful trot. “I was. Something came up. How did you–”

“Theo?”

Draco scowled as Potter appeared in the archway, gaping like an idiot. “For _fuck’s_ sake, are the two of you psychically linked?”

Harry paled, jaw snapping shut as Theo rolled his eyes, pinning Draco with a bored expression.

“Would you like to continue making snide remarks from your Godly pedestal or do you want to know how your friend is doing?”

Draco stood straighter, quickly crossing the ruined marble to meet him halfway. “How is he?”

"Stable. The Doctor's are confident he'll wake soon." His gaze flickered as Potter moved to their sides. "Visiting hours for non-relations ended. I sent a letter to the Countess before I left."

Draco peered around him, glancing to the open doorway and the dark landscape beyond. “Where’s Luna?”

Theo blinked, raising a brow and eyeing him speculatively. “She refused to leave Dawn. The orderlies set up an extra cot in the room for her.”

“She isn’t safe there,” Draco snapped. “Neither of them are.”

“They have Naval officers stationed outside the door.”

Potter reared back. “Naval officers?”

Theo nodded, meeting his gaze. “I assumed Black placed them there.”

“He never said anything to me,” Potter replied with a shrug, seeming to dismiss the news as quickly as it came.

Theo tucked his hands into his trouser pockets, glancing around the shadow and blood-strewn room with idle detachment. “So, what did I miss?”

Draco’s face pinched, the innocuous question reviving his latent hostility like a match to a powder keg. “Funny you should ask.” He glanced at Potter, raising a pale brow. “I assume you want to handle Nott’s interrogation yourself?”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Interrogation?” Theo asked, glancing between them.

“Riddle thinks someone here leaked Hermione’s whereabouts to Greyback,” Potter explained.

Nott stood taller. “Someone here? That’s impossible.”

“We’ve been through it already,” Draco drawled, shoulders tight. “We know it’s impossible but we’re acting like fleas on a bull’s arse anyway.”

Potter and Nott blinked, staring at him for several beats before recovering.

“You’re wasting your time,” Theo declared, as though stating the obvious made Draco want to punch him in the face any less. “Everyone here almost died. They’re not working for–”

He stopped mid-sentence, mouth hanging wide.

Potter tilted his head, eyeing him warily. “Theo?” Nott paled, prompting Harry’s face to darken. “Theo. What is it?”

Nott swallowed heavily, sapphire gaze flickering to Draco with such intensity he swayed back with the jolting force it invoked.

“Fucking hell, Nott, spit it out.”

His friend took a deep breath, drawing a hand through his perfectly styled hair while sidling closer to Potter, the latter action seeming to occur beyond either man’s notice.

“Your father pays someone to watch Grimmauld.”

Draco blinked, each word striking him like a sucker punch to the gut. He forced his spine to remain ramrod straight, knees locking and blood rushing through his ears. He opened his mouth to respond but drew up short, thoughts stuttering on a faded memory of a time long ago, a discussion held at a breakfast table many lifetimes past.

_“I’ve heard from my contacts that you’ve made two visits to Grimmauld in as many days.”_

His father’s deep cadence filled his head, setting off a skin-crawling sensation of fire ants feasting upon his flesh.

“How do you know about that?” He asked, voice suddenly hoarse.

Theo held his gaze, jaw tensing. “ _My_ father.”

Draco blinked again, the simple explanation harboring a hidden complexity just beneath the surface. His eyes flickered to Nott’s temple, lingering upon the discoloration, the faded bruise that bled across the socket and into the inner bridge of his nose.

Draco swallowed heavily, dragging his focus back to the man’s steady gaze. “My father isn’t involved in this.”

Theo continued to stare at him in silence. A short eternity passed. And then his friend nodded, lifting his chin. "Alright," he began slowly, carefully. "But maybe the man he hired is. People pay a fortune for information on the Peerage, anything they can print in a gossip rag or twist for their own gain.”

Draco released a sharp breath, an immovable weight centered upon his chest, bearing down with crippling force. “I’ll speak to him.” He started for the door without further word or thought, fists clenched tight, entire body stretched to the point of snapping.

“Draco,” Potter spoke from behind him, waiting until he slowed his pace and met his emerald gaze. “Remember. We find the leak, we find the lead.” His expression sharpened with clear purpose. “Don’t forget what’s at stake.”

Draco felt his knuckles crack, blunt nails threatening to break the skin of his palms. “I’m the _only_ one who doesn’t need reminding.”

And then he turned on his heel and stormed out, desperately wishing the door was still attached to its hinges for the simple and profound pleasure of slamming it in his wake.

* * *

Hermione followed Lavender over the sprawling rooftop of Parliament, carefully walking the flat and narrow perimeter like a balance beam before scaling the sides of narrow towers blocking their path. She clung to the brick with all her strength, forcing her eyes forward and doing her utmost to pretend she _wasn’t_ a hundred and fifty feet off the ground, hanging onto jutting stone for dear life. Hermione wasn’t certain whether she could die in Wonderland... but she certainly had no desire to find out.

Her pulse galloped as they navigated the edge of St. Stephen's Tower to a lower section of the roof, the massive hands of Big Ben ticking loudly above, counting down her fate. Her heart felt as though it would burst free of her chest at any moment.

“This one,” Lavender spoke at last as they neared an oval skylight.

They lowered to either side of the stained glass, leaning down to glimpse inside. Hermione saw nothing but the tops of bookcases, so tall they nearly reached the ceiling. The Library must have been at least three floors.

“The guards will be busy with the fire,” Lavender continued.

Hermione wiped the sweat from her brow, catching her breath. “Let’s hope.”

“We’ll drop onto the cases, use the ladder to climb down.”

Hermione rubbed her shoulder, still sore from its hard collision with the wall. “Sounds simple enough, assuming we don’t miss the case and fall to our gruesome deaths.” She gasped, eyes snapping up and flaring wide. “I’m so sorry, Lavender, I didn’t–”

“Calm down, luv. I’m not sensitive about my lifeless condition. Just don’t accuse me of stuffing my corset. Besides, _you_ can’t actually die here.”

Hermione blinked. Well, that was one mystery solved.

“What a comfort,” she deadpanned, glancing back to the skylight. “Alright, if we’re going to do this we should do it now.”

Lavender smirked. “That’s the ticket.” She withdrew the hammer from her boot and slammed it into the center of the glass, creating a web before the window collapsed inward. They both scooted to the edge and swung their legs over. “I’ll go first,” the blonde said, tucking the hammer back into place.

Hermione nodded, breath evading her in a rush as she watched the girl drop inside without a moment’s hesitation, landing atop the bookcase directly below in a graceful pounce.

Lavender smiled, glancing up with amber eyes. “Easy peasy.”

“Says the cat,” Hermione muttered, taking a steadying breath and pushing off the edge with a surge of adrenaline. Her heart leaped into her throat as her body plummeted in an endless freefall. She was careening down the rabbit hole all over again, the walls rapidly caving in, eager to devour her whole–

She gasped as her feet hit the top of the bookcase, staggering in place before pressing a hand to her chest, checking to see if her heart survived the journey. "Holy shite."

"Nicely done," Lavender said, helping to steady her. "You made a ten-foot drop look like ninety. I'd say you have a real future in theatre."

Hermione swallowed heavily, gulping in air. “I’m sure I’d take the stage by storm, but I couldn’t abide all the fame.”

“Hm.”

Her pulse soon leveled, allowing her the steady resolve to follow her friend along the top of the case, searching out the ladder. They found it halfway down, set atop rollers. Lavender descended first, Hermione just above, moving with surprising speed until she glanced up, distracted by her one true Achilles heel...

Books.

Hermione hooked her arm around the side of the ladder, standing in place and inspecting the assortment of  
spines on display. The bindings appeared old, worn, each of varying height and color. And each lacking a title.

She blinked, reaching forward and extracting a tome at random, carefully turning it over in her hand to gaze upon the cover. It bore no writing or label of any kind. She flipped it open. The pages were yellowed with time, but completely blank. She turned to the last one. Nothing.

“What madness is this?”

“Mione, come _on_!” Lavender hissed from thirty feet below.

Hermione sighed, sliding the book back into its slot and continuing down. The case was comprised of over twenty shelves, each filled to the brim with empty books. She reached the ground at last, stepping free of the ladder and shaking her head with sorrow.

“What a tragic waste.”

Lavender rolled her eyes. “Only you.” She began a path down the aisle. “Let’s go.”

They tiptoed their way between the stacks and around the corner. The Library was a circular room with bookcases lining the perimeter. A spiral staircase sat at the center, revealing two additional levels below, each with a similar layout.

Both girls reached into their boots and extracted their weapons of choice, moving forward as a single entity. They crept along the staircase railing and gazed over top, long hair dangling. There was faint shuffling and movement from the bottom floor but the source wasn’t visible. The second level appeared as empty as the books it contained.

They started down the steps, heels clicking softly, weapons pulsing with supernatural light, and exited on the ground floor, quickly ducking for cover behind another case. This level was much larger, brightly lit by a huge domed skylight at the far end.

Hermione gasped as something soft landed atop her shoulder. She spun around, slashing out with her blade as the weight disappeared. Lavender reared back, giving Hermione wide berth as she searched out the source. Her brain registered the animal’s presence before she spotted him perched atop a shelf, watching her with wide yellow eyes. Hermione lowered the knife, pressing her hand to her chest once more.

“Shite! You scared me, Mowgli!”

Lavender tilted her head. “Mowgli?”

Hermione shrugged, reaching up to scratch along his neck. “I want to call him _something_. And he reminds me of the little boy from The Jungle Book.”

Her friend sighed, spinning her hammer. “Christ, you read too much.”

Hermione lowered her hand with a smirk. “ _Now_ is hardly the time to incite a row.”

They crept to the end of the aisle, peering around the edge to take in their first glimpse at the main room. Hermione blinked, vision clouding over at the horrific sight it contained.

The large expanse was overrun with desks, every surface piled high with books and parchment and each chair containing a single occupant. The men and women seated throughout the room were dressed in rags, faces pale and gaunt, eyes empty and lifeless as they hunched over the tabletop, writing furiously across loose papers.

Movement drew Hermione’s attention to the back corner. A girl tipped sideways from her perch, the dark circles beneath her eyes visible even at this distance. Metal clanked. Her thin frame jolted in place, hanging over the side of her chair, held in place by heavy chains around her middle. Hermione’s lips parted, eyes lowering to the floor. Her ankles were bound as well.

_Oh my god._

Hermione pushed forward, raising her knife, hissing as Lavender caught her arm and pulled her back.

“Mione, you _can’t_.”

“I have to!”

“You can save her, you can save them all, but _not_ here and _not_ now.”

She opened her mouth to argue but was silenced by the intensity of her friend’s gleaming stare.

“If we’re discovered we fail everyone,” Lavender whispered, voice reverberating through Hermione’s every limb.

She lifted her chin, falling still beneath the blonde’s touch, acquiescing reluctantly. “Do you see Padma?”

Lavender released her, shaking her head. “No. We need to split up, cover more ground.”

“I'll head left,” Hermione said, drawing her shoulders back and stepping forward.

They rounded the bookcase and progressed in opposite directions, muscles strung taut and weapons raised. Hermione’s hand was covered in dried blood. She imagined her face and neck were in similar states of disrepair and silently pondered how many lives she had taken since arriving in Wonderland, and whether thinking of the faceless entities as real or fake made her more or less of a monster.

_“You no longer have high ground to stand on, Ms. Granger.”_

She shook her head to dispel the monstrous voice, adjusting her grip on the hilt as she paced along the perimeter of the room, gaze rapidly sweeping across downturned faces, heart aching at the sight they each made. Mowgli followed at her heels, staring out at the main floor as though searching as well. She spotted Lavender across the way, the blonde fairing no better in her pursuit.

 _Shite_.

The fire wouldn’t keep the guards distracted for much longer.

And then her heart jolted, feet locking in place, causing Mowgli to collide with her boots as Hermione spotted a familiar river of glossy black hair several meters away, obscuring most of the owner's face. But a faint glimmer of gold-flecked eyes was visible through the thick strands.

Padma.

Hermione released her breath in a hiss, glancing either way before darting forward, the neighboring prisoners paying her no mind, deeply absorbed in their task. She reached her destination in several bounds, leaning down to glimpse the girl’s face up close. Padma’s cheekbones were heavily shadowed by malnutrition, lips pale and chapped, hair limp and lifeless. She blinked slowly, seemingly dazed, and then glanced up, spotting Hermione at last.

Only to gasp sharply, dropping her pen and rearing back.

“Shh! It’s alright! It’s just me!” Hermione whispered, lowering the knife beneath the table to hide it from view.

Padma opened and closed her mouth, gripping the edge of the desk as though preparing to push away despite her restraints. “W-who are you?”

“Hermione. You don’t recognize me?”

Padma ignored the question, glancing to either side, chains rattling softly. “Where’s your desk?”

“I don’t have one.” Hermione’s pulse skipped, fire igniting in her veins. “And I’m getting you out of here.”

Padma’s weary gaze snapped forward, brow furrowed. “We… can’t leave. It’s against the rules.”

Hermione lifted the knife, blade glinting bright beneath the skylight. “That rule is about to be broken.”

Padma’s pale complexion waned further as she pushed back as far as the rickety chair would allow.

“It’s alright,” Hermione said softly. “I won’t hurt you.”

The bound girl swallowed thickly, fixated upon the knife. “We’ll be punished. Please don’t.”

Hermione sighed, quickly rounding the desk and kneeling beside her. “We’re leaving this place, Padma. We’re going to the Castle. You’ll be safe there. With Ariana.”

“Who?”

“Ariana, she–”

“No, the other name.”

Hermione tilted her head. “What other–” Realization struck, rendering her motionless. “You mean… Padma?” Her heart skipped. “That’s… your name.”

Padma inhaled slowly, eyes brightening. “It is?”

“You don’t remember who you are?” Padma shook her head. Hermione sighed, resting the knife atop her thigh. “Do you remember Parvati?”

Padma went rigid in her seat. “Parvati,” she whispered, each syllable lingering on her tongue. “I… I’m not sure.” She wet her lips, fingertips pressing against the chains at her stomach. “Who is she?”

Hermione reached forward, gripping the girl’s bony shoulder. “I’ll tell you all about her. But we have to go, right now.”

Padma searched her gaze eagerly, turning as much as the restraints would allow and revealing the pale slip she wore as a dress. “Is Parvati at the Castle?”

Hermione’s hand clenched. She blinked, nodding slowly. “Yes. She is.”

A heavy beat.

“Alright,” Padma whispered. “Let’s go.”

Hermione smiled gently, then glanced at the chains binding the girl’s chest. “Hold _very_ still.”

Padma trembled as Hermione lifted the blade, turning it over in her hand as she rose to her feet, edging to the back of the chair. She took a deep breath, holding her weapon tight and slicing carefully at the metal. The links dented but held strong. Hermione stepped further back, lifting the knife higher and slashing down with the strength of both hands.

There was a flash of blue, followed by a small shockwave that carried all the way to her toes. The chains hit the floor in a crashing heap. Padma gaped, rearing forward and clutching her middle. Hermione’s blood ran cold, terrified she’d cut the girl. But then Padma’s soft laughter flitted through the room, drawing the attention of nearby prisoners. Hermione met their haunted gazes, squeezing the blade until her arm shook. She pondered how many people she could free before the guards arrived–

An explosive crash sounded across the room. She spun quickly, staring at the Library entrance. The main doors were parted wide but no faceless guards were visible. Hermione moved in front of Padma, raising her knife, heart skipping as she spotted a familiar flash of color from the corner of her eye.

Parrots.

Stupid fucking birds.

She leaned down, cutting the binds at Padma's ankles and offering her hand to help her stand. The girl swayed precariously, leaning into the desk as Hermione searched frantically for Lavender. She spotted the blonde already en route to them as the newcomers began screaming loudly overhead, announcing their prison break to the entire floor.

“Hurry!” Hermione shouted, pulling Padma along the rows of desks towards Lavender, Mowgli racing beside them, hopping from desk to desk and earning shocked gasps from every chained captive he passed.

They met Lavender in the center of the room, birds swooping low, wings flapping loudly. Hermione reached into her pocket and grabbed the burnt, bloodied deck, releasing the cards into the air. Her pulse soared as the paper cranes charged after the parrots, chasing them up the spiral staircase and out of sight.

But it was too late.

Faceless guards emerged from the hall, racing into the Library. Lavender reached into her own pocket and extracted something small, throwing the mystery item to the floor. Hermione grabbed Padma, bracing for an explosion of light or noise, some cataclysmic affair. Alas, nothing happened. She blinked, peering down at the object in question.

The glowing dice.

Lavender growled, reaching for her hammer and charging forward to head off the guards before they reached the desks. “Keep trying!” She called over her shoulder, swinging her weapon in a wide arc and catapulting a man into a bookcase, tipping the entire structure into the wall and cracking the plaster.

Hermione shook her head. “Trying what?”

“For doubles!” Lavender yelled, ducking low to dodge an incoming fist.

Hermione blinked, slow to process the meaning of the words. And then it clicked, adrenaline setting her into motion as she dived for the green dice, gathering them in her palm and dropping them to the tile a second time.

Seven.

_Damn!_

She started to reach for the glowing objects again when a guard reached her, driving her back. She slashed forward with her knife, mindful of the helpless prisoners bound to their desks, unable to escape the unfolding battle.

“Roll, Padma!” She yelled, slashing low and cutting through his kneecap, toppling him to the ground.

The girl dropped to her haunches, picking up the dice and shaking them in her caged palms. Hermione heard them hit the floor but couldn’t see the roll. Nothing happened.

“Hurry!” Lavender screamed as more men raced into the room.

Hermione stabbed her new attacker in the gut, only to be pinned against a desk by his falling weight, the hard edge of the counter digging into her spine as he slowly sank to his knees before her, blood cascading across her front and soaking through the layers of her dress until she felt it upon her skin. She pushed him away, just in time to see a third man leaping for her. Her knife struck this one in the chest. She pulled it free, cringing as the blade cut cleanly through muscle and bone until it tore from his shoulder, severing his arm completely.

Padma rolled the dice again.

The air pressure changed.

“Two!” The girl shouted from her huddled position on the floor. The dice flashed emerald green. The same color as Harry’s eyes. Padma rose to her feet, glancing back. “Now wh–”

She screamed as a burst of light exploded from the ground, blinding in intensity, quickly followed by a powerful surge of wind, the force knocking all of them off their feet and tipping several desks sideways. Hermione scrambled onto her hands and knees, clutching her blood-soaked knife and gaping at the glowing image before her. Green swirling light, framing a dark landscape at its center.

A portal.

“Go!” Lavender screamed, racing towards her as a dozen men gave avid chase.

Hermione staggered upright, darting to Padma and grabbing her hand, dragging the girl through the strange gateway at her side. Lavender barrelled through just behind them, colliding with their backs and sending everyone sprawling atop the ground. Mowgli flew through the opening a heartbeat later, landing atop Hermione’s back in a soft pounce.

Hermione rolled over, watching in horror as the faceless guards rapidly closed in upon the shrinking portal. The man leading the charge leaped forward, arm extended, hand crossing through to their side.

The portal snapped shut on the appendage, severing it clean from his body. The appendage landed atop Hermione’s lap, fingers softly curling. She grimaced, leaping to her feet and batting it away, watching it drop to the dark grass.

And then her gaze slowly lifted, taking in their new surroundings, starting with the remarkable sky.

For it no longer blazed red. Rather, it appeared solid black, void of any stars. Only the enlarged moon and gaslights along the street provided illumination, revealing a gentle rain from above. It hit her face, soft as a ghost’s caress. She rubbed her cheek, tickled by the sensation, eyes hardening as her fingertips drew away black.

Ash.

Lavender cursed low, breaking her dark reverie.

“Where are we?” Hermione asked, dread festering as she gazed upon the thick layer of soot covering the cobblestone.

Lavender pushed to her feet with a deep scowl. “Somewhere we _really_ don’t want to be.”

* * *

Luna padded softly across the gleaming tile, fingers interlaced behind her back as she came to stop before the door at the end of the hall.

The young man stationed before the barrier blinked, standing straight and flushing beneath her undivided attention. “Sorry, Ms. Lovegood.” He cleared his throat, scratchy from hours of disuse. “The nurse said visiting hours are over.”

She blinked innocently, head tipping to the side and cornsilk hair cascading over front. “I understand, Officer Bryant. However, I was hoping you’d be willing to make an exception. I made a promise to a friend earlier today and would very much like to keep my word, especially considering the evening she’s had, nearly being murdered and assisting with emergency surgery. Sitting at Blaise’s bedside is the least comfort I can offer them both.”

He opened and closed his mouth, leaning back. “I…” and shook his head, blinking twice. “Um… okay.”

Her smile widened. “Thank you very much. I knew I could count on you.”

He glanced away with a small smile of his own, flush spreading to his neck as he stood aside, giving her access to the door. “Erm… yeah, I mean, it’s not a big deal.”

She turned the handle, glancing up and holding his gaze as she stepped inside the room. “It is to me.”

His grin stretched from end to end. She started to close the door between them and then hesitated, seeming to reconsider.

“And you might want to notify the nurse that he’s awake.”

His smile dropped, eyes flickering to the bed and the pale, still body lying atop. “But… he’s still unconscious.”

She tilted her head in the other direction, silken hair changing course, catching the light and his eye. “Only for a few more minutes.”

His jaw hung wide. “Uh…”

She imparted a small wave before gently closing the door on his dumbfounded expression, smoothing her palms over her skirt and turning for the bed. She pulled the chair closer to the edge and lowered primly, leaning forward and lifting Blaise’s hand, gently pressing it between her own.

Four minutes passed in silence. She watched the dust clouds drift overhead, illuminated by violet dusk and flickering lantern. And then the fingers encased in her grip twitched.

She smiled, glancing down and watching as his eyes flickered rapidly behind waxen lids, veins standing in stark contrast beneath pale skin. Another two minutes passed, and then the lids slowly parted, blinking weakly as his throat convulsed, Adam’s apple bobbing in place as he attempted to swallow.

“It’s okay, Blaise,” she whispered softly, squeezing his hand and drawing his focus. “You’re at St. Mungo’s. You’re safe.”

His eyes slowly roamed her face, distant and cloudy.

“Parvati?” He whispered, voice hoarse and faint. And then the corner of his mouth tugged higher, lips pale and creased. “I dreamed of you.” His hand twitched, long fingers gently curving around her palm. “Guess what you were wearing?”

She smiled sweetly. “I have a strong inkling. But I’m not Parvati. She wishes she could be here and will be undoubtedly entertained by this story.”

He blinked, head tilting against the pillow. The dense fog settled atop his irises slowly dissipated, recognition sparking in their depths. His hand twitched again, grip loosening.

“Luna?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

His smile lengthened, a faint hint of rose staining his cheeks and giving his deathly complexion the illusion of life. “Sorry, luv. I was trying to seduce your friend with my debonair charm.”

She nodded once more, continuing to hold his hand against the mattress. “And would have been wildly successful, I’m sure.”

His grin turned brittle, falling away piece by piece as memories undoubtedly took hold. His forehead creased as the sun faded from the room, pale moonlight taking its place.

“Is she alright?” He asked, voice low and thick.

“Yes.”

He released a long sigh. “And Padma?”

“Her condition is the same, but no one else was injured in the attack.”

He tipped his head back, staring at the water stains on the ceiling tile. He started to speak but erupted into a coughing fit instead, pulling his hand from her grasp to bring a fist to his mouth. Luna stood swiftly, crossing to the side table and pouring a glass of water from the pitcher. She waited until his convulsions settled to offer him the glass. He accepted with an appreciative nod, only to fumble, nearly losing his grip entirely as water sloshed over the rim and onto the white sheet.

The tremor in his hands extended to his torso, too weak to support his head as he tried to sit up. Luna took the glass back and placed her other hand behind his neck, helping support its weight as he leaned in and took a long sip. He soon began to chug with enthusiasm, emptying the glass in seconds.

“Thanks,” he whispered, groaning in exhaustion and collapsing back to the mattress, head sinking into the pillow like a sinking stone.

“Would you like more?”

He swallowed heavily, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “I’m alright, luv.”

She nodded, moving to set the glass aside. His eyes snapped open, tracking down to his shoulder, fixed upon the heavy gauze piled atop the entry wound and pale bandages wrapping his naked chest.

“Strange. I barely feel it.”

“That’s not strange.” She moved once more to his bedside, hands folded neatly before her skirts. “The nurses have been pumping you full of morphine since you arrived.”

“Ah. Explains the unicorns prancing around the room.”

She tilted her head, studying the wound with a still expression. “Most likely. Or you suffered a brain hemorrhage and are starting to hallucinate.”

He smirked, color heightening as his blood surged with the recent exertion. "If only I could be so lucky." And then he grunted low, digging into his meager energy reserves to scoot his body aside a few inches, profoundly grateful for the morphine as his shoulder remained blissfully numb to the movement. He glanced to Luna, patting the free section of the mattress with a smile. "So, what did I miss, darling?"

She gathered her skirts and perched gingerly on the edge, turning to face him. “Not much.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Hm…” Her placid gaze drifted to the ceiling, finger idly tapping her chin. “Let’s see… well, after you were shot Draco and Harry rushed you downstairs so Doctor Riddle could remove the bullet while Parvati assisted. I arrived at the very end as the police commissioner sanctioned Grimmauld an active crime scene and began questioning everyone. Parvati stayed behind with Padma and sent me in her stead, after which Draco and I sat by your bedside until I had a vision of Hermione falling through darkness and space and he discovered Dawn in a coma and understandably had to depart. Theo arrived a while later and sat with you before sending word to your mother. Your nurse is named Hilda and she enjoys humming show tunes. She also owns two terrier mixes called Queenie and George.” She shrugged lightly, lowering her gaze to his. “That’s about all.”

He blinked.

And then grinned anew. “Well… consider me enlightened.”

She smiled softly, and then cringed, gasping and clutching her temples.

“What is it?” He asked, reaching forward to grasp her knee as she swayed in place.

She released a long breath, shaking her head as her eyes lost focus. “I haven’t had visions in months and now they won’t stop.”

He wet his lips, hand clenching upon her skirts. “What do you see?”

“Quick flashes. It’s hard to be certain…” Her hands lowered to her lap, eyes fixed ahead, dazed. “... I think I see…”

Blaise held his breath, unconsciously leaning in. She bit her lip, gaze narrowing as though trying to read a faraway sign. "Dolls."

His head fell back to the pillow with a soft thump. “That sounds bloody terrifying.”

She swallowed heavily, shoulders drawing back as shadows bled across her face. “You have no idea.”

* * *

Lavender wiped her ash-streaked palms along her filthy skirt. “The stupid bloody dice spit us out on the wrong end of the City,” she muttered angrily, offering a hand to Padma as the girl struggled to stand.

Hermione peered up at the starless night sky, flurries of ash catching in her lashes, rolling off her cheeks. The moon was large and bright, much closer to the earth than she’d ever seen it before. Every crater was visible in the powdery soft crust. Her arms tensed at her sides, the urge to reach out and capture the glowing orb in the palm of her hand nearly overwhelming. She quickly dismissed the errant notion, gazing either way down whatever dark, desolate road the portal deposited them onto.

“We need to get off the street,” she stated simply, glancing to her companions as Mowgli took his perch atop her shoulder. “Until we figure out our next plan.”

Lavender nodded, allowing Hermione to take the lead this time. She led them across the street, heading for the largest building on the block. It appeared the most intact, the neighboring structures caught in various stages of disrepair.

“Not in there,” Lavender interjected suddenly, voice low.

Hermione halted on the steps, glancing back. “Why not?”

The blonde wet her lips, eyes gleaming feline red in the darkness, an eerie sight to behold upon her pretty, blood-splattered face. "You won't like what you see."

Hermione fought the urge to laugh. “Of course I won't. I haven’t liked _anything_ I’ve seen here. But we need a place to regroup.” She gestured to the two-story structure across the way, roof caved and windows shattered. “This building has the best coverage, unless you have another suggestion?”

Lavender sighed, nodding her acquiesce. Hermione started up the steps once more, pulling open the heavy metal door and glancing into the dark interior beyond.

The building appeared to be comprised of one industrial room, ceiling vaulted and windows high along the perimeter, filtering in moonlight and streetlamps to reveal a work floor overrun with vats, conveyors and machinery.

Hermione stepped fully inside, allowing her companions to enter behind her. “This is a factory?”

Lavender remained silent.

Hermione raised a brow, starting down the metal steps leading to the manufacturing floor. “What does it make?”

Her friend sighed, responding at last, albeit evasively. “You’ll see.”

They padded quietly down the center aisle, conveyors on either side. Hermione slowed to a stop as the conveyor to her left came into clear view, the items lying atop the belt a horrifying sight to behold.

Human torsos.

She gasped, staggering into a metal vat, only to blink, studying them with a meticulous eye.

No… not human. They couldn’t be. There was no blood, no bone, no rotting flesh or withering skin. Instead, they each appeared so smooth and flawless they hardly seemed real.

Hermione edged closer, knees quaking with every step, the rest of the room fading away as her knife pulsed in her boot, heating against her calf. She braced her palms against the side of the conveyor and leaned forward. The torsos bore a variety of flesh tones, the outer skin rigid. She lifted a trembling hand, fingertips softly grazing the object centered before her. It was cool and hard, yet delicate, almost like...

“Porcelain?”

Hermione gazed up, spotting the items situated atop the neighboring conveyor.

Legs.

She peered at the feet. All lefts. Her eyes moved further up, inspecting a row of right arms, limp and lifeless, hands lying flat against the belt. Her body throbbed with the force of her heartbeat, eyes continuing their arduous journey upward, tracking higher, higher…

She rocked in place, overtaken by a heady surge of visceral horror.

Bodies dangled from the ceiling above. Metal claws clamped their hairless heads, eyeless sockets fixed blankly down, jaws hanging loose, torsos and limbs swaying limply. An endless row of life-sized—

“Dolls,” Hermione whispered, voice as frayed as her sanity. She glanced over her shoulder, vision hazed. “This is a doll factory.”

Lavender pressed her lips thin, eyes mournful. Padma edged away from the torso conveyor, rubbing her bare arms, flesh covered in goosebumps. “I don’t like it here,” she stated weakly.

Hermione set her jaw, pushing away from the table. “Neither do I.” Mowgli tensed atop her shoulder, paws clutching her sleeve tight as though equally affected by the disturbing imagery. “Let’s get out. We’ll find another place to hide.”

The other two offered no argument, allowing Hermione to lead them back to the main door. She gripped the handle.

Locked.

“Shite!”

Lavender’s eyes narrowed as she parted her skirts and extracted her hammer. “Stand back.”

Hermione grabbed Padma and moved aside as the blonde sent a powerful shockwave into the metal barrier. But when she tested the handle it still refused to budge.

“Why would the door automatically lock from the inside?” Hermione asked, still clutching Padma’s hand.

Lavender shook her head, stepping back with a scowl. "This entire place is a mindfuck. Who knows."

“There’s got to be another way out.” Hermione peered back down at the factory floor, every muscle tense. “Come on.”

They started down the main aisle again, completely silent but for their rapid footsteps and quickened breath, halfway across when Hermione caught movement from the corner of her eye. She froze in place, turning on her heel.

“What?” Lavender asked, halting as well.

Hermione shook her head, narrowed gaze sweeping across the rows of conveyors until reaching the shadowed corner. “I’m not sure,” she spoke slowly, releasing Padma’s hand in order to extract her blade. “Be on alert.”

They continued forward, crossing several more meters when Padma shrieked, jumping in place and pointing to the opposite corner of the factory. "I saw something!"

Hermione lifted her knife, the metal pulsing blue, reflecting the moonlit across her face. “You worked in Record Keeping?”

Padma nodded shortly, twisting her thin slip between her hands.

“What do you know about this place?” Hermione continued.

Padma glanced up nervously. “Nothing really. Only that it appeared at the same time as the Infernal Train.”

Hermione paled, gazing at her sharply. “The wha—” She cut short as one of the dolls hanging in her peripheral turned its head, staring right at her through black sockets. “We need to leave _now_.” She grabbed Padma’s hand and pulled her along. “Run!”

Other heads began to turn, watching them progress across the floor. And then the sound of screeching metal filled the air. The rusted cranes began to open one by one. Naked, half-formed dolls dropped to the ground, landing upright on their feet.

“Stop!” Lavender screamed suddenly, throwing her arm out to halt Hermione and Padma beside her.

Mowgli leaped from Hermione’s shoulder to the floor, backing up quickly as figures emerged from the darkness ahead. A row of life-sized dolls, each in a state of disrepair, missing an arm, a leg, faces cracked and clothing in tatters.

Except for one.

The doll at the center of the procession appeared perfect, flawless. Her silken hair gleamed bright as her glass eyes, red lips standing in stark relief against porcelain skin, further offset by the black velvet of her gown and the crimson ribbons wrapping her wrists.

She was stunning in her design. And painfully familiar to behold.

Hermione backed up slowly, pushing Padma behind her as the raven-haired doll stepped forward, heels clicking atop the cement.

“Mione,” Lavender whispered at her side, hammer pulsing orange in her hand. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

Hermione wet her lips, heartbeat echoing through her limbs. “Yes.” She gripped her knife with all her strength, preparing for war. “It’s her.”

* * *

“What about this, Madam?”

Bella turned on her heel, black lace trailing in her wake as she paced to the far wall, tilting her head. “More to the right, darling. Don’t be afraid to stretch that tight stomach.”

She winked, watching as the butler flushed and tugged the satin curtain higher, taking care to flex every visible muscle. She turned away, inspecting the remainder of the room with a meticulous eye, focus lingering on two men moving a table into the hall. The ballroom was turning out splendidly, lavish decor transforming the space into a grand showroom.

“Mistress, the florist arrived with the samples.”

Margo teetered in on high heels, balancing a massive vase in her arms. She crossed to a side table and carefully lowered the crystal between two vases already on display, each baring a unique assortment of white blooms.

Bella made her way to the woman’s side, gaze narrowed upon the selection as she edged closer to the first bouquet, fingertips tracing the delicate petals and stigma. “Casa Blanca Lilies are the most dramatic,” she pondered aloud. “And I do love a bit of flare.”

Margo smirked, gaze fixed upon her Mistress. “So I’ve noticed.”

Bella moved to the middle vase. “White Dittany. Interesting option. Wild and beautiful.”

“Also rumored to be an aphrodisiac,” her maid offered, eyes gleaming.

“Hm.” Bella gave a leaf a contemplative flick. “And how I do love a good rumor.” She stepped before the third and final arrangement, brow arching as she leaned forward to inhale the heady scent, releasing a breathy moan. “But nothing can compete with fresh cut Jasmine.” She drew back. “Deliver my order to Sprout. Enough blooms to fill every room.”

Margo curtsied, skirt riding high atop her thigh to reveal more of her fishnet stocking. “Right away, Mistress.” She turned gracefully, swishing away with exaggerated flourish. But Bella’s eyes were once more fastened to the bouquet. She began to idly arrange the stems, releasing more of the fragrance into the air, filling her lungs and sparking her memory.

His cologne held a similar note, rich and sensual. Along with deep woods and a hint of something _dark_ , something poisonous.

_“What do you intend?”_

She swallowed thickly, fingers pressing too hard, snapping a stem at its center.

_“Exactly what you wanted, Madam.”_

Her breath left her in a solid rush, vision tunneling, Jasmine circling her head in a kaleidoscope of white.

_“We’re going to play a game.”_

She reared back, still clutching a bloom and dragging the vase forward, pulling it from the table. It fell to the ground in an impressive explosion of crystal and petals. The staff gazed up sharply, the hum of conversation cutting off abruptly. Two footmen began to cross towards her, brows creased in alarm. She took a steadying breath, holding up her hands.

“Stop.”

They were rendered frozen by her glacial tone. She blinked, lowering her hands and smoothing them across her tight bodice. “I’ve got it,” she said, voice carefully measured.

One of the men shook his head, starting for her once more. “Please, Madam, allow me to–”

“Continue moving the tables.”

He drew back, nodding reluctantly as she dismissed with him with a sharp glance.

She kneeled carefully, arranging her train around her legs before reaching forward to gather broken shards. Her movements were slow, stuttered, past and present voices echoing in her head. She traced the bottoms of her teeth with the tip of her tongue, desperately trying to tamp her thoughts and emotions. Instead, she lost her concentration to a bit of glinting crystal. The chandelier reflected brightly upon the faceted glass, drawing her in like a moth to a flame.

She reached for the piece tentatively, breath hitching as she took it in hand. The shard was jagged, lethal. She traced a fingertip along the razor edge, hissing low as it parted her skin with ease, a thin sliver of blood rushing to the surface.

 _“What sort of game?”_ Her own voice whispered in her mind, low and hesitant. She felt the wall pressing her spine, saw the shadows swell in her peripheral, light rapidly evading the room as he pushed her back, a slow and decadent grin curving his lips.

She gasped, clutching the shard tightly in her fist, blood welling along the seam of her palm and fingertips. A thick bead began a slow and steady journey across the heel of her hand, curving along the path of her wrist, wrapping her flesh in a red band.

She blinked, vision hazed.

And suddenly the ballroom dissolved from view.

Giving way to another blood-stained memory...

"This is ridiculous, I don't have any lapses in my memory." Her voice was edged in challenge, even as her hands pressed flat to the wall at her back, nails digging into the paneling. "Trust me, I wish I did."

The Doctor eyed her carefully, body so close she could feel the heat emanating from his form, cascading down her front in voluptuous waves. “He helped you forget the miscarriage.” It wasn’t a question. The sinister rumble of his voice served to calm and electrify her nerves all at once.

Bella lifted her chin, eyes slit. She'd rather be flayed alive than discuss this particular topic, but considering that may very well be an alternative he was willing to consider, she opted for the path of least resistance. "He helped me suppress my most violent emotions. Nothing more. I still remember every moment of the trauma in stunning detail, I assure you."

His eyes flickered, something wild sparking in their depths, utterly captivating. “Then you won't mind me asking you a few questions.” And then he stepped back, releasing her from his predatory thrall. She blinked in confusion as he gestured to the pool table at their side. “Have a seat, Madam.”

She gathered her skirts and edged closer to the assigned perch, limbs rigid with mounting dread. "Are we going to play doctor now? Foreplay at last." She hoisted herself onto the edge of the glossy Maplewood and leaned back, bracing her hands atop the felt lining and lifting her cleavage high, the position helping to conceal the tremor in her arms.

Rabastan’s muffled screams filtered in from down the hall with added hysteria, a renewed surge of energy overtaking the bound and gagged buffoon.

Riddle stepped closer, stopping just before her knees and clasping his hands behind his back with casual repose. “I’m going to ask you some questions. Answer them to the best of your ability.”

She arched a manicured brow, smirking. “Kinky.”

His expression remained frozen, unreadable. “What’s your favorite color?”

She blinked, heart skipping as she processed the words. And then she leaned forward, high and delighted laughter tearing free from her throat beyond her control. “You _can’t_ be serious!”

He didn’t respond. Didn't move. Didn’t seem to breathe. But his eyes burned with a supernatural intensity that quelled her amusement as quickly as it came. She crossed her arms tightly, face pinched. “Jaundice yellow, isn't that obvious?”

"What were your parents' names?"

Her breath evaded her in a quick rush, arms dropping heavily to her sides as she gripped the edge of the frame. “Why?” She clenched her teeth as he refused to respond once more, nails scraping the glossy lacquer until they threatened to break. “Cygnus and Druella,” she offered without inflection, glancing away to glare at the wall behind him.

“How did they die?”

She pressed her tongue to the sharp tip of her canine, refusing to meet his watchful gaze. “My mother drowned and my father choked on his shriveled, black heart.” She exhaled sharply through her nose, crossing her arms once more. “Satisfied?”

He tilted his head, the first bit of movement in minutes. The motion drew her attention, gaze alighting upon him at last.

“Almost.”

The simple word held a sinister undertone, sending a deep vibration along the floor and into her body, rattling her ribcage and jolting her heart.

“Tell me about your sister.”

She tensed, pulse throbbing. “I’ve already told you about Cissy.”

He gave a slow shake of his head. “Not her.” His irises turned molten, backlit by internal flame. “The other one.”

She swayed precariously. “I don’t like to talk about Andy.”

“So you’ve said.” He stepped closer, the hem of his jacket brushing the tops of her thighs. “Try.”

She drew in a slow breath, gaze flickering to the doorway across the room.

“You’re too clever for that.”

Her eyes snapped back to him. His grin was perverse and beautiful, teeth glinting, hungry. "You can't outrun me. You can't overpower me. Your only escape is _through_ me.” He drew closer yet, pressing into her shins. “Now tell me about your sister.”

She blinked rapidly, overwhelmed by his presence, his scent. Her mind spun, vertigo tipping her sideways. “I…” She shook her head, struggling to remain upright, pressing a hand to her head. “She’s…” The air pressure changed, or maybe it was the pressure in her skull, a balloon swelling in her cranium, pushing aside her thoughts. “She left us.” She licked her lips, gaze tracking uselessly over the oriental pattern on the rug at their feet, trying to grasp a tendril of memory, a wisp of the past, but everything turned to smoke the moment she grasped its edge. “She left us… with…”

A throbbing pain erupted behind her eyes, blackening her vision. She cried out, leaning forward and clutching her temples, hair falling loose. “I don’t like to talk about Andy,” she muttered, strangely compelled to repeat the phrase.

The moment she spoke the words the throbbing pain ebbed, the clenching pressure releasing along with a grateful sigh from her lips. She cringed, mortified to discover tears now filled her eyes. She wiped them dry, anger easily overtaking discomfort and fear. She scowled and pushed forcefully against the chest, preparing to slide down.

“This is pointless! There’s nothing wrong with my–” She blinked, heart stuttering. “Mind.”

Her mouth opened and closed, gaze fixated on the pale fabric of his shirt. His jacket was removed, sleeves rolled up. She didn’t remember him…

Her gaze drifted to her hands still pressing his chest, claws fully extended, to focus upon the red ribbon tied to her wrist.

“What…” She pulled back, grasping her forearm as though the appendage wasn’t her own, horrified at the sight of the satin. “ _What_ is this?”

He tilted his head, embers glowing in the depths of his eyes. “Don’t you recognize it?”

Every vein throbbed, pulse surging painfully as she gazed up. “How did you…” Something heavy and cold settled in the pit of her stomach, turning her intestines to stone and spreading numbness to her legs and feet and toes. “No,” she whispered, tears overtaking her eyes once more. She inhaled swiftly, frantically pulling at the ribbon, desperate to free herself of the blood red manacle.

Tom reached forward with lightning speed, muscles tensing along his forearm as he captured her wrist, rough palm grinding her bones and trapping the ribbon in place. And then he leaned in, pressing her back onto the table as his gaze sparked with hell flame, shadows cutting sharply across his cheekbones. "Tell me the Dollmaker's true name," he whispered, the words snipping loose something inside of her.

She thrashed against his iron hold to no avail. “I…” Fallen strands of hair danced across her bare shoulders, chest quaking with every fractured breath. “It…”

Vertigo seized her anew, sight fading at the edges, his burning gaze centered amongst the dense fog, latching onto her with unrelenting determination. And then that faded, too, her vision flashing black for the space of a terrifying heartbeat. She blinked, senses returning in a dizzying rush. She braced her free hand against his shoulder for anchor, opening her mouth to speak–

Words evaded her in a keening gasp. For he no longer held her arm captive in his hands. Instead, his palms braced the maple frame at either side of her body, caging her in.

She glanced to her wrist, blinking in confusion. The ribbon was gone…

He continued to watch with unsettling stillness as she slowly raised her other arm and gaped in silent tragedy.

The ribbon had migrated.

She leaned back, tears dripping off her jaw. “This isn’t… it can’t be...”

“It can and it is.” His voice was cold as death, fingers rough as he grabbed her hovering arm and pulled the ribbon free, tucking it into his pocket in one fluid movement. “And I suggest you quickly come to terms with that fact. Your employer and creator will be calling on you shortly. What do you think he’ll do when he realizes you’re aware of your conditioning?”

Her tears evaporated in a steaming cloud, rage blazing a scorching trail across her flesh. “He _isn’t_ my creator. And he won’t be doing _anything_ but writhing in a pool of his own blood by the time I’m through with the bastard!”

“You can’t even say his name.” Cruel mockery dripped from his tongue, corroding her skin. “Do you really think he’d allow one of his toys to bring him harm?”

“I’m not a toy!” She screamed, surging forward, chest pressing into his. “I belong to _no one_!”

Victory flashed in his gaze, unexpected and unsettling. “But you do, Bella.” His breath ghosted across her lips, down her chin. “You’re owned by the Dollmaker and your husband before that, and you shall remain their property as long as they continue to draw breath.”

She clutched her wrist, fingers pressing the indentation left behind by the ribbon. “Rod…” Her voice was hoarse, unrecognizable to her ears. “He wouldn’t…” She shook her head absently, eyes drifting. “He would never allow this to happen.”

Tom pushed back from the table, features brittle with some barely tamped emotion. “Your marital affairs are far beneath my concern.”

She watched him carefully, thoughts finally settling into place. “You want the Dollmaker.”

His shoulders drew back, darkness swelling all around him. “Yes.”

She leaned forward, drawn by an invisible thread at her center. “I can help you.”

“Yes, you can.” His eyes narrowed, cold as steel. “And in exchange, I’ll spare your life.”

Her lips curved up in challenge. “You were never going to kill me.” His answering silence made her heart soar. She forged on, emboldened by her rage. “I can’t speak his true name. I can see it in my mind but the moment I try and utter it aloud the letters become a jumbled mess.” She pushed off the pool table, landing deftly on her high heels. “But I know his alias. The one he uses to practice medicine in England.”

He searched her gaze, the rest of his body falling unnaturally still as she stalked forward. “Tell me,” he demanded.

She stopped just before him, lifting her chin with calm calculation. “Angus Bumby,” she whispered, an electric thrill racing along her spine with every syllable.

He staggered back as though shot, eyes flaring wide before he turned away. “Bloody hell.”

She arched a brow, watching him idly. “You’re already acquainted I see.”

“I had him,” he muttered, seemingly to himself, rubbing a hand along his clenched jaw. And then he strode forward, back tight, body radiating with palpable violence. She scurried out of his path, jolting as he drove a fist into the wall, cracking the plaster. “I _fucking_ had him!”

She stepped forward, pupils dilated, and placed a hand atop his shoulder, squeezing the undulating muscle beneath. “I can put him in your path again,” she whispered, pulse thrumming when he didn’t pull away.

Instead, he released a hissing breath, hands flattening against the wall as he glanced back at her, eyes murderous. Hypnotic.

“And what exactly do you have in mind, Madam?”

Her lips parted wide with a wicked grin.

The memory shattered as loudly as the vase had, a jarring crash from across the ballroom snapping her attention forward. One of the footmen dropped a stool, cursing lowly as he struggled to set it right.

She blinked, eyes tracking back down, curiosity drawn by the sharp sting in her hand. Her fist was still clenched around the broken glass, blood dripping a steady path onto the gleaming wood. She gazed upon it for several moments more before raising her hand to her mouth and licking the blood from her wrist.

Heavy footsteps sounded down the hallway, entering the room swiftly. She drew back, recognizing the gait without having to glance the owner.

“Bella?”

She cringed, averting her face. Her husband glanced around the vast space, steps faltering as he spotted her at last.

“There you–” He slowed, forehead creasing. “What are you doing on the floor, luv?”

She rose gracefully, keeping her sliced palm tightly clenched at her side. “A minor mishap, nothing to draw your focus.”

He continued forward, steps long and confident. “ _You_ draw my focus.” He held out a palm. She took it with her uninjured hand, allowing him to draw her into his body. “The house looks marvelous. You’ve outdone yourself.” He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her temple. “They’ll be talking about this party for years to come.”

“Yes, darling.” She offered him the same smile she gifted Tom, resting her head against his chest and squeezing the jagged crystal tighter. Her blood pittered steadily to the floor, echoing his heartbeat. “That’s the plan.”

* * *

Hermione took a wide step back, eyes focused upon the army of dolls ahead.

“Is that…” Lavender whispered, gaze widening.

Hermione nodded, her own jaw locking tight. “Yes. It’s her.” She wet her lips, pulse thrumming along the back of her tongue. “Bellatrix.”

The Doll in question tilted her head, porcelain neck gently scraping at the movement as she perched her hands on her hips, joints bending at perfect ninety-degree angles. "Have we met, darling?"

Hermione shivered at the voice, uncanny to the real thing. “Unfortunately,” she replied lowly, blade pulsing blue in her grasp.

Bellatrix tipped her head back, laughter emanating from deep within her throat, clicking with a mechanical echo before skipping like a phonograph. But it held the same maniacal quality Hermione had come to expect from the woman, making her skin crawl and senses sharpen. She glanced over her shoulder at Padma.

“Hide.”

The girl nodded frantically, dashing away without further response. Hermione looked to Lavender next, feet spreading in a battle stance. “Ready?”

Her friend smirked, eyes flashing amber as she twirled her hammer with showy flourish. “Always.”

They charged forward. Bellatrix’s laughter carried on, higher, more delighted, as her dolls sprang forth from around her, riding into battle under their Queen’s silent command.

Hermione ducked beneath a swinging porcelain fist, slashing out with her blade, only to gasp as another hand caught her by the wrist, restraining her against the side of a conveyor. She blinked rapidly, glancing around, unable to see her attacker.

And then she realized it wasn’t a doll that held her immobile, but a loose arm on the belt, come to life along with the rest of the amputated limbs. Hands scurried towards her like glass spiders, gripping handfuls of her dress and hair, pinning her flat against the side of the machinery and then dragging her up over the top, onto the belt, pinning her ankles and wrists and spreading her like a virgin sacrifice on the altar.

She screamed as a one-eyed doll limped forward, its few sprigs of hair sticking out at odd angles, the glass eye rolling aimlessly in its head before fixing upon her, glinting red at the center. Hermione thrashed wilding atop the belt, unable to break free from the dozens of arms, their cold porcelain fingers digging painfully into her flesh.

The one-eyed doll reached forward, gripping her by the neck and squeezing. Hermione gagged, sputtered, face red and sight rapidly fading at the corners. But she was still able to see the flash of green dart across her field of vision. Mowgli leaped onto her attacker’s head, clawing frantically at the smooth surface. The doll released her, staggering back and trying to extract its attacker, unable to gain purchase on the animal.

Hermione sucked in air greedily, chest heaving as she pulled weakly at her limbs. She heard the distant sound of Lavender’s struggle but couldn’t see the girl. All she saw was the dark roof, metal beams crisscrossing from one end to the other, supporting a massive pulley system. She blinked quickly, following the ropes along the rigs with her eyes, tracking as they led down to a shaft wheel. The trigger that operated the conveyor belt.

Inspiration struck.

She lifted her pelvis, thrashing wildly, heart soaring as she felt the cards slide along her thigh through her pocket, the corners peeking out of the blood-encrusted fabric. She groaned with the strain, continuing to twist every which way her limited range of motion would allow, gasping as the deck finally slid free, landing atop her corset.

The cards shot out of the case in an impressive flourish, folding into cranes and diving for the porcelain arms pinning her in place. They pecked mercilessly at the glass, but their combined efforts were to no avail, the hands merely gripping her tighter and causing her circulation to wane.

“The wheel!” She cried out, tears spilling from her eyes and into her sweat-soaked hairline.

The cranes headed her instruction, soaring upward and slamming repeatedly into the wheel’s lever, until finally the metal creaked, turning slowly, and then quicker, quicker, pulling the rope in and setting the overhead gears into motion. The machine slowly yawned to life, the belt hissing beneath her as it too was activated, rolling slowly along the bench.

The arms jolted, releasing her at once, the blissful sensation of freedom superseded by innate fear as she watched the limbs scramble quickly over her body, desperate to evade something at the other end. She rolled to her side, gazing forward, eyes widening as a huge metal press came into view, its immense weight slamming into the table on three-second intervals, smashing the porcelain to bits one arm at a time.

She rolled onto her back once more, sighing wearily.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

She attempted to sit, vertigo seizing her. Another arm scampered over her lap. She scowled, grabbing it by the elbow and throwing it across the room before attempting to jump down—

The one-eyed doll surged forward, filling her vision as though appearing from thin air, grabbing her around the neck and pressing her back onto the moving belt, walking alongside the machine to maintain its hold.

Another doll appeared upside down in her swimming-vision, glass eyes two different colors and hair a vibrant red. It was missing an arm but its existing limb was perfectly functional, as clearly evidenced by its ability to pin her shoulder flat, further restricting her movement.

The crushing metal grew louder and louder, closer and closer, the massive stamp mere feet away from her head. She pulled desperately at the hands encasing her neck, beating uselessly against them, then clawed manically at the face above as blackness flooded her vision, spilling across the room in pools of dark glossy ink. Arms jumped off the belt, shattering on the floor, passengers leaping from a sinking ship, taking their chances in the raging ocean.

Bellatrix's laughter filled her head anew, the sound suffusing her with blinding rage and thoughtful clarity. Hermione stopped fighting with the hands at her throat, feeling around the belt instead, searching searching searching—

She sputtered a broken gasp as her palm made contact with the familiar handle. She gripped the knife tight, energy pulsing through her arm and rattling her teeth as she swung it inward with all her strength, stabbing the doll in the side of the head. Its face cracked across the middle, its sole eye popping free and rolling across the belt, instantly crushed by the metal stamp.

The doll released her, clutching desperately at its destroyed visage. Hermione slashed backward with the blade, slashing the doll behind her across the throat and severing its head clean off. The heavy mass rolled onto her chest, continuing to blink as it settled atop her stomach. Hermione turned to the side, watching the stamp make quick work of yet another victim, pounding the head to dust in a single pass, mere inches from her own skull.

Hermione screamed, scurrying backward, only to be held in place by the stamp itself as the metal clamped down, trapping the hem of her dress. She held her breath, silently counting to three as she waited for the stamp to release, moments away from being crushed. It lifted at last, the belt rolling her beneath two tons of crushing metal. She rolled sideways with a desperate shriek, steam hissing all around her as the stamp dropped down with a deafening bang, rattling every bone in her body.

She hit the cement with a jarring thud, lying just beside the conveyor and watching the stamp crush the space where her head once laid. She spared no time for celebration, gripping her blade and scrambling to her feet, searching for Lavender. She spotted a flash of blonde and burst of orange light across the factory. The girl was fending off three hulking dolls, each more deformed than the last, the worst of them bearing legs for arms and arms for legs.

Hermione started for her and then gasped as something gripped her ankle tight, pulling her foot back and tipping her forward. She crashed to the floor a second time, joints screaming with the impact, chin and palms scraping the cement until the skin broke.

Her knife was knocked from her grip. She reached for it, eyes wide, frantic, and screamed as the restraint at her ankle ripped her back, dragging her quickly over the floor as she thrashed. She managed to roll onto her back as she was dragged beneath a conveyor, finally catching sight of her attacker. A crimson ribbon. The satin was strong as steel as it maneuvered her across the factory floor to its host at the other end.

Bellatrix.

The ribbons at her wrists burst free in flowing tendrils, undulating through the air like snakes. A flash of crimson darted out and wrapped Hermione's other ankle, forcing her feet together as she was pulled beneath a metal table and thrown into the wall, coming to a stop at last.

She released a pained yelp, sliding down to the cement floor in a heap, desperately trying to gain her bearings. But she wasn’t afforded the opportunity, ribbons wrapping her wrists and pulling her forward, flat onto her back, limbs splayed out once more.

Bella’s laughter washed over her in a dark wave, instilling Hermione with primal terror and rendering her mind blank. The porcelain woman appeared above her a moment later, face upside down and perversely beautiful, even in its coldness.

“My my, aren’t you simply _delectable_.”

And then her sentient ribbons were pulling Hermione off the ground and hurtling her into the wall a second time, pinning her above the ground. Bella stalked closer, movements seamless and sensuous, so life-like Hermione hardly believed her limbs were composed of rigid glass and metal rods.

“So young. So pretty.” Bella leaned in and pressed her cold lips against Hermione’s parted mouth, rendering her numb with shock. The woman tittered again, drawing her head back just enough to gaze into Hermione’s terrified eyes. “I was young and pretty once.”

Hermione caught sight of her pulsing blade in the far distance, discarded upon the floor.

It might as well have been on the moon.

“I can help you,” Hermione whispered. “I can help all of you.”

Bella smiled, lips glossy with lacquer, bearing no evidence of their grotesque kiss, and pressed her lower half into Hermione's skirts, body ice-cold even through layers of fabric. "Have you ever been with a man, poppet?" She slid her hand between their bodies, pressing down down down until reaching the apex of Hermione's thighs, rigid fingers bending forward. "Here?"

Hermione swallowed heavily, trying to cringe away, trapped between the unforgiving barriers of the wall and Bella’s solid form. She peered over the woman’s shoulder, staring at her fallen blade with such blatant longing she swore it rattled atop the cement, agitated by her silent plea.

“No?” Bella continued. “Good girl.” She removed her hand, stroking the backs of her fingers along Hermione’s cheek, catching a stray tear along her fingertip. “Men ruin you. Body and soul. Tearing you apart limb by limb, only to rearrange you to their heart’s content.” Her glass eyes gleamed bright, drawing Hermione’s focus. “Their design. Their toy.”

Hermione searched her gaze, mind rapidly grasping for any tendril of hope, some means of escape. “I know.” She fought to keep her voice level as the ribbons cut into her wrists. “But I can stop Him. I can fix you.”

Bella tilted her head, blinking innocently, long lashes fluttering like butterfly wings. “Fix me?” Her smile deepened, teeth straight and white. “But I’m not the one who’s broken, darling.” She leaned in, their mouth aligning once more. “You are.”

Hermione blinked, body going limp. Bella tipped her head back, her resounding laughter deep and grating, causing Hermione's temper to return in a heady surge. She fought her bonds with all her strength, screaming like a feral animal as her arms were dragged high overhead. Bella continued to cackle, pale throat illuminated by moonlight streaming in from the windows above.

Hermione gazed upon her blade once more, calling it forth with every ounce of willpower left within her soul, eyes tearing with the force of the effort. The ribbons at her wrists and ankles threatened to sever the bone, the pain overwhelming, but nothing compared to the swell of relief she felt as the knife lifted from the floor, glowing bright blue. She opened her palm, refusing to blink, to breathe, every muscle tensed as the knife shot through the air, whistling its way across the wide expanse and depositing itself seamlessly into her awaiting hand.

Bella’s laughter ended abruptly, head snapping forward as she caught the movement from the corner of her eye. Hermione wasted no time aiming the blade down, severing the ribbon at her wrist before slashing forward, catching her captor across the face. Bella reared back in time to avoid having her head rendered in two, but the knife met enough resistance for Hermione to know she left a damaging mark.

Bella staggered away, ribbons falling loose as she pressed both hands to her face, eyes blazing with hellfire.

“Wretched bitch!”

Hermione dropped to the ground as her restraints released, leaning into the wall for support as she unfastened the whip from around her waist. Bella continued to scream, her ribbons bobbing in place like venomous cobras poised to strike.

Hermione pushed to her feet, cracking the whip forward and erupting a wall of flame between them. One of the ribbons tried to breach the fire, instantly disintegrating to ash as Bella released a sharp hiss of rage.

And then a second scream filled the air, belonging to neither woman.

Hermione spun in place, searching frantically, spotting Padma across the room, huddled in the corner as an army of glass limbs scrambled towards her, porcelain hands reaching for her bare ankle as she kicked desperately.

Hermione sprinted towards her, rolling over conveyors and beneath tables until she reached the motley scene, kicking and stomping the wayward limbs until they scampered away like roaches to the light. Hermione offered the girl her hand. Padma wiped the tears from her eyes as she rose, starting to speak, only to be cut short by Lavender’s keening battle cry.

They both turned swiftly, spotting the girl atop a conveyor belt, dodging metal claws as they reached for her, the machinery possessed.

“Lav!”

Her friend glanced up, leaping from the equipment as two deformed dolls chased after her. “The windows!” The blonde screamed, changing direction and causing one of her pursuers to run into the side of a metal vat, face splitting with a crunch.

Hermione peered skyward, gazing upon the windows near the ceiling. She nodded quickly, reaching into her skirt for the flask— only to cringe. Lavender had it last.

She turned to Padma instead. “You have to climb,” she instructed, pulling the girl towards the conveyor stationed beside the wall. Padma turned grey, shaking her head and frantically pulling free of her hold.

“I can’t!”

Hermione reached forward again, gripping both of her arms tight. “You _have_ to, come on.” She dragged the reluctant girl to the rigging that fed up to the ceiling, the ropes connected to a circular belt running the perimeter of the factory. “Hold tight, be careful.” She pushed the girl forward. “But be fast.”

Padma nodded, eyes wide with unbridled terror.

“It’s alright,” Hermione added more softly. “I’ll be right behind you.”

She watched the barefooted girl slowly climb upward, gripping the rope tight and struggling to find her footing along the wheel casing. Lavender came charging around the corner a moment later, a headless doll staggering after her, arms sweeping the air aimlessly.

“Go!” The blonde shouted, leading the doll on a winding path until it tripped over its own feet, crashing to the ground and breaking into pieces.

“No,” Hermione said, holding out a hand. “You go next. Give me the hammer.”

Lavender skid to a stop at her side, shaking her head. “No way–”

“You’ll be faster if you transform, now go!”

Her friend groaned, handing over the weapon as the fire blazed higher, rapidly spreading across the floor, eager to consume everything in its path. “You had _better_ be right behind me, Hermione Granger,” she warned, visage illuminated red with flickering light.

“I promise! Hurry!”

Lavender dissolved away in a rush, falling to the ground in cat form, thick tail swishing as she leaped onto the conveyor and began scaling the edge of the rigging. Mowgli appeared in a flash of green, leaping onto Hermione’s shoulder, holding her panicked gaze.

“You next, go!”

He blinked once before darting after Lavender. Hermione leaned over, tucking the hammer into her boot, opposite her blade, and climbed onto the belt, holding her breath as she gripped the rope with both hands, grunting low and pulling herself up, boots kicking the air until she found her footing.

She began a slow and arduous climb, halfway up when Padma reached the circular track suspended from the ceiling, Lavender tight at her heels. The feline unfolded into a woman once more, leaning back and driving the heel of her boot into the window, cracking the glass. She kicked two more times, shattering it clean through.

Hermione’s heart leaped, smoke rising high as the fire spread rapidly below. Neither girl on the track crawled to freedom, turning instead to watch Hermione's steady ascent.

“Go!” She screamed, muscles burning with fatigue.

Lavender sighed deeply, directing Padma through the busted frame. Mowgli darted out next, but the blonde was reluctant to follow. She made it halfway across the opening before stopping and turning to face Hermione. She started to speak, but her words were lost to the terror in Hermione’s mind as her ankle was seized tight, leg ripped back with such force she lost her grip on the rope, free falling backward.

Lavender’s desperate shout filled her head, red flames filling her vision, adrenaline flooding her veins as she braced for fatal impact with the ground.

But the death blow never came, a solid band catching her around the back, jolting her hard and suspending her a foot above the cement. She gazed around in shock, heart lodged firmly in her throat.

Ribbons.

Dozens and dozens of satin tendrils wrapping her limbs and waist, holding her tight. They lowered her to the floor gently, only to pin her limbs like manacles, spreading her wide. She watched in horror as the eyeless dolls staggered to the conveyor, ripping the rigging from the wall in an explosion of debris and noise. She was distantly aware of someone screaming her name from above, but a thick cloud of smoke hovered along the ceiling, blocking her view.

And then Bella appeared overhead, blocking out everything else.

Her once pristine face bore a deep fissure along the side, starting at her temple and ending at her jaw. The fine porcelain cracked minutely along the groove, as though set to shatter at the slightest touch. She stepped over Hermione, straddling her, and then sank down, weight pressing upon her pelvis as she reached down and extracted the blue pulsing knife from Hermione’s boot.

She leaned forward, glass eyes turning red, reflecting the roaring flames surrounding them on all sides. She tapped the flat end of the blade against Hermione’s cheek. The other dolls formed a tight circle around them, watching with bated anticipation.

“My beauty is my greatest weapon,” Bella said lowly, gaining her undivided attention.

Hermione lifted her chin, skull pressing the rough cement as smoke filled her lungs. “And yet it crumbled beneath my blade.”

Bella smiled, slow and sinister, teeth appearing much sharper than before. “Tell me, darling, how do you think _your_ pretty face will fare?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, pulling futilely against her binds. “Christ. Just kill me and get it over with. You’re as unbearable here as you are in real life.”

Bella laughed again, high and delighted, saturated with an unsettling mania that turned Hermione’s stomach inside-out. “Kill something so marvelous?” Her amusement faded, eyes narrowing upon Hermione’s snarling visage. “No, darling. I’ll have _much_ more fun playing with you for all eternity." She pressed the blade harder, until the razor sharp edge bit into Hermione's flesh and drew a line of blood along her cheekbone, mirroring the mark upon Bella's face. "You'll be my favorite toy yet. Perhaps I'll carve my initials into your flesh so everyone will know _exactly_ who you belong to.”

Hermione screamed in outrage, blood sizzling in her veins, causing her entire body to flush red hot. “You’re not a victim! You’re as evil as He is!”

Bella arched a dark brow, the motion causing a small piece of her face to chip away, falling into Hermione’s tousled hair as she leaned in close. “No, my love.” She placed her rep lips beside her ear, whispering low. “I’m _much_ worse.”

Hermione seethed, channeling all her energy upon the blade, willing it back into her possession. It glowed bright, trembling in Bella’s grip, eager to join its rightful owner. But its current possessor held tight, drawing back with a feral grin.

“Na-ah-ah. It’s _my_ turn to play." And then she lifted the blade high overhead with both hands. "We're going to have such _adventures_.”

Hermione inhaled sharply, taking more smoke into her lungs, vision tunneling until her surroundings became blurred, reality distorting like ripples over a still lake. She saw a chandelier lying upon the factory floor, shattered to fine, sparkling dust. A wooden staircase appeared along the wall, burning steadily, faces dancing in the flames. Her parents' disembodied voices filtered down from the rising smoke, overlaid by Lavender's frantic screams.

The fire hissed at her back, her sides, above and below, red and enraged, the faces trapped within the blaze twisting into demonic effigies.

She swallowed thickly, forcing her pulse to calm and her mind to focus. Her eyes reflected the bright glint of the blade as it was aimed over her heart. And then Bella drove the knife down, her porcelain thighs squeezing Hermione's hips tight until her pelvis was sure to break. But in all the chaos, a single sound penetrated the deafening roar in her ears, louder than the flames, the screaming, the rapid thrum of her pulse and surging pressure in her veins.

Lavender’s voice, clear as crystal.

 _“But Hermione, you_ are _the fire.”_

Hermione’s eyes flashed red as the knife continued its rapid descent, time slowing and speeding all at once. Her skin sizzled, the only bit of warning she received before her entire body burst into dark flames.

Bella gasped, rearing back as the fire surged, pulling the knife away with millimeters to spare. The flames ignited her dress. She screamed, rolling away and batting the fabric as her dolls staggered forward to help.

The flames burnt through the ribbons binding Hermione’s limbs, turning the satin to ash. She sat up slowly, raising her hand before her face and studying the black fire dancing along her skin. A mesmerizing sight.

Hermione inhaled long and deep, rising to her feet as the broken dolls scurried back, trapped by the red flames created by her whip. They looked utterly terrified, cowering together. All except for Bella, who continued to hold herself with steady poise even as her singed gown smoked at the hem.

“Well, aren’t you just full of surprises?” Bella’s voice was equal parts anger and intrigue.

Hermione’s hands flexed at her sides. “You haven’t seen the half of it.” And then she lifted a palm, sending a rope of black flame outward, engulfing the cluster of misfit dolls in the corner.

Their screams were shrill, horrific, as though they felt the agony of burning alive as their bodies shattered beneath the intense heat, clothing and hair scorched away as they collapsed into piles of ash. Hermione rocked back on her heels, overcome with a heady rush of adrenaline, buzzing with euphoria.

She turned her attention to Bella and held out her palm, eyes darkening to match the flames lapping across her skin. “My blade.”

Bella lifted her arm and slowly relinquished the weapon, her gaze never straying from Hermione’s. “This isn’t over, dove.”

Hermione grinned as her fingers wrapped around the familiar handle, profound comfort setting in as the knife pulsed black.

“I beg to differ.”

And then she sent her flames forward once more.

* * *

Lavender scrambled down the side of the fire escape, movements stuttered and frantic as she leaped to the ground, reaching upward to help Padma navigate the last few rungs. The moment the girl set foot on the pavement Lavender spun on her heel and began racing around the building, lungs pumping furiously as she called over her shoulder.

“Stay here!”

Red flames shattered the remaining windows, sending her pulse sky-high as she tore a path towards the front door of the factory, Mowgli keeping pace close beside her.

“Hermione!” She screamed as glass rained down from above, slicing at her arms and tangling in her hair. She started up the front steps, only to stumble back as the metal door exploded open with such force it cracked the brick.

Lavender cringed back, black smoke billowing out in heavy droves, blocking her view of the interior. She spotted flashes of red and orange flame, as well as something else… she squinted, waving smoke away from her face as a faint silhouette took shape against the blazing background.

She stepped back onto the sidewalk, giving the entrance wide berth as the figure slowly emerged. Her pulse skipped painfully as she caught sight of familiar tousled curls.

“Hermione?”

Black flames licked across her friend’s skin, gradually calming with every step until they disappeared completely. Her flesh appeared unmarred, glowing pale and flawless in the moonlight. Her blood-stained dress from earlier in the evening had transformed, now sleeveless and solid black from corset to hemline.

Lavender blinked slowly, arms lowering to her sides. “Are you… alright?”

Mowgli was less apprehensive, leaping onto Hermione’s shoulder without hesitation, green tail encircling her throat.

“Never better,” Hermione replied with a faint smirk, a plume of white smoke erupting from her lips as she spoke. And then she stepped onto the sidewalk, boots clicking steadily as she progressed along the pavement, stopping a few feet away to glance over her shoulder. “Ready?”

Lavender blinked once more, waking from her momentary stupor. "Always."  
She paced to her side, eyes glinting amber. “We just have to figure out a way across Wonderland undetected.”

Hermione lifted her chin, smile deepening as the factory collapsed beneath the onslaught of wildfire. “Perhaps we should take a ride on the Train.”


End file.
